The Darkness Within

The Darkness Within

Chapter 4: The Prophecy

Harry woke up feeling cold and uncomfortable, and wondered where he was. He opened his eyes to discover that he had fallen asleep in the Gryffindor common room, feeling exhausted after the emotionally draining evening. Harry groaned, recalling the conversations of yesterday and his subsequent resolutions.

It was time to go on. To begin in earnest; time to win. There were no reasons for delays, not anymore. His friendships were gone and he had to get them back. And the only way to get the trust back, was not to have any secrets. Unfortunately, the way to do that was to eliminate the reason, eliminate Voldemort. He felt his resolve building up. It wasn't going to be easy, but he would do it. There was nothing left to lose. Harry decided to put into action the plan he had spent the entire summer developing. It was a crazy idea. A frightening one. One he had been delaying for too long now.

Before, there was someone Harry could hurt, someone to lose, and he had put it off, filing the plan in his mind as a possibility, nothing more. Now, he was about to make it real. And Draco Malfoy had given him the means. All he had to do was find out where Snape's true loyalties lay.

Harry was sitting in his usual place at the Gryffindor table, when Hermione walked into the Great Hall. She looked at him and smiled, sitting down next to him. Harry felt his heart skip a beat when Ron, who had come in right after Hermione, walked right past them, without even looking at his friends, to where Neville was sitting. It isn't right, he thought. Ron should have been sitting here, with him and Hermione. But he wasn't, and Hermione was talking to him, interrupting his thoughts.

"Harry," she said. "What do you think? Should I talk to him? Explain things ..."

Harry took control of his wandering attention and answered, "Yeah, Hermione, you probably should. I'm just not really sure whether he will talk to you," he added while thinking furiously about how he could get Hermione and Ron to make up. If he had any intention of going through with this plan, he was going to have to push Hermione away too. He couldn't let himself hurt her by letting her get involved in his crazy scheme. And maybe, just maybe, at least Ron and Hermione could be friends – have each other – while he sold his life away; while he followed the destiny he was born for.

"Maybe you should talk to him first," she was saying. "After all, it was just a big misunderstanding. I'm sure Ron will forget it in no time. I'm more concerned though, about what he might think of me."

Harry tried to relieve her fears. "No, Hermione. You don't understand. It was about trust between Ron and me. You, he will forgive because there's nothing really to forgive. I, on the other hand, will be waiting for Ron to come to his senses for a long time."

"Harry, you are his best friend. You will probably be laughing about this by dinnertime," Hermione answered with conviction in her voice.

The green-eyed boy looked at her and said with a sad smile, "He will not forgive me because I am his best friend."

Harry saw understanding dawning in her eyes and stood up quickly, not wanting to continue the conversation. Walking out of the Great Hall, he thought about the irony of what he had just done. He had destroyed the possibility of mending the Trio's friendship; a possibility he would have eagerly grabbed just yesterday morning.

However, there was no time for regrets, not anymore. He hardened his heart and walked faster, intent on spending the morning's free period flying and thinking.

Harry climbed up to Gryffindor tower and took his broom from its usual place next to his bed. He opened the window of the boys' dormitory, and flew through it and off over the castle, trying to forget himself in the moment, roving over the Forbidden Forest. While he was putting his body through the rigorous workout, Harry's mind wandered back to the summer.

* * *

Harry was sitting in his room in Privet Drive, bored out of his skull, with absolutely nothing to do but think. For a second, he felt tremendously angry with Dumbledore and the rest of the Order who, while making sure the Dursleys didn't abuse him in any way, had also insisted that Harry stay inside the house at all times. That was why he was sitting in his room in the middle of the day.

It was a beautiful summer day; the sound of children laughing and playing trickled through the slightly open window. The Dursleys were busy pretending their young nephew didn't exist, and thus had left him completely to his own devices. He did not like it because with nothing else to occupy his mind, all he did was think of Sirius and revenge ... He had failed his godfather once; he wouldn't do it again. Next time, he would use the other spell, the other Unforgivable ...

He did not feel guilty about those thoughts. Bellatrix was a murderer; she deserved it. Besides, he had heard Trelawney's prophecy. The one that said he had to become a killer.

"What's one more," he said to himself. "She deserves it as much as Voldemort. She's as evil as he is. Just not as powerful." Harry shook himself, feeling guilty all of a sudden. He shouldn't be thinking that, feeling all this hatred. He should not want to kill anyone. He wasn't like Voldemort.

‘But you are,' said a voice in his head. ‘It is your destiny.'

No, protested Harry silently. My destiny is to kill Voldemort, stop his evil, not anybody else.

‘A killer is a killer,' the voice in his head was getting louder. ‘No matter how many you kill.'

No. The only person I'll kill is Voldemort, he debated.

‘If you can.' The voice in his head could not be silenced.

I will kill him. I must. Nobody else can.

‘Would you do anything to kill him? Sacrifice everything?'

Yes.

‘Your sanity? Your soul? Your life?' suggested the voice mercilessly.

Yes, thought Harry with conviction. I'll do anything to see Voldemort defeated. Except … I will not sacrifice my friends.

‘Then you are weak. Your friends are your weakness,' said the voice.

NO! Harry shouted mentally, trying to squash the voice. I will not give them up. They are my strength, my reason.

‘You will not win if you can't let them go. Do it. They'll be happier without you anyway, without your destiny destroying them. Then you can do anything. You will have no one to hurt, no one to lose. You can win. You will win,' insisted the voice.

No, I cannot do it without them, retorted Harry. We will always be friends, no matter what happens.

‘You will only hurt them,' said the voice. ‘And you will not win, because you're weaker than he. He doesn't care about anyone.'

No. I am not weak. Ron and Hermione are my strength, maintained Harry. Voldemort doesn't have that. He doesn't have someone to fight for. This is my power.

* * *

Back in the present, Harry continued his flight over the Forest. He felt the air move around him as he pushed himself and the broom to its limits. The gathering clouds and the distant sound of thunder made him change direction towards Hogwarts.

He had done it now. He was willing to do anything, he had realised. Even to push his friends away. And it had already started. Ron was gone, and he would stay away if Harry had anything to say about it. Soon, he would distance himself from Hermione as well. And then … then he would be ready. Ready to do the thing he had been planning all summer, all the while telling himself he would never go through with it.

Harry had known he could not really do it. Ron or Hermione – one of them would have noticed what he was up to. They would have noticed and would have asked. And then they would have gotten hurt. Therefore, he had merely toyed with the idea; safely, because he knew it was never going to happen. After all, he had nothing better to do when sitting alone in his tiny bedroom. So, he spent his time coming up with ways to rid the world of Voldemort. Most of them involved lots and lots of training and grand wizards' duels or even grander battles.

They also had one more thing in common: he would not come out the winner. There was just no possible way, no training regime hard enough to make his power even remotely comparable to Voldemort's, who also happened to be a Dark wizard thrice his age. However, there was one plan, an outrageous idea the Slytherin inside Harry had cooked up one lazy summer night. It could work. There was just one little problem: there was no way in hell he was actually going to do it!

Then it hit him.

Oh - my God! I am doing it, he realised. I'm actually doing it.

He was doing it right now.

The crazy Slytherin scheme.

* * *

Harry was sitting behind his desk in the smallest bedroom at Number Four, Privet Drive, watching the sun go down. His mind was wandering again, thinking about the prophecy, about how it was his fate, his destiny, to destroy Voldemort. He tried to think of ways to do it. There really weren't that many options. He couldn't kill him with his wand because the spells would lock. And even if he did hit Voldemort with the Killing Curse when the Dark wizard somehow did not have a wand trained at him, thus avoiding the brother wand issue, Harry was not sure the spell could really kill Voldemort. The wizard had made himself immune to most magical ways of killing, and it would be terribly stupid of him to overlook the most obvious one. Besides, even on the off chance that Harry could get close enough to an unarmed Lord Voldemort, he wasn't too sure he would want to waste the once in a lifetime possibility on something that could not work.

That left him with one more option. A messy one, but one that was the most likely to succeed: he could kill Voldemort the Muggle way. However, that option also came with a catch. How to get close enough to do that? How could he, Harry Potter, Voldemort's most famous enemy, get close enough to hit him where it hurt, so to speak?

There was one way. The only way, actually. He could get close if Voldemort thought Harry would never hurt him – if he considered Harry his servant, his follower. A most loyal one at that.

It was never going to happen. The Dark Lord was not stupid. He would never believe a miraculous change of heart and mind. He would need a reason. He would need convincing, a test of loyalties.

And Harry would not do that. He could not do what was needed to make Voldemort believe him. He was not Snape. He had a conscience, a soul. He could never play-act being a Death Eater, taking part in killings and torture.

It was never going to happen. He was never going to do it. Never.

* * *

Only, now he was doing it. He was actually going to do it.

To kill Voldemort.

To become a Death Eater.

And nobody could ever know. Not Ron, not Hermione and definitely not Dumbledore. They wouldn't understand. They would not approve. They would try to stop him, try to take away his only option.

His resolve even stronger than before, Harry flew back to Gryffindor tower to return his broom and after that, made his way to the first class of the day – Defence Against the Dark Arts. How ironic, he thought as he walked through the hallways, that now I agree with the Slytherins on wishing that Dumbledore had not cancelled the Dark Arts class upon becoming headmaster of Hogwarts. It would have been quite useful.

Harry stepped through the classroom door to discover that, apparently, Ron and Hermione had gotten over whatever unresolved issues they had between them while he was out flying, and were sitting behind the Trio's usual desk at the front of the classroom. Hermione looked up, saw him and nudged Ron. Then, his other friend noticed his entrance as well and with an apologetic smile, gestured towards Harry's empty seat on the other side of Hermione. He was inviting Harry to put aside their fight, to forgive and forget.

Harry thought it would be easy to go there and sit down, and let everything return to normal. But easy wasn't going to win them the war. Harry put on a perfect mask of indifference, and sat down next to some nameless Hufflepuff boy, who looked up at him with surprise that was quickly replaced with awe as he realised who had taken the seat next to him.

Harry dared another glance in the direction of his friends. Ron was scowling at him and even Hermione seemed a little peeved at his cold dismissal. ‘Good,' the little voice inside him said. And he kept his face a mask.

His friends' attention was diverted as Professor Saims swept into the class and began the lesson.

"Good morning, class. Open your books to page 114; today we will be discussing vampires …"

Hours later, Harry was the last student to leave the classroom, and he walked as slowly as he could, just to make sure he was also the last one to arrive in the Great Hall. Then it would be possible to make his grand gesture, as he sarcastically called it.

He opened the doors and started walking towards Gryffindor table. As he was nearing his usual spot, where at the moment only Ron and Hermione sat, the latter looked up and asked, "Harry, what is the matter with you? Why did you do that in Defence?"

Harry didn't pause to answer; he kept walking. Right past her, past Ron … right up to where the other boys from his year were sitting and then said, "Hey guys, do you mind if I sit here today?"

Dean looked at him, surprised, but didn't pry and answered only with a brief, "Yeah, go ahead."

When the rest of the table came alive with the gossip about the likely, and then a lot less likely, reasons about the rift in the Golden Trio, Harry simply ignored the questions and noise around him, going through the dinner in silence.

Later that evening, after having successfully avoided his friends in the common room, Harry lay behind closed curtains on his large four-poster bed and pondered the possible scenarios of approaching Lord Voldemort.

He already had the means: Draco Malfoy. Now, all he needed was a reason … a reason good enough to make Voldemort believe him, good enough to make Malfoy trust him. Trust Harry enough to introduce him to the Dark Lord.

The best lies are the ones with a grain of truth in them.

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches … born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies … And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not … and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives … The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…

Harry knew the prophecy. However, Voldemort did not. And he wanted to know. Therefore, Harry would tell him the prophecy. His prophecy. And then he would become a Death Eater, a servant of Voldemort. And he would succeed.

Harry ran the words of the new prophecy through his mind, trying to make himself believe in them. This prophecy was what would determine his success or his failure. The legendary prophecy. Harry fell asleep, the words ringing in his ears:

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches;

Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies;

And the Dark Lord will mark him as his heir;

For together they are invincible and apart, they die;

And if either is killed at the hand of the other;

Neither can live while the other does not;

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches;

The one whose death shall end all Evil;

Will be born as the seventh month dies ...

… to be continued …