lomonaaeren

Corban’s Marking takes place in the same ritual room where Harry gave Pansy her Mark.

Of course, they’ve taken some precautions, after the way that Ron and Hermione managed to intrude last time. Harry has Theo on watch at the door, and Draco and Pansy standing at the corners of the ritual circle with their wands drawn. He doesn’t know what would happen if his friends came in and saw him doing this, and he doesn’t know what would happen if he were interrupted in the middle of a Marking.

But nothing happens other than Corban—he’ll still have to be Professor Yaxley in the classroom, but not outside it—kneeling and offering his arm. Harry takes a deep breath and carefully impresses the chimera over the Dark Mark.

For long moments, Harry believes it’s not going to work. The chimera and the snake of the Dark Mark seem to be fighting it out, roaring or hissing silently at one another. And Corban’s teeth are clenched, a long drop of sweat sliding down his face.

But then, abruptly, the snake fades and the chimera appears. Harry sighs a little and steps back to stare into Corban’s face.

“How do you feel?” he asks quietly.

Corban kneels with his head bowed and his sides heaving like a bellows. Harry does have to wonder if he regrets it. But then Corban leans back on his heels and looks up at Harry with wonder.

“I didn’t even realize how much the Dark Mark hurt until it was gone,” he says hoarsely. “I had become accustomed to the pain.”

“Why would my father torture loyal followers?”

“I don’t think most of them think of it as torture,” Corban says slowly, eyebrows furrowed as he stares at Harry. “They become accustomed to the pain, too. They just—they think of it as the price for being close to the Dark Lord.”

Harry wants to be sick. But he’s in front of his courtiers, including his new one, and he doesn’t know if he can afford such a show of weakness.

You could, my lord. We would guard you with our lives and never speak of it.

That’s all right, Harry sends back to Theo, and focuses on Corban again. “You’ll let me know if you have any pain in the coming days, or if it—burns like my father’s Mark did?”

“Of course, my lord.” Corban is climbing to his feet, staring in awe down at the chimera and flexing his arm now and then as if it’s even a wonder to see it move. “I’ll let you know right away.” He gives Harry an unexpectedly sweet smile and slips out of the ritual room.

“That went well,” Pansy murmurs.

Harry nods, soft and inexpressible relief moving through him. He was sure that something would go badly wrong, but he Marked his first adult courtier, and he has a thick bond forming in the back of his mind where Corban stands now, and—

It was fine.

He starts to reply to Pansy, but his vision abruptly swims, and he falls to his knees as the sight of an imaginary room overlays the ritual chamber where he stands with his courtiers. He can hear their frantic questions, but he can’t respond to them. His head is pounding, and his eyes are full of the red glare of Voldemort’s eyes.

Harry pushes himself slowly back to his feet, wondering if his father, too late, is going to retract his permission to mark Corban.

But nothing of the sort happens. Instead, his father snaps in Parseltongue, “Did you know anything of their insane plans?”

“Whose insane plans?”

“Your friends. Your former friends. They are conducting a raid on the outside wards of Malfoy Manor as we speak.”

Harry feels his mouth fall open. He never thought he would really have anything to do with Ron, Hermione, or Ginny again. They’ve made their choice. “What—what would make them do something that mental?’

Father examines him for a long, intent moment with flaring eyes, and then inclines his head. “Good. You knew nothing. They seem, from what the wards have overheard of them, to think that is my headquarters.”

Well, it was during the summer. Harry wonders for a moment if he gave something about that away when he last talked to Ron and Hermione, and then buries the thought. It doesn’t matter. “Did they—did anyone get hurt?”

“I see where your priorities lie, my son. With them, not with my Death Eaters.”

Harry maintains a stubborn silence. Lucius isn’t his courtier, and neither is Mrs. Malfoy, although Harry would be sorry to hear that she got hurt. And he doesn’t know of any other Death Eaters staying with the Malfoys right now.

Voldemort finally gives a sound that’s as close to a snarl as a hiss can come, and says, “There was slight damage to the wards and the gates. Nothing else.”

Harry nods, weak with relief. “Do you have any idea why they attacked? I mean, they must have thought for a long time that it was a Death Eater headquarters. They could have gone after it last term. Or last year.”

This time, Voldemort’s frustration reflects in the Horcrux link between them, a hot shimmering anger. “I do not know. I was not able to get any spies close enough to them to overhear what they might have said.”

Harry doesn’t know what kind of spies Voldemort is talking about, and he doesn’t know that he needs to. “I’m sorry,” he offers.

“For what? You said you did not know of their plans.”

“And I didn’t. I just mean that I’m sorry they disrupted your—sleep, or whatever it was.”

Voldemort hisses with amusement this time. “I was not sleeping when Lucius summoned me. I do not sleep as you understand it except for a few hours at a time. It is more like waking meditation. But your apologies are accepted for the inconvenience.”

Harry swallows back nervousness. Not sleeping sounds terrible, even with the nightmares he has. He wonders if he will become more like Voldemort as he gets older, if that’s what being a Horcrux does to you, and then cuts that off, too.

“Have they spoken to you lately?”

It takes a moment for Harry to bring his thoughts away from Voldemort and Horcruxes in the direction of Ron and Hermione. And Ginny, he supposes. He shakes his head. “They stay at a distance and whisper about me.”

“What do they whisper?”

“Uh, I don’t know. I only think it’s about me because they’re always looking in my direction.”

“Of course it is about you, my son. They have nothing else of distinction in their pathetic lives.”

Harry swallows back laughter. He thinks he shouldn’t be so amused, but he is, and he can’t help it. “Maybe.”

“I am right. And I wish you to assign one of your courtiers to monitor them and make sure they will be no danger to you.”

Harry blinks. “Can it be someone I haven’t Marked yet?”

“Who is it?”

“Um, his name’s Justin Finch-Fletchley. A Muggleborn. He wants to become a courtier to see what the truth is, I think.” Telling Voldemort that Justin wants to keep Harry from going full insane Dark Lord, or that that’s part of his motivation, is probably not a recipe for a happy life for Justin. “But I insisted that he wait a few days and really think about whether he wanted my Mark or just wanted to be an advisor of sorts. It might be better if he doesn’t have the Mark if he’s going to get close to Ron and Hermione.”

Merlin, Harry hates thinking like this, hates treating his closest friends as the enemy. But Theo and Draco would probably say that it’s about time he did, since they’ve decided that Harry’s one.

Voldemort is eerily quiet, and Harry gives him a wary look. Maybe he doesn’t like the thought of Harry having non-pureblood courtiers.

“Only the desperate among the Muggleborns came to me. Or the hate-filled.”

“What?”

“The ones who hated themselves and wanted to injure others of their own kind because of their hatred. Or the ones who thought I would keep them safe.” Voldemort makes a scoffing sound that Harry would die before admitting he agrees with. “They should have known my politics better.”

“So you’re—happy that I managed to attract a Muggleborn who’s not like that?”

“You have done what I could never do.” Voldemort gives Harry a dazzling, terrible smile. “You are the best of me.”

Harry just stares at him with his mouth a little open. It seems so out of character for Voldemort to admit that someone is better than himself. Or is he just really admitting it about himself, still, since Harry is a Horcrux?

Voldemort gives a laugh as terrible as his smile. “I will release you from the vision now. Your courtiers must be worried.”

The vision does indeed fade, and Harry finds himself sprawled on the floor of the ritual room. His face is stinging. He reaches up to touch his cheek, thinking that maybe he bruised it when he fell, and then Pansy slaps him again.

“Ow,” Harry says.

“You weren’t responding to us!”

Basilisk slithers into the room before Harry can reply to Pansy, nothing more than a rippling blur of motion to his courtiers, and curls hard around his arm. “I could not feel you. You were gone beyond the reach of our bond. You are not to do that again.” The bond is dark and flowing with purple like a bruise. “I do not like it.”

“My father wanted to see me,” Harry explains as he strokes her scales and lets her curl into the warm hollow under his chin.

“I will explain to the blood-master that he is not to do that again.”

Harry snorts despite himself, and looks up to see Pansy standing with her hands on her hips. He sighs and starts to explain.

*

Lord Voldemort stands before the Christmas tree that he did not take down after Harry left and studies the fairy lights on it. Inside, his mind churns with gold and red and green. He understands.

He had doubts about his plan before, simply because of how much effort and sacrifice it would take, but now he understands. Harry has drawn a Muggleborn courtier to him, one who wants to serve and is not simply consumed by hatred, and that is not something that Lord Voldemort could ever do.

Harry has done things Lord Voldemort could never do.

Harry is the best of him.

Lord Voldemort nods. He understands the message that is being shouted at him. He never thought like this before, but then, he never had a son before.

Or he never knew he had a son before. Lily Potter knew, other must have suspected, and they took and kept his son from him and they deserve to be tortured to death, burned alive while bleeding from Nagini’s bite—

But Lord Voldemort restrains himself. He is truly not the best at all if he can think like this. Harry manages to exist in the same school with his former friends who thoroughly betrayed him, and he is largely indifferent to them.

Lord Voldemort must go on investigating ways to implement his plan, and making sure that there is no other plan that will work better.

But in the churning currents of obsidian and bronze and gold twining through his mind, he does not think there is.

*

“Are you all right, Ginny?”

“I’ll live.”

Hermione gives her friend a tense smile. Ginny is leaning against a couch in a version of the Room of Requirement that they made to be open to the three of them only. It’s otherwise pretty much a replica of the Gryffindor common room, with a quiet fire and squashy comfortable chairs in red and gold.

Hermione touches her wand to the burn on Ginny’s arm, given by the Malfoy wards, and speaks in a strong, confident voice for all that she wants to cry. “Episkey.”

That spell is generally for healing simple breaks and the like, but it’s the only one Hermione knows. And they can hardly go to Madam Pomfrey for this. There’s no story they can come up with that would explain why they have such extensive injuries, and ones that Madam Pomfrey could tell were caused by wards and enchantments instead of hexes.

Or maybe she couldn’t, but there’s still no way that they can take the chance.

Ginny flinches and hisses as the burn squirms like a snake and then vanishes. Hermione leans back against the chair she’s sitting on, exhausted. It turns out that her theory worked and putting enough power into the spell made it capable of healing a lot, but she doesn’t think she can stand for a while.

“Do you think it worked?”

Hermione turns towards Ron. He has an arm in a sling right now, because Hermione only managed to partially heal the broken bone that resulted from the Malfoy wards throwing him. She will try again in a little while when she’s not so exhausted. Hermione shakes her head. “Voldemort didn’t show up.”

Ron closes his eyes at the name, but doesn’t flinch all over the place the way that Hermione has got used to so many people (childishly) doing. “Okay. All right. Then we have to try again, right?”

“I don’t know if I can try again.”

Hermione glances at Ginny, concerned. Her voice is small and she huddles on her couch with her hair draping over her face. “Gin?” Hermione asks softly.

“It’s so—it’s so hopeless, Hermione!” Ginny sits back up, tossing her long hair, and her face is twisted into an ugly expression of complete despair. “We tried our best, and Voldemort still didn’t show up! Malfoy didn’t even come out of his Manor! And without Harry, we don’t have a hope of defeating them! How are we supposed to do this?”

“There’s still Professor Dumbledore’s plan. You know he said he couldn’t tell us much now, but he would do it.”

Ginny closes her eyes. “All right. But if it turns out that his plan doesn’t work, then I don’t know if I can do this again.”

Ron opens his mouth. Hermione catches his eye and shakes her head firmly. She understands why Ginny sounds so defeated. They thought this would be a lot easier than it was. Why wouldn’t Voldemort come roaring like a madman to his Death Eater’s aid?

Unless he’s just so selfish that he doesn’t care about even his Death Eaters, but that just makes it more unbelievable that Harry would think he’s a good person.

“It’ll get easier, Ginny,” Hermione says, as calm as deep water. “I promise. This was only our first time, and we only got minor injuries and we made it out well. Professor Dumbledore never failed the Order of the Phoenix during the first war, did he?”

“I don’t know, Hermione. A lot of them died.”

Hermione flinches, because that’s a point she never considered before. But she picks up the burden—since Professor Dumbledore isn’t here to do it for them—and soldiers on. “Then we’ll just have to ask him and question his plan and make sure it doesn’t fail.”

Ginny looks at her with haunted eyes. “You really think we have a chance?”

“Of course we do.” Hermione sits up. Maybe she doesn’t believe it in her heart of hearts, but she has to believe it for Ginny’s sake, and so she does. “Professor Dumbledore will tell us his plan. It’ll work. You’ll see.”

Ginny is silent for a few long moments. Then she nods. “I suppose I can at least wait and see what he says.”

Hermione gives her a smile. It occurs to her that if Ginny had given up on this fight against Voldemort, she wouldn’t have been the first person who had, and not the person whose defection would hurt them the worst, either.

But that has already happened.

Oh, Harry. I don’t understand you.

*

The bond that blossoms to life in the back of Harry’s mind the minute he finishes Marking Justin—who didn’t want to wait longer just to spy on Ron and Hermione—makes him stagger. It’s surprisingly strong. He doesn’t think it’s as strong as his bond with Theo was when he first placed the Mark, but it’s stronger than Draco’s was that evening.

“I—” Harry clears his throat and steps back to look at Justin, who is studying him with narrowed eyes. “You’re really serious about keeping an eye on me, aren’t you?”

“Did you think I wasn’t, Potter—or whatever you call yourself now? Of course I am.”

“You should call him my lord,” Theo smoothly interjects, although the bond linking him to Harry buzzes with both amusement and irritation.

Justin looks at Theo for a moment. Then he says, “No, thanks, don’t think I will.”

“Finch-Fletchley—”

Justin turns away from Draco and Pansy’s simultaneous warnings and fixes his eyes on Harry. “Are you the kind of person who’s going to demand a title?” he asks. “Because I’d be interested to know if you are.”

“You realize that you can’t rupture the bond of the Mark just because you don’t like it? I thought you understood that.”

“Answer my question, please.”

Harry rolls his eyes and does. “I’m not going to demand the title. But you’re going to cause friction with my other courtiers if you don’t use it.” At least with Draco, Pansy, and Theo, he thinks. Corban is here for this Marking, but he’s keeping his emotions tucked behind shields just like he’s keeping his hands tucked behind his back.

“Good.” Justin gives him a fierce, bright smile. “I don’t need a title to serve you.”

“Why did you agree to serve our lord at all if you balk at the simplest things, Mr. Finch-Fletchley?” Corban asks.

“I believe in giving a title because of respect, not because of being told to,” Justin says, and gives a bow to Harry. It’s more sarcastic than he ever knew a bow could be. “And our lord hasn’t ordered me.”

“Answer my question, please.”

Justin grins at Corban this time, and his bond with Harry surges with satisfaction. Harry wonders if it’s satisfaction about the question or because he correctly guessed Corban was Marked or something else. He doesn’t know Justin well enough to tell yet. “I don’t think a title is a simple thing. I think it’s something reflexive that you might give if you’ve been raised in that mindset, but I wasn’t. And I agreed to become Harry’s courtier to keep an eye on him.”

That gets him frowns from everyone, but Harry laughs. Draco and Pansy glance at him with sterner frowns, but Theo’s stance relaxes immediately. Good. Harry is glad to know that he isn’t the only one who approves of Justin.

Although maybe Theo only approves of Justin because he made Harry laugh, but still.

“Our lord doesn’t need an eye kept on him,” Pansy says stiffly.

“To make sure that he doesn’t act like a budding Dark Lord? He might. I know very well whose son he is.”

“We assumed you did, or why would you be here? But you should be more respectful to him.”

Justin stares at Draco for a moment as if wondering when he’ll actually start being intimidating, and then shakes his head and turns towards Harry. “Do you have any first instructions for me?”

“Would you even listen if I did?”

“I’d listen. And then I’d decide on my own if they were good instructions.”

Harry chuckles, which might be the only thing that’s keeping his other courtiers from drawing their wands. But honestly, it’s refreshing not to have bowing, scraping, caution, or whispering directed towards him from someone who knows who he is. “Yeah. If you could just watch Ron and Hermione like we discussed, and check in on people in your House, and Ravenclaw if you know anyone there, and see if the rumors about me being Voldemort’s son have spread and how many people believe them?”

“Of course I know people in Ravenclaw. Haven’t you paid attention to my socializing over the years?’

“Why would I have?”

Justin stares at him, then shakes his head. “Fair point,” he mutters. “Sometimes I forget how much power you wield and how many people would naturally concentrate on you.”

And that’s exactly the kind of thing Harry wants to hear. He nods, content. “Do you have any objection to the instructions?”

“No. They’re sensible.” Justin is studying him. “Maybe you won’t need as much supervision as I thought you did, after all.” He ignores the two wands now aimed at his back. “As long as you understand that I won’t be a leashed attack dog like this bunch.”

Harry snorts. “Wouldn’t dream of it, mate.”

He watches Justin leave, and then turns and frowns at Draco and Pansy’s wands. “You need to put those away.”

“But my lord—”

“Do you see Theo or Corban getting upset?”

It’s Theo that Draco and Pansy turn towards, probably because they assume Corban would just hide any upset even if he felt any. Theo simply shrugs. “He’s good for our lord. We will all have different bonds with him, and Justin’s is different.”

“You’re going to call him by his first name?”

“We all serve the same lord, Draco.”

That seems to calm Draco down, at least, and he nods and departs. Pansy goes with him, although with a skeptical backwards glance. Theo and Corban turn towards Harry, and Harry sighs.

“I need someone like Justin in my court, too. You aren’t to hurt him.”

“Unless he hurts or betrays you, my lord?”

“Of course. But you know how little someone with the Dark Mark would be able to do that against Voldemort.” There’s still the case of Snape, but Harry doesn’t know everything about how the Dark Mark works. It’s possible that it’s less powerful than Voldemort and the Death Eaters think, or that Snape took it willingly at first and then turned against Voldemort. Either way, Harry isn’t about to betray his father in front of—

He isn’t?

Harry swallows to hold back that realization. He doesn’t think Corban notices anything, but Theo’s eyes narrow, and their bond sings with his suspicion. Harry continues in a slightly shaky voice. “The Mark will make it harder for him to betray me. And I think I would know if he was feeling strong anger or something like that from the bond.”

“The bond was immediate?” Corban asks.

“Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t know, my lord.”

Corban’s face is wooden, but some emotion is leaking through their bond. Harry concentrates on it, and then snorts. “You really thought that Justin wouldn’t be able to create a strong bond with me because he’s Muggleborn? Really?”

Corban stares at him, shaken. “How did you know that, my lord?”

“That’s what your bond says.”

Corban closes his eyes in a blink, then opens them again with a slight shake of his head. “The Dark Lord could not do something like that.”

“My father holds a lot more bonds than I do,” Harry mumbles, aware that he doesn’t want to betray Voldemort, aware that it’s a stupid thing to be concerned about, aware that he’s not going to reveal any weakness in his father anyway. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“As you say, my lord.”

Corban is staring at the floor. Harry turns to Theo and nods. “I’d like to walk back to Gryffindor Tower by myself.”

“You have Basilisk with you, my lord?”

“She’s waiting outside the door. She didn’t know if her presence would disrupt the ritual.”

After a long, tense moment when Harry thinks Theo is going to object that’s not enough, he nods and steps back. The door opens, and Harry strides out and bends down to pick up Basilisk, who’s hissing at him nonstop about how cold the floor is.

“I—was not aware that you had such a powerful familiar, my lord.”

“Her name is Basilisk. She’s not a basilisk herself. She’s the same kind of snake that my father has.”

Corban doesn’t say anything. Harry leaves with a quick pace and ignores the way that he can feel Theo keeping up with his steps a distance behind him, and a few tracking charms settling on his robes that will end when he gets into Gryffindor Tower. Theo is making the best compromise he can between letting Harry walk alone and what his bond demands of him.

It’s fine.

*

“Sirius Black has returned to us.”

Albus makes the announcement and anticipates questions, which of course happen. He answers them serenely by explaining that the way Sirius “died” was not true death, and he took the chance of investigating where he could be retrieved.

No need to mention the Elder Wand. Why would there be?

Sirius, meanwhile, has lost the intimidating edge that Albus saw in him when they were in the realm beyond the Veil. He answers the questions aimed at him with cheerful insouciance, if not with the kind of joy in misleading people that he would have before the fall. Of course, one must assume that that affected him, Albus thinks, content to be wise.

And content in the hope that has returned to the eyes of the Order members, including Remus—who cannot stop staring at Sirius—and the children. He heard about their failed raid on Malfoy Manor, and has scolded them gently. It was brave, but foolish of them to think that Tom would care about any one particular Death Eater.

He might value Lucius Malfoy’s money, but never the man.

And now that Sirius is here, he will prevent Harry from becoming the same kind of monster. It is love that tempts Harry? Here it is, ready for the taking.