Harry Potter and the Book of Souls

>Chapter 2 -– The Branding>

Harry felt himself drifting as a forest surrounded by swirling dark mist came into his view. The evil that hung heavily in the almost suffocating air was palpable, giving him a prickling sensation on the back of his neck. He made out the silhouette of a large owl soaring silently beside him and a fox scurrying among the dense foliage below him. Harry did not know where he was going, but something told him to follow his animal companions.

They continued on the seemingly endless path, until he heard an eerily familiar voice. A clearing came into view ahead of them, illuminated by the gibbous moon that hung low in the night sky. The crumbling figure of a fallen angel caught his attention as the owl and the fox parted ways from him, the former perched upon a high branch of a gnarled yew, while the latter took its place below at the foot of the tree.

Harry felt himself being edged onward by invisible hands and continued through the clearing until he came onto an isolated slab of granite. He peered around anxiously through the countless slabs of rock and realized that he had landed on the largest one in the area. Harry looked down and saw with surprise the name “TOM RIDDLE” engraved upon the smooth surface in large, bold letters.

‘Why am I back here?’ he thought to himself with apprehension, thinking back to the last time he was here during the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament.

The murmurs Harry heard now grew louder and more distinct until four hooded figures appeared out of the swirling fog that had enveloped him some distance away. Moments later, the icy, high-pitched voice of the Dark Lord, Voldemort addressed his companions, sending shudders down his spine.

“I see that you have once again lived up to your reputation, my slippery friend,” said Voldemort quietly in his silkiest voice. “You have brought me someone of great importance— great indeed.”

“Yes, my lord, you are very kind,” replied a voice that Harry immediately recognized as belonging to Lucius Malfoy as he bent down to kiss the hem of his master‘s robes.

"As for you,” Voldemort continued, turning towards a figure to his right who was cowering with fear. He gazed at the man with a reprimanding glare, piercing the smaller servant with his cold, crimson eyes.

“Y-yes, m-m-master?” the figure replied hoarsely, shaking with terror.

“You have been very disappointing to me, Wormtail,” The Dark Lord continued, his eyes narrowing as if viewing a potential victim, “very disappointing indeed. Why were the wards not neutralized as I had expected?”

“I-I am t-terribly s-sorry, master. W-we had encountered s-some difficulty w-with—”

“Enough of your petty excuses. I placed you in charge of this mission in hopes that you had at least the competence to perform the perfectly simple task for me. Many Death Eaters would have given their right hands for the opportunity,” Voldemort continued icily, causing Wormtail to wince, clutching onto his own silvery hand in desperation.

“B-but m-master, Dumbledore—”

“Do you think I care about that muggle-loving fool?” hissed Voldemort venomously. “He is weakened and blinded by his misplaced trust. Don’t you ever suggest that he can ever be better than I, the conqueror of mortality!”

“S-sorry, master—”

“Crucio!”

Nothing more could be heard except the agonizing screams that penetrated the fog, causing the leaves to rustle in the surrounding forest and the birds to flutter away from the evil that was present. Voldemort finally raised his wand to break the spell, leaving behind a crumpled body, now silent, quivering at his feet.

“May that be a lesson to the rest of you,” said Voldemort, turning to his companions. “Never disobey me.”

“No, master. Never, master,” muttered the two figures, bowing respectfully.

“Now, come forward, my son,” Voldemort beckoned as his enormous snake, Nagini, slithered around below him. The cloaked figure standing behind Lucius nervously stepped forward and extended his left arm, trembling with fear as he gazed into the depths of the crimson eyes of the Dark Lord’s serpentine face.

“Young one, do you pledge your unconditional loyalty towards the cause of the Dark Mark?” Voldemort hissed. “Do you recognize me as your sole master and swear to obey my every command without question?”

“Yes, master,” replied the voice under the hood timidly. The voice sounded oddly familiar to Harry’s ears, yet he could not make out to whom it belonged.

The Dark Lord reached an emaciated arm into the depths of his billowing black robes and pulled out a long, slender rod of polished wood. He placed the tip of his wand onto the pallid, tremulous flesh of the figure’s extended arm.

Muttering the incantation, “Adstringo Morsmordre,” Voldemort conjured a beam of radiant green light from the tip of his wand, singeing the pale skin. Screaming filled the air for a second time as the image of a snake emerging from a skull glowed acid green on the figure’s left arm before turning coal black, forever etched onto his limb.

Harry felt a searing pain on his scar and squeezed his eyes shut as he brought his right arm to his forehead. Instead of the sensation of clammy skin that Harry expected to receive, his fingers touched soft, downy feathers, and as he opened his incredulous eyes, he was stunned to see that his arm was replaced by a wing of fiery red.

As Voldemort spoke, his harsh, high-pitched voice, caught Harry’s attention once more. “You know what’s best for you, my son. With me you will have power beyond your wildest dreams,” said he. “And if what Lucius has told me is correct, you will prove to be very valuable to me.”

Harry could see Voldemort’s face growing bigger. He made out what was supposed to be a lipless smile stretching across Voldemort’s snake-like face. The Dark Lord’s image grew larger and larger until it was all Harry could see. Merciless laughter penetrated his ears as Harry vainly attempted to keep himself from staring straight into Voldemort’s crimson eyes and saw him slowly open his mouth and hiss, “Soon, you will be mine, Harry…”