The Darkness Within

The Darkness Within

Chapter 5: Defining Loyalties

Harry walked resolutely through the dark corridors and hallways of Hogwarts, towards the library and its Restricted Section. His father's invisibility cloak was thrown over his shoulders.

He needed information; he needed books - something to teach him how to be a Death Eater. It wasn't like he could ask someone to help him or train him. There was nobody to trust, but at the same time, there was nobody to put in danger. And he was content with that.

Only it was making life rather difficult for him. Sneaking into the Restricted Section in the middle of the night to steal books about the Dark Arts was not something he wanted to get caught doing. That would be difficult to explain. So, he made his way as quietly as possible through the rows upon rows of books, looking for something even remotely useful, all the while reminding himself of the reason why he was doing this.

If Harry Potter was going to be a trusted lieutenant of Voldemort, his heir apparent, he had to make sure he could play the role. And that meant the Dark Arts, advanced Dark Arts. He probably should not even use anything besides the Dark Arts. After all, Lord All-and-Mighty had to believe his conversion genuine. He was going to make Voldemort want to have him as his servant and heir. The old snake was going to have to trust him. There was a big difference between him believing the prophecy and his resulting inability to kill Harry without committing suicide, and giving the young man the position of trust Harry needed for the completion of his plan.

Walking through the Restricted Section, Harry felt almost paranoid, avoiding every black and silver volume that even remotely reminded him of the large, screaming book from his first night time excursion into the library. Still, the pile of books in his arms kept on growing with every passing moment. He had no idea there were this many books about something so forbidden in Hogwarts.

'Why are you surprised?' his by now familiar inner voice was running the commentary. 'The Dark Lord himself went to this school, got his knowledge from here, trained here, and devoured the same books you're holding now. You are following in his footsteps.'

I'm not. He was a power hungry murderer.

'Aah, but why did he learn the Arts?' retorted the voice. 'He studied them to learn to kill, to kill without consequences. Kill for revenge. To murder for his goals. Why are you here, looking at the books about the Dark Arts?'

I'm training to defeat him.

'Hmm, let's see. You are learning to take revenge for your godfather, thus you're learning to kill out of anger. And you are learning to kill. Kill without consequences. You know you'll have to murder innocents. And you know, in the end if you succeed, no one will hold it against you. You'll be a great hero. You will have killed for The Cause; your goals will redeem you in the eyes of the world. So, tell me how are you different? Revenge, anger, ambition ... a murderer.'

Harry stood, holding the books, and walked out of the library, shaking his head.

No. I do it to keep people safe, people I love. Voldemort kills to destroy and he loves no one.

But as Harry tried to fall asleep in his bed after returning from his late night trek, he heard the word 'murderer' over and over again in his mind.

Harry was sitting in his favourite chair in the Gryffindor House common room, an open book resting in his hands. His eyes were closed, thinking. A couple of weeks had passed from his late night trip to the Restricted Section, a couple of weeks without friends. Time spent learning and training.

Every night, after Ron and his other dorm mates had fallen asleep, he took the invisibility cloak from his trunk and made the journey to the most useful and private room in the castle: the Room of Requirement. At first, he had found a replica of the common room, where he could study the forbidden books without anyone looking over his shoulder. As time advanced and his skills grew, the room changed. Little things at first. A few less lights, a few more shadows. The room was evolving with him. Growing darker, more dangerous. Last night, when he had been there, all he found was a single dim light next to his chair in a room of shadowed corners and blood red furniture.

He had sunk into the chair in the room and opened the book to the last chapter. The Unforgivables: the most forbidden, darkest curses of the Arts. His learning was reaching its end, he thought, sitting alone in the room. Soon it would be time. Soon.

He opened his eyes to discover Hermione standing right in front of him, blocking his view of the fire. She had an impatient look in her eyes.

"Harry! Harry, are you listening to me?"

He sat up straighter. "Hmm, Hermione, what were you saying?"

"I was just telling you to talk to Ron. This has gone on long enough." Her face was softening though.

"I don't know what you mean, Hermione," he said, while consciously avoiding her eyes. He shifted in the chair, trying to make himself more comfortable.

Unfortunately, the bushy-haired girl didn't seem to notice his unease.

"Harry, you're acting childish. Shutting us both out for something that isn't even about you!" Hermione huffed.

She went on, "You're acting like Ron in the fourth year. Holding a grudge. Not willing to let it go."

"This is between me and Ron. It has absolutely nothing to do with you," he told her.

She seemed confused.

Damn, of course she thought it was about her. Harry tried to backtrack, "It was about me not telling Ron; lying to him."

"But that's silly! You did not lie to him about anything! Even Ron sees it now. You're just being stubborn. We miss you, Harry, you've been avoiding both of us lately." She didn't give up, crouching lower to be face to face with her long time friend.

Harry acted dismissive. "I was busy. Still am."

"Harry, you have never been too busy for your friends before. What's going on?" A curious and somewhat angry voice continued questioning him.

She was getting too close now. Hermione had always been a bit too smart for her own good. He decided to stall and derail from the topic of interest.

"I guess you've been a good influence on me, Hermione. I've been studying." It wasn't a lie, not really.

"Okay, but Harry, talk to Ron. Promise me."

There was no getting around that pleading voice. "I promise, Hermione."

"Soon," she specified.

"Soon," he agreed, watching her retreat to her chair near the fire. She started up a conversation with Ginny and occasionally, one of the girls would glance in his direction. His ears were burning.

Harry wasn't happy. It had been a mistake to make that promise to Hermione. Both of his friends had been trying to make up with him for weeks now. So far, he had succeeded in delaying the eventual confrontation. But with this promise, it would have to happen soon. And then, he would have to look his friends in the eyes and lie. Just flat-out lie to them, because there was no way he was going to let them find out what he was doing. He had to keep them at a distance, both for their safety and for his.

That evening, Harry made his way to the Room of Requirement for the finalisation of his studies into the Dark Arts. A final test. He paced three times back and forth in front of the empty wall. A door appeared. He opened it and walked in. The noise coming from the room was frightening for the reason of what it implied.

It was the exited chatter of two small monkeys in a cage together. He looked at the little fellows, like two small, hairy and really, really ugly children. This was the completion of his training.

The young man brandished his wand. The room had provided for his needs, he thought, as he pointed the wand at one of the creatures and uttered the Unforgivable spell he had used once before in his life.

"Crucio!" left his lips.

Nothing happened, the world was still peaceful. There were no cries of pain. It hadn't worked. He couldn't do it. He felt frustrated. He also felt relieved.

'Oh-no. No, Harry, my boy. You're not going to give up so easily. Try again. Come on; try again. Say it.'

"CRUCIO!"

This time there were screams. This time he had succeeded. His shoulders slumped in relief and in shame. He could do it. Next up: Imperio. It was by far the easiest of Dark spells, because he didn't have to hurt anybody with it.

The spell cast, Harry felt the simple, uncomplicated mind of the small creature. For a second, envy enveloped him; so easy, such a peaceful existence. He felt the mind bow to his will, to his command. A moment later, the monkey was performing a hair-raisingly incompetent rendition of an Irish jig. It was hilarious. He started laughing with tremendous relief, forgetting the real reason why he could enjoy a show like that. It did not last long, though. Harry's hiccupping, hysterical laughter subsided.

There was a final spell left. Harry collected all the darkness residing in his mind, all the anger, all the hate, all the resentment he felt towards his fate at being destined to do this. And he forced it into one spell.

"Avada Kedavra!"

A blinding green light engulfed the room. When it finally cleared, the dancing monkey was lying there, dead. It was so easy; killing is so easy.

Harry felt tears well up inside of him. His eyes turned into a dam, keeping the flood in. It was a lost battle, however, and a moment later, his sobs filled the room. The Boy Who Lived, hero of the wizarding world, kneeled in front of the body of a dead animal in mourning. He mourned the loss of a life, the loss of innocence.

'Boy! Boy, stop it,' the voice was screaming into his mind. 'Stop crying, you weak little child. Do you think Voldemort will appreciate a killer with a conscience? You cannot cry, boy. You can't mourn. So stop it now! And try again. Do it again. Do it!'

Harry opened his eyes and slowly stood up. The feeling of unreality was consuming. He felt as though he were underwater, or dreaming. Slowly, ever so slowly, he turned around to face the second creature. Then he aimed his wand. The green light flashed again.

This time there were no tears. His face a mask, his heart made of stone, Harry Potter left the Room of Requirement.

He returned to the Gryffindor Tower and his comfortable bed, and lay down to catch a few moments of sleep before another busy day. Harry closed his eyes and to his surprise awakened the next morning having slept the night through without a single nightmare.

Harry got up, bathed, dressed and walked down the spiral staircase. The room below was empty except for two people sitting on a sofa near the portrait hole. He groaned inwardly as Hermione got up and with a nudge, directed Ron towards him. The boy stood up.

"We have to talk, mate," Ron told Harry.

Hermione had disappeared through the portrait hole by now, leaving the two boys facing each other in the middle of the common room. Harry motioned for Ron to follow him to a seat near the window. He sat down himself and said, "Go on then; say what you want."

Ron seemed terribly nervous and determined at the same time. He didn't sit down next to Harry. Instead, he stood in front of him, leaning on the nearby table.

He took a deep breath. "I wanted to talk to you about that evening. I wanted to apologise."

Harry appeared unconcerned, as he had with Hermione. "You don't have to apologise, Ron. There is nothing wrong."

"Don't do that, Harry. There is obviously something wrong; you have barely spoken to Hermione or me for two weeks. You avoid us in lessons and you don't sit with us during dinner. I am sorry, Harry, if that is my fault. I didn't mean to shout at you when you told me about Hermione. I was just angry and disappointed and surprised." Ron paused for breath. "I do trust you, you're my best friend. So, I am sorry."

Against his will, Harry felt a smile tugging at his lips. "Okay, who are you and what have you done with Ron?"

The redhead smiled in return. "I guess I realised that we all have to grow up sometime, and it is my time. After you left that night, I had time to think about things. It took all night, but I realised that I was wrong to take my anger out on you, Harry. You and Hermione are both too important to me to risk losing you, no matter what. So, can you forgive me?"

Harry wanted nothing more in that moment than to forget every single event of the past weeks, every single decision he had made, and start again. Go back to how things were; go back to being a member of the Golden Trio, the silent rulers of Gryffindor House. But time had a funny way of moving on, taking the past with it and changing people in its passing. Harry too had grown up and realised he had been born for a destiny and now, it was his job to make sure that this destiny, this prophecy was fulfilled. He looked at Ron's outstretched hand and forced himself to ignore it.

"I am sorry, Ron, but give me some time," he made himself say.

The proffered hand dropped, as did the small smile on Ron's face, but the boy only nodded. The moment passed. Harry got up from where he was sitting and the two Gryffindors walked out the common room towards the Great Hall, side by side as hundreds of times before. But the easy camaraderie was gone, the ready laughter absent. It was as though two pretenders had taken the place of old friends. When the boys reached the Hall and walked in together, Hermione looked up and smiled. But the cheerful look vanished from her face the instant her friends got close enough to her so that she could notice the blank, guarded expression on Harry's face and Ron's stiff gait. As the boys neared and sat down, she played the role of buffer to Ron on her left and Harry, sitting on her right hand. The talk had obviously not gone well.

Some days later, as Harry was strolling distractedly through a fourth floor hallway, when rounding a corner, he came face to face with Professor Dumbledore. He stopped, startled. Dumbledore paused as well. Then the old wizard in purple robes smiled.

"Ah, Mr Potter. I had a feeling I would find you wandering around these parts. I wonder if you could spare a few minutes of your time for a talk with your Headmaster?"

Harry was a little panicked. Did Dumbledore suspect something? The old man had shown no interest in him since the beginning of the term in September; and by now, the Christmas break was nearing. Having no real choice in the matter, he nodded his consent.

"Excellent," the Headmaster's eyes were a twinkling blue behind his half-moon glasses. "Follow me then."

Dumbledore led Harry through some passageways until they came to a stop before the stone gargoyle. "Lemon Sherbet," Dumbledore said, and both he and Harry stepped through the opening onto the upwards spinning staircase. Upon entering the office, Dumbledore went to sit in his chair behind the large desk and gestured for Harry to take a seat opposite him.

"Harry, I have wanted to talk to you for some time now. I am sorry I haven't found the time before, but -" He paused and leaned closer over the table to look straight at Harry, the twinkle in his eyes dying. "I am afraid it cannot be delayed any longer. Professor Snape has brought a certain incident to my attention. I am sure you know I mean the episode in Potions class with young Mr Malfoy. Professor Snape has informed me of the details of the encounter and I must commend you, Harry, for your quick thinking in saving Mr Malfoy's ... skin, let us say. But I understand that in doing so you saw something quite unexpected," Dumbledore trailed off, lifting a questioning eyebrow.

Feeling some relief that his secret was still safe, and somewhat happy for the opportunity to question Dumbledore, Harry continued for him, "You mean the Dark Mark, Professor, on Malfoy's arm? Yes, I did see that. Snape - "

"Professor Snape," Dumbledore interrupted, putting emphasis on the word 'Professor'.

"Professor Snape told me not to tell anyone about it. I had wondered if even you knew about it, Sir. I mean, obviously you do, but I just don't understand how you could let a Death Eater into Hogwarts. He is a servant of Voldemort; there is no telling what he will do. How could you endanger the Muggleborn students like that? They feel safe in Hogwarts but they're not; they can't be with a Death Eater walking around!" He was out of breath, all the thoughts he had had upon seeing the mark bubbling out.

Professor Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling again. "While I do appreciate your concern for the safety of your fellow students, there never was any great danger. Professor Snape informed me of young Malfoy's initiation into the Death Eaters ranks during the summer right after the event itself. I made the decision to allow Mr Malfoy to return to Hogwarts with the full certainty that if he were given an order to inflict any kind of harm upon other students, Professor Snape would know about it the minute it happened. So would I, and I would be able to prevent anything unfortunate from occurring. So you see, Harry, there really is nothing to worry about."

Harry couldn't believe this. He butted in with, "Professor, I don't see why you would have him here in the first place! Even without him posing a threat, why would you allow him to continue his education when he is already a Death Eater? It is like perfecting one of Voldemort's weapons for him!"

"Do you remember that Professor Snape was also a Death Eater, Harry, and that he is now a spy for the Order? By giving young Malfoy a chance, he has the opportunity to redeem himself." Dumbledore sounded very serious now. "Do you see what I mean, Harry?"

Damn, Harry thought, this cannot be happening. Out loud though, he said, "You mean Malfoy is a spy for you? Like Snape?" He held his breath, waiting for the answer.

"A spy? I'm afraid not, Harry, but I do hope that young Mr Malfoy can be returned to the Light side. What I intended by comparing him to Severus Snape was to show you that anybody can be redeemed if they want to. Mr Malfoy is still young and impressionable, and I hope that by keeping him at Hogwarts - by not letting him spend all his time surrounded by the evil he was raised in - he may rethink his options and his choices. Harry, I will not be able to keep him here were it to become known among the students that he is, in fact, a Death Eater. I must insist on the seriousness of this situation, Harry, and ask you to keep this knowledge from everyone." He smiled. "And please convey my request to Mr Weasley and Miss Granger as well, as I am sure you have by now informed them of your discovery."

Harry squirmed a little under the old wizards gaze. "Actually, I haven't told anyone, like Snape asked me."

The Headmaster appeared startled and not a little concerned by this revelation. "Not even your friends?"

Harry shook his head, feeling uncomfortable as the Professor peered straight into his eyes. Suddenly, the old man said, "I feel I have to apologise to you, Harry; old habits die hard."

By now, Harry was feeling quite confused. Looking at the white-bearded man, he asked, "Apologise for what, Sir?"

Dumbledore got up from his desk and walked over to Harry, taking the chair next to the boy. "I must admit I was quite interested if your silence on the matter had something to do with the small rift in your friendships that I have detected recently, or whether you had developed a sudden loyalty to Professor Snape." The Headmaster let out a small chuckle at that point. "Since logical deduction states the last option as less realistic, I wondered what the reasons behind your disagreement with your friends might be. And for that reason, I must apologise."

"I don't -" Harry began, his brow furrowed, but was silenced by Dumbledore.

"Occlumency, my dear boy," the man said. Harry's heart missed a beat. He felt his fingernails dig deep into the palms in his hands. The pain was irrelevant, however, as panicked thoughts ruled his mind. Occlumency? Oh, God. Did Dumbledore know? How could he have been so stupid? Of course Dumbledore knew! Everything was over. The old man could read his mind.

And so could Voldemort. Voldemort could read his mind. He would read his mind the moment he saw Harry. How could he have done something so idiotic? How could I forget something like that ... Dumbledore, who didn't seem to have noticed anything was wrong, interrupted his trail of thought.

"I must apologise for trying to read your mind," the old man was saying. "But I must also congratulate you."

Congratulate?

"It seems Voldemort's last attempted to control you at the Department of Mysteries last summer has made your mind immune to outside interference. I was not able to reach any of your thoughts and I would say this means that neither can anybody else."

Harry's heart resumed beating normally and his clenched hands relaxed. Everything is all right. It was better than all right. He now had a lot of useful information he did not have before this talk with the headmaster. The smile came naturally to his lips and relief was evident in his voice.

"Really, Professor? Does that mean that Voldemort won't be able to send me any more visions?"

"It does indeed, Mr Potter." Dumbledore was smiling as well. Then he stood up and informed Harry it was time to go to the Great Hall for dinner. They left the office and walked together in silence. Professor Dumbledore was sporting his usual little half-smile and Harry was too busy with his thoughts to pursue further conversation.

He now knew for sure that Malfoy was a loyal Death Eater, and that Snape, on the other hand, was on Dumbledore's side of this war. These facts entailed that for his plan to succeed without interruptions, Harry's ticket to Voldemort was Draco Malfoy, and that Snape could not discover his apparent conversion to the Dark side.

He planned the story he would tell Malfoy to get the boy to take him to Voldemort without informing his mentor and Head of House. He also had to figure out a way to convince Voldemort to keep his identity secret from said Head of House. It wouldn't do for Dumbledore to find out what he was doing and come to the wrong conclusions.

His dinner finished, Harry sat in the Great Hall, discreetly watching the Slytherin table. The moment he saw Draco Malfoy get up, Harry stood and made his way to the doors.

After a moment's wait, the Slytherin exited the Hall and they were alone in the hallway. Harry stepped up behind the blond boy, startling him.

"Malfoy," he hissed quietly, "if you don't want the entire school to know about the little decoration on your arm, meet me in the Trophy Room. Tonight. One o'clock."

Without waiting for an answer, he turned his back on the Slytherin and stalked off.

... to be continued ...