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It was snowing and the winds were howling through the trees, not unlike a pack of banshees, the night Harry left. He left with only the clothes on his back, the locket hanging around his neck, and Hermione’s vine-wood wand gripped loosely in his fist. He left a scrap of paper with a single word written on the back for Hermione to find in the morning.
Sorry.
He knew it was a rather shit thing to do to someone who had been nothing but steadfastly loyal to him. Ron at least had deigned to have a…conversation with them before he’d run away. Though, conversation was a rather loose term for what had truly happened. A screaming match was much more appropriate. And perhaps if Harry thought Hermione might be interested in listening to his reasoning and considering this option without resorting to violent means to prevent him from leaving, he would’ve offered to bring her with him.
But Harry was tired. Exhausted. Fucking burnt out. He’d spent nearly every minute of every day for the last seven years of his life deciphering puzzles, solving mysteries and fighting the supposed forces of darkness. And what had that brought him? Exhaustion. Heartache. Bloodshed. Desperation.
When Harry and Hermione had traveled to Godric’s Hollow just a few nights ago, Hermione had discovered a book written by Rita Skeeter. A biography, for one Albus fucking Dumbledore. It was illuminating to say the least, especially considering her sources.
For one, Dumbledore had siblings. Yes. Plural. Did you know that? Harry didn’t, and he’d spent quite a bit of time with the man this past year. Learning secrets and spells that were supposed to help him conquer You-Know-Who. But apparently, he hadn’t been learning the correct secrets.
You see, Dumbledore had quite the tumultuous past. His younger sister had died of mysterious circumstances that only he and his lover knew the truth behind. The lover in question?
Gellert fucking Grindelwald.
Yes! The very same Grindelwald who had become one of the darkest wizards of their time and was currently serving a life sentence at Nurmengard Castle in Austria. Wretched place, Nurmengard. Or so Harry had read — or actually, Hermione had read and then relayed the information back to Harry. That was kind of their thing. It’s not that Harry couldn’t read, he just knew that Hermione found such joy in reading everything and then yapping about every morsel of information to anybody who would listen.
And who was Harry to take that from her?
Well. Harry was currently kind of an asshole for stealing her wand and running off with it. Especially considering it was her only means of defending herself and she was currently Undesirable Number 2 thanks to Harry. Oh well. She would forgive him eventually, she always did. That was also kind of their thing. Harry fucks up, Hermione forgives. Rinse and repeat.
This time though…might be pushing the boundaries of her ability to forgive. After all — who the fuck forgives their best friend for leaving them powerless in a forest in the middle of a war aiming to eradicate muggles and muggleborns such as herself? Especially when said best friend is on his way to join forces with the man who was hunting them down like bloody pigs for slaughter?
Ah — right.
Harry forgot to mention that bit. Let’s not stray too far from the moral of the story. Anyways. So, Harry learned that Dumbledore had been hiding these massive secrets from him…siblings with mysterious deaths and an ex-boyfriend turned Dark Wizard. But what was most shocking of all, Rita had reported that Dumbledore himself had even partaken in the dark arts a time or two thousand with intentions to harm or dispose of muggleborns — hmm, now why does that sound familiar? Naturally, it was assumed that he and Grindelwald had been wielding the dark arts together in secret — perhaps even the cause of Ariana Dumbledore’s death?
Regardless. Harry had enough of the lies and secrets. He’d been strung along by the man, going on this stupid little scavenger hunt, and where had it gotten him? Grimmauld — gone, assumedly under Death Eater control. Ron — gone, because he missed his Mummy’s food and hugs. Sirius — dead. All for a stupid, bloody locket that whispered and fed off his deepest, darkest thoughts.
And Harry knew, if a man like Dumbledore, with all of his Greater Goodness could justify the lies and secrecy and general bull fuckery…what did that mean about people like the Weasleys? Who steadfastly followed him as if he were bloody Jesus in the flesh? They had such strong opinions about what was right and what was wrong yet still treated muggles and muggleborns like it was a miracle they could get up in the morning and do anything.
Such resourceful creatures, those muggles, figuring out how to power their cars or lights without magic. Such brilliant little animals, being able to cook and clean without magic. Such clever little fools knowing how to talk or breathe without magic.
They hadn’t ever said any of it outright, but the thought was heavily implied. Harry hadn’t ever remembered ever being bothered by their sentiments, but the locket had reminded him. The locket was clever that way, showing him all that he’d ignored just for the sake of belonging. Well. Not anymore. Harry couldn’t stomach another second of false niceties. If people like Dumbledore and the Weasleys were going to hide their prejudices behind their superiority for the Greater Good, then Harry was done pretending to play nice.
With those thoughts in mind, Harry used Hermione’s wand to apparate himself to the one place he knew would get him delivered straight into the belly of the beast.
Hogsmeade, Harry thought, had always looked so lovely and magical at this time of year. Rooftops covered in snow, the warm odor of chocolate wafting through the streets from Honeydukes’ cellar, and the clinking of butter beers echoing down the lane. It was, however, a bit jarring when a loud yowling sounded off upon his feet touching the ground. Alas, Harry didn’t pay much mind to it when a dozen pops of apparition rang out around him, the streets filling with the black cloaks and silver masks of Death Eaters.
Harry slowly raised his arms in surrender, his head tilting up so that the light from the surrounding shops caught the lens of his glasses, casting an eerie glint upon the masked men. A smirk displayed prominently upon his lips. He spoke loudly and clearly so that no one could misunderstand him.
“I’ve come to see a man about a deal.”
The sky was grey, thunder echoing in the distance as rain pelted against the windows of the drawing room the day they were brought to Malfoy Manor.
It had been a relatively normal day, or as normal as any day could be during these times. A pity, it was, to ruin such niceties with the decrepit stench of Greyback and his Snatchers. Harry could already see the sneer forming on Narcissa’s lips from across the room, and they hadn’t even made it beyond the front gate.
“I can’t imagine what those Neanderthals have brought with them this time,” Lucius scoffed. “They rarely find anything or anyone of actual value.”
“So long as whoever it is will last longer under the Cruciatus Curse than the last ones who were brought to our doorstep, I couldn’t care less if they have muddy blood or not,” Bellatrix grinned.
“I’m sure Our Lord will honor you with ample time to play, Bella dear,” Narcissa sighed.
Draco and Harry exchanged looks of exasperation, rolling their eyes as if to say can you believe them? It was fascinating how well you could get along with your supposed mortal enemy once the truth was divulged and lies and prejudiced opinions were rightfully overcome. Harry found he actually liked the few Slytherins he’d met since promising his unending loyalty to Lord Voldemort. Blaise and Draco were brilliant, Pansy was hilarious and Theo was extraordinary.
“Looks like they brought two hopeless fools,” Draco sighed, voice tinged with boredom. “Ten Galleons says they brought another pair of Muggle campers.”
“Twenty Galleons says it’s a pair of annoying Gryffindors,” Harry laughed.
“You’re on,” Draco smirked. They shook on it; a light sheen of magic sparkled around their clasped hands to solidify the bet.
“Boys,” Narcissa hissed.
They exchanged one last glance before returning their attention to the front of the drawing room. Just in time too, as the doors opened and Greyback sauntered in looking smug as fuck.
“Just wait until you see what vermin we found hiding out in the forest behind Lovegood’s ratchety ass house,” he sneered. The light glinted off his yellowed teeth. Harry could practically feel Narcissa shuttering from several feet away.
“He’s one to talk when it comes to vermin and ratchety,” Draco sniffed pretentiously. Harry snickered in agreement under his breath, only stopping and regaining his wits when Narcissa and Lucius glared at them from across the room.
He’d been so involved in his aside with Draco that he nearly missed the new guests. Nearly. But not entirely.
“Dammit Pottah, you’ve won again,” Draco sighed dramatically.
“H-Harry?”
“Mate! Bloody hell! They have you too?”
“Have me…too?”
Harry had to bite the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from laughing out loud as he played into Ron’s delirium. Honestly. Did he look like a fucking trussed up prisoner? He was wearing pristine robes, his hair was clean, freshly cut and styled, and he didn’t look like a starving animal. Also, the handle of his wand was poking out from his pocket. If he was a prisoner, would he have a wand? Not unless his jailers were fucking idiots.
“We’ve been searching everywhere for you! Thought you might’ve gotten lost in the forest and decided to try to find one of the safe houses? But Mum and Dad hadn’t heard from you, neither had Remus or Tonks,” Ron rambled. “What happened to you, mate?”
Draco coughed to cover up the boisterous laughter that was threatening to break through. Harry slapped him on the back a few good times before stepping forward.
“You know, it’s funny you should ask that,” Harry drawled. His voice held an air of nonchalance which any proper pureblood heir or heiress would have been commended for by their father or governess. The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, a smirk settling on his lips as he gently pulled Hermione’s vine-wood wand from his pocket. Her quiet gasp echoed in the stillness of the drawing room. Though whether it was caused by Harry pulling her wand from his pocket, or the silent approach of him, Harry would never know for certain.
“Who do we have here, Harry?”
Harry’s smirk deepened as he watched shock, then confusion, and lastly utter betrayal flash across their pale faces, before settling on pure, raw anger.
“Some old classmates decided to drop by, My Lord,” Harry blithely answered.
“How could you? We gave everything for you!” Ron roared. He fought fruitlessly against the bindings of his captors. If Harry were honest, it was extremely entertaining to watch the man struggle. At the very least, it was pathetic, and Harry knew that Draco was getting just as much, if not more, enjoyment from it that Harry himself was.
“Ah, well, yes. You did. That is…rather unfortunate,” Harry tutted. “Perhaps next time you try to befriend someone, you’ll learn to be honest. It must have been so exhausting to keep all of the lies straight, truly. Very well done.”
Ron’s face turned a very interesting shade of puce as Hermione looked back and forth between the two of them. Shock and confusion flickered across her face before settling upon betrayal. It was a shame to be sure – Harry didn’t have any issues with Hermione, she’d merely been collateral damage in this turn of events.
Harry turned to Tom Riddle, the man himself in the actual flesh, as he’d been reunited with all of his Horcruxes at Harry’s urging. Thankfully, his sanity had also been returned upon mending his broken soul. He was just as charming and approachable as Harry remembered him being in the diary — it was no surprise the man had managed to carefully curate the end all be all of cults. “Hermione Granger, muggleborn and Undesirable Number 2, as well as Ronald Weasley, pureblood and Undesirable Number 3, My Lord. What would you like us to do with them?”
Tom stood in place, his eyes narrowed as he assessed Ron and Hermione. His face remained neutral, though his fingers marginally tightened around the handle of his wand. He raised his other hand towards the back of the room and Harry felt the atmosphere in the room bleed with tension as the unmistakable sound of slithering caressed his ears. Nagini appeared out of the corner of Harry’s eyes as she approached her master.
Tom turned to stare directly at Harry, his eyes flashing red, before he began speaking to him in Parsletongue.
“Tell me, Harry, what are they good for? Recruitment has been rather abysmal, and I’m willing to accept anything at this point.”
“They’ll never agree to your terms,” Harry snorted.
“I don’t need them to be willing; I just need bodies with sound minds — the Imperius will manage the rest.”
Harry hummed in acknowledgment. He pondered the request for a moment before he spoke.
“If that’s the case, Hermione would be your best bet. She’s brilliant, quite possibly the smartest person I have ever met. Definitely could have outwitted the likes of Merlin and Rowena if given the chance. Though, regrettably, she does not have much patience or tolerance for most people, Ron and myself included. She’s extremely sympathetic, especially to those in need, but, and possibly the part you will appreciate the most, she has a rather mean streak and could enact the most glorious of revenge schemes imaginable.”
Harry swore he saw a twinkle or sparkle of intrigue in Tom’s eyes when he mentioned her mean streak. Though the man didn’t say anything he nodded for Harry to continue.
“Ron, contrarily, is rather dim witted. He takes things very literally but is good at following directions. He is direly lacking in common sense but makes up for it with his strategies. In first year, he conquered McGonagall’s giant chess set in the Chamber of Secrets all on his own — I’m not certain I’ve ever seen him lose a game. Unfortunately, he is very emotive, easily provoked and quick to anger. He would not last long in your inner circle unless you find someone to keep him on a tight leash.”
Tom chuckled under his breath before turning back to the room. His eyes lingered on Hermione with a trace of interest that hadn’t been there before. Harry found that Tom’s sudden scrutiny wasn't nearly as surprising as he would have previously assumed. Hermione and Tom were rather similar in ways that Harry was only just now recognizing.
“I have no need to dispose of them — they were only listed so highly on the list of undesirables because of their proximity to you, Harry. And you found your way to me all on your own,” Tom chuckled softly. “Go ahead and do with them as you please, Bella. It makes no difference to me whether they live or die. What about you, Harry — do they matter to you?”
The room stilled as Tom turned to Harry with his inquiry. Sharp eyes bore into Harry’s soul as everyone awaited Harry’s answer with bated breath. Harry counted the seconds in his head that seemed appropriate for a dramatic pause — 10. Or wait, maybe 13. Yes. 13 seconds felt significantly dramatic. Lucky number 13.
“No,” he replied without hesitation, voice steady. Coldly. “They don’t matter to me.”
A sound which registered somewhere between disbelief and despair fell from Hermione’s lips. A grin curled at the edge of Tom’s lips as he tipped his head back and laughed merrily.
“Oh my, what a treat! I never thought I’d see the day where all of Albus’ plans completely unraveled. It’s a shame he isn’t still alive, I would have so enjoyed seeing the look on his face when his beloved Golden Trio fell apart, and his Chosen One joined the Dark Side. See, this is why you should never try to manipulate with more than half a brain — they will always turn on you in the end.
“Bella, dear, you’ve been so quiet and patient. Go ahead — have your fun.” Tom laughed cruelly as a blood-thirsty grin broke out on Bellatrix’s lips. Her eyes glazed over with greed and lust as she watched Hermione and Ron tremble between the snatchers. “But do keep in mind that I’d like them back mostly in one piece — my forces require a bit of…volume. And do be sure to clean up when you’re done. Your lovely sister and brother-in-law have been so gracious to host our festivities, I would hate to offend them by leaving stains on their carpets.”
“Harry,” Hermione gasped, her eyes glazing over with unshed tears. “Please. Don’t do this. We — I’ll forgive you.”
“Hermione,” Harry mocked. He held his arms out wide in front of him. “Does it look like I’m suffering a hardship?”
Her lips trembled as tears slowly fell down her sunken cheeks. A slight stirring of guilt swirled deep, deep within his chest, but it disappeared nearly as quickly as it had arrived. His time with the dark side, no matter how short, had changed his perspective on everything. He wasn’t blinded by foolish things such as friendship or, Harry physically shuttered at the thought, love. Dumbledore had played him for the fool by offering up those childish notions, things he’d thought he’d been missing his entire life. But truly, what had love and friendship ever afforded him?
Exhaustion. Heartache. Bloodshed. Desperation.
He’d been raised like a pig for slaughter for the Greater Good all because he’d been blinded by the prospect of a loving home with open arms and acceptance. Well. He didn’t need to be loved to be accepted — Riddle had proven that much already. He just needed to be loyal.
And Harry knew so much about loyalty.
“Why? Please, Harry, if you ever cared for us — for me, please, just tell us why,” Hermione whimpered. Ron remained steadfastly silent, a perpetual glare set upon his ruddy face. As if that would frighten him into what — obedience? Begging for forgiveness or a second chance? Ew, as if.
Harry chuckled mirthlessly, his tone dripping in darkness.
“Isn’t it obvious?” He asked slowly, as if talking to a child who wasn’t quite grasping the concept of Wingardium Leviosa. “I wanted to win.”