The Dark Apprentice Chapter 67

Chapter 67

“The oppressive silence that typically clings to the grim walls of Azkaban Prison were shattered last night by an event of unprecedented chaos. The chilling "dark mark," a symbol seen only twice in the past decade, blazed across the bleak sky over the North Sea, as a beacon of terror in the early hours of Sunday morning. This dark omen signaled not just a disturbance, but an outright assault on the wizarding world's most secure facility in what can only be described as a historic tragedy.” Daphne recited to Harry who was thumbing through a book about healing with blood magic.  

The young woman’s eyes constantly flitted towards him as she read the article in today's edition of the Daily Prophet aloud, and she was surprised to see that he was practically bored by the news she was sharing in the library of Griummald Place, and decided to continue reading to gauge his reaction.

“The tales of battle are evident as a trail of devastation was found by the Aurors in the wake of last night's assault. Six brave Aurors, dedicated to upholding law and order lost their lives under the mark of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. To make matters even more disturbing are reports that the dementors, the guardians of Azkaban, have abandoned their long-held post and fled the island's shores. Their absence, a stark indicator of the sheer power unleashed, leaving the prison vulnerable and exposed.” Daphne said, and clenched the newspaper tighter as Harry yawned, turning the page to his book, appearing completely uninterested.

“Amidst the ensuing pandemonium, several notorious prisoners seized their opportunity for freedom. Of the known escapees, Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and Rabastan Lestrange are among the most notorious. Their return to the outside world leaves a chilling prospect for the safety of the Magical Community.  Despite the gravity of the situation, the Ministry has remained uncharacteristically silent, offering no immediate comment on these tragic events. However, the Minister himself is scheduled to hold a press conference this evening at 7 pm. The wizarding world is holding its breath, awaiting an explanation.  Who is responsible and who will save us?”

Daphne waited with bated breath, her gaze fixed on Harry, who was utterly engrossed in the book clutched in his hands. His eyes flitted across the pages with an intensity that suggested the fate of the world hung on every word. A sudden, jarring slam of the book caused her to jump, and Harry finally looked up. He met Daphne's wide eyes, which were filled with a mixture of apprehension and urgency. She had burst into the room only moments before, clutching a crumpled, emergency edition of the Daily Prophet, its headline screaming dark tidings that had left her breathless and utterly bewildered. Now, she braced herself for the inevitable explosion, the outburst she had anticipated since the moment the shocking news had reached her. The air in the room crackled with unspoken tension, heavy with the weight of the Dark Mark displayed on the front page.

But instead of the furious tirade or panicked questioning she expected, Harry simply stretched slightly, then asked, his voice surprisingly calm, "I could use some lunch, are you hungry?"

Daphne felt her jaw fall for a moment, before she shook her head, “I can’t believe you are thinking about eating right now!”

Glancing at a clock on the wall, Harry frowned, “I didn’t eat a very big breakfast this morning.”

The blonde’s eye almost certainly twitched at the teen's words, “I’m not talking about bloody food right now!” Harry’s eyes widened in surprise at the girl's outburst, and she took a breath before asking, “Aren’t you even a little concerned?  About what all this could mean?”

Harry shook his head, a faint smile playing on his lips as he rounded the large, ornate desk. The heavy oak surface, usually a barrier between them, now felt like a mere obstacle. He approached Daphne, stopping just an arm's length away, close enough that she had to tilt her head back slightly to meet his gaze. His silhouette, once boyish and slender, had broadened considerably. She noticed the new breadth in his shoulders, the subtle definition in his jawline, and the undeniable increase in his height. It was a remarkable transformation, one that had unfolded rapidly over the summer months. Daphne found herself wondering if this striking growth was a lingering effect of the ritualistic magic he had performed, or if it was simply a natural growth spurt, a sudden blossoming into young adulthood. The ambiguity only added to the mystique that now surrounded him, a captivating aura that seemed to hum with an unspoken power.

“What do you think it means?” Harry asked.

Daphne was unsure if the teen was merely humoring her or not, but he asked the question nearly devoid of all emotion.  Something in his eyes however told her that he knew exactly how he felt about the situation, but his occlumency was too strong to give even the smallest hint away.

“Something is stirring,” Daphne said, her voice a strained attempt at confidence, though she felt a tremor of uncertainty under his intensely attentive gaze. “It began with the attack at the Quidditch World Cup, that heralded the reappearance of the Dark Lord’s old followers”

She paused, taking a shaky breath. “Then, almost immediately after, Barty Crouch Jr. arrived at the school. Not openly, of course, but hiding behind a disguise, masquerading as a trusted professor. His sole purpose to try and kill you, to finish what his master started. It was a clear, calculated attempt to eliminate you, Harry, and it came close to succeeding.”

Daphne’s eyes widened slightly as she considered the latest development. “And now,” she continued, her voice dropping to a near whisper, “someone has gone and liberated Azkaban. Not just a few prisoners, but seemingly all of them. They destroyed wards that are hundreds of years old, wards that were considered impregnable. It’s an act of monumental power and defiance, a clear sign that a force of incredible strength is at play, and it’s no longer content to operate in the shadows. This isn’t a series of isolated incidents, Harry. These events are connected.”

“And so what if they are?” Harry said in a murmur, his eyes remaining glued to hers.

“Then…” Daphne paused, trying to think of something intelligent to say, before lamely adding, “We should be doing something about it.”

For a long moment Daphne could feel Harry’s calculating gaze on her.  It was becoming apparent that the teen was unbothered by all the news, but it was almost as if he knew more than he was letting on.  The blonde often felt that her friend knew more than he let on however, and this feeling was certainly not alien.

“Crouch Jr was a lunatic.” Harry said with a shake of his head, “The man’s mind was addled long before I lanced his mind with legillimency.  You’re right though, I was his target in the end, but not on the orders of the Dark Lord.”

Daphne swallowed hard at his words.  Harry had confided in her that he had used the Mind Arts to stop Crouch Jr before blasting the hole in his chest, leaving no evidence behind, but hearing of the way he dismantled a man’s mind so casually, sent a chill down her spine.  Despite it, she wasn’t scared of the teen.  Harry had done nothing, but keep her safe, and despite failing to protect their best friend, it was clear he was taking steps to ensure nothing like that happened again.

She would be lying if she claimed there wasn’t a certain level of nervousness being associated with him after the attempt on his life had been made.  That feeling had only intensified today as she had seen the article in the paper.  With the likes of Bellatrix and the others Lestranges on the loose.

“And everything else?” Daphne asked, her voice a fragile whisper. She leaned forward, her eyes wide with a hope for reassurance.

“Is under control.” Harry said reassuringly, “We have nothing to worry about.”

His unexpected confidence was palpable, a stark contrast to the grim reality that had just unfolded. Daphne, a seasoned witch whose own understanding of warding magic was extensive, found herself bewildered by Harry's composure. She knew, with certainty, that he must be aware of the immense power at play – a magic so potent it had managed to dismantle wards as formidable as those protecting Azkaban itself. The implications of such an act, and by an unknown perpetrator no less, would undoubtedly send tremors of fear and panic throughout the entire wizarding world's governing body. Yet, Harry remained unperturbed, his gaze steady, his demeanor calm.

In that singular moment, a profound realization dawned upon Daphne, illuminating the vast gaps in her knowledge regarding her friend's true capabilities and his ascent to such a formidable level of power. It became painfully clear how little she truly understood about the intricate tapestry of Harry's magical journey. A flicker of an idea, a tantalizing possibility, began to take root in her mind: perhaps this seemingly unknown player, this wielder of unimaginable power, was not unknown to Harry at all. A secret ally, the powerful mentor that had brought him into his own power – the possibilities spun through her thoughts, each one more intriguing than the last. The depth of Harry's unruffled calm spoke volumes, hinting at a hidden knowledge or a connection that transcended the current crisis, suggesting a level of involvement far beyond what she or anyone else could currently comprehend.

“Harry?” Daphne asked almost breathlessly.

His eyes, the color of dark forest trees, had remained locked with hers from the moment their conversation began, an unwavering gaze that held an almost hypnotic intensity. There was no wavering, no shift in the focus that seemed to bore into her very soul. For a fleeting moment, as he had sought to calm her rising apprehension, a tenderness had softened the edges of his formidable stare, a subtle easing of the taut lines around his eyes. He had offered words of reassurance, a quiet balm intended to assuage the fear that had begun to coil in her stomach. Yet, no sooner had the words left his lips than the initial, piercing look had returned, settling once more as her mind, a whirlwind of processing thoughts, began to race.

She was acutely aware of his extraordinary talents in Legilimency, the art of delving into another's mind. The knowledge was a constant undercurrent to their interactions, and now, more than ever, it gnawed at her. A profound sense of unease settled upon her as she wondered if he had already plucked her very thoughts from the chaotic maelstrom of her mind. Her brain was a tempest of ideas, questions, and nascent theories, bursting forth with such frantic speed that she felt utterly exposed. The sheer velocity of her internal monologue made her believe, with a chilling certainty, that he could effortlessly reach in and extract every fleeting notion, every unspoken fear, every unformed suspicion, directly from the depths of her consciousness. The thought was both terrifying and utterly, inescapably real.

“I need to ask you something…and I need you to be honest with me.” Daphne said, her heart racing.

“You are bound by oath to keep my secrets.” Harry said with a tint of amusement in his voice, “If I can’t be honest with you, then there is no hope for anyone else.”

Harry trying to make light of the topic, made her feel marginally better, but the unease was still pressing down on her with immense weight, “This mentor of yours…you once told me he was the most powerful wizard you’ve ever met.”

She wasn’t sure if she imagined it, but he seemed closer than before.  His eyes alight with something that she thought might be excitement, “I did.”

His confession was whispered, and she swallowed heavily, “Powerful enough to rip the wards apart at Azakaban?”

She certainly wasn’t imagining it now, he had stepped into her space.  His face was beside hers, his lips close to her ears as he breathed out the answer, “With the right help he is.”

Daphne flinched backwards, a primal reaction to the sudden, almost earth shaking truth. The subtle amusement she had detected moments before had now blossomed across his entire countenance, settling into a smile that was no less genuine, and held an expression of mirth.  Behind it though, in his eyes, a more chilling, almost sinister, display of satisfaction. It was a cold smile, yet it was clear he was profoundly pleased by her astute deduction. He readily admitted this, his voice a low, resonant murmur that seemed to fill the quiet space between them. "I always admired your intelligence," he began, his gaze unwavering, analytical. "From the moment we became friends, you were always the one surprising me. Your clever observations, your remarkable ability to deduce complex truths from the slightest hints I provided – it was truly remarkable." He paused, a flicker of something akin to admiration, albeit a detached and calculating one, in his eyes. "Tracey may have been my most loyal, and certainly my bravest, but without a doubt, you have consistently proven to be my most intelligent." The words hung in the air, a twisted compliment that acknowledged her sharp mind while simultaneously underscoring the nature of their relationship.

“Say it.” Daphne whispered, “Admit you were there.  That you helped bring down the wards at Azkaban.”

“My master and I made history last night.” Harry admitted freely, “We did something no one had ever done before, what most people thought was impossible.  We destroyed the wards to Azkaban, and sent the dementors away like the pest they are.”

Daphne knew of Harry’s distaste for dementors, and disregarded the vicious glee in his voice at the suffering he had likely caused the beasts.  Despite the act of violence that had been committed she was in awe of what the two had accomplished.  Harry was right, the world thought the wards at Azkaban were impenetrable, and even if they weren’t the monsters that lurked around Azakaban were nearly as formidable.  Getting past them both was a historic feat of magic.

“Your mentor…is he a death eater?” Daphne asked softly.

The question seemed to amuse Harry, “No.”

Releasing a breath, Daphne nodded, “Then why release so many?”

“Many of the Dark Lord's followers are formidable.” Harry answered easily, “There are some powerful witches and wizards in the ranks of Azakaban prison.  Who do you think their loyalty will be too now that they’ve been freed?”

Daphne shook her head, “Every dark omen, every sign of something bad on the horizon, you kept your cool.  You always seemed unshakable…now I understand.”

“Not yet, you don’t.” Harry countered as he began to move, “But you are close.  So very close.”

He was taking slow, deliberate steps around her now, his eyes like a predator assessing its prey. Daphne should’ve felt a chilling sense of dread, like a caged animal awaiting its fate, but instead, a strange, almost electric sense of exhilaration pulsed through her veins. She had stumbled upon a truth, a profound secret that very few in their insular world had ever been privy to. Her voice, though a little breathless, cut through the tension with a sharp edge, “Did Tracey know?”

“No.” Harry said simply, “Just like you, had she discovered it however, I would’ve been honest.  I do have your vows.  No one will know until the time is right.”

“When will that be?” Daphne asked.

Harry hummed, a low, thoughtful sound that vibrated in the air between them, as if he were deeply considering her loaded question. Every fiber of her being was taut with anticipation, a silent prayer echoing in her mind. While she waited, a dizzying whirlwind of realization spun through her thoughts, each revelation more exhilarating than the last. Her audacious ploy to become his ally, a calculated risk taken for a little political glory, had not only paid off but had blossomed in ways she never could have dared to imagine.

A shiver, not of fear but of electrifying possibility, ran down her spine. If this enigmatic wizard that Harry so reverently referred to as "master" truly possessed the raw, untamed power to rip apart wards that had stood sentinel for hundreds of years, defenses thought to be impregnable, then his capabilities bordered on what some might consider divine. And if he had the even more astonishing ability to forge and refine a wizard of similar, formidable caliber in Harry himself, then the implications were staggering. There was, quite simply, practically no limit to what two wizards, cut from the same extraordinary, almost legendary cloth, could accomplish together. The world, as she knew it, seemed to shrink and then expand infinitely before her eyes, suddenly ripe with untapped potential, all within the grasp of this burgeoning, formidable alliance.

“It allures you, doesn’t it?” Harry asked suddenly as he paced behind her.

The hair on the back of her neck seemed to rise, and Daphne whipped her head around to see him smiling at her, a mischievous look on his handsome features, “I don’t know what you mean.”

Daphne’s denial was weak.  She was a Slytherin.  Quintessential.  She valued her ambition to push towards the top of society, and her cunning to ally with the right people at the right time.  Harry was practically her crowning accomplishment in this matter.  She had expected a haul of contacts and connections through the boy-who-lived, but now she was on the precipice of something huge.

Harry had been right the year before.  Even if he was expelled in the coming year, the influence he would have with someone of his mentor's caliber would be limitless.  This went beyond anything she ever imagined.

“The mystery.” Harry said simply, “The draw of the unknown.  To some it scares them, but not you.  I admire that about you, Daphne.”

The way he said her name, made her cheeks warm.  Trying to keep her mind from spinning the young woman asked, “What about Dumbledore?  He will oppose you and your mentor.”

Scoffing, Harry shook his head, “He will try.”

“He defeated Grindelwald.” Daphne pointed out.

“But didn’t have the spine to kill him.” Harry returned, “A mistake that would be quite detrimental to his health when dealing with my master and I.  We are quite relentless after all.  No prison could hold him anyways.”

Daphne shook her head in disbelief.  She couldn’t even comprehend how such a powerful player had kept his head down, but then her mind went back to the photo on the front of the prophet.  Harry had claimed the man wasn’t a Death Eater, but then why use the Dark Mark as a calling card?

“Your mentor, if he is so powerful, why does he use the Dark Mark?  Wouldn’t it be better to create his own symbol?” Daphne asked in a quiet voice.

Harry stopped behind her.  His pacing at an end.  Daphne turned her body to face him, and saw the grin on his face.  Then it struck her without him having to say the words.  Only a few men in history have had the power to do what happened last night.  The man wasn’t a Death Eater, he was their leader.  Somehow, someway, Voldemort had returned.  Somehow, someway, the Dark Lord had recruited Harry to his side.

“It’s him isn’t it?” Daphne said thickly, her voice tinged with fear.

“It is.” Harry said simply, but then shook his head, “And it isn’t.”

Daphne frowned at his words, “What does that mean?”

“It’s magic beyond either of our understandings.” Harry said, running a hand through his hair, “But when he returned a few years ago, he was different from the monster that fell.  His sanity, his drive, his intelligence from his youth were all there, untempered by his deep dive into the Dark Arts.”

Daphne stood frozen, a whirlwind of emotions and calculations swirling within her. Her carefully constructed facade of indifference wavered, revealing a flicker of raw ambition.  Harry, his voice a low, resonant hum that seemed to vibrate through the very air, continued to weave his potent declaration. "With all his power and his sanity intact, my master, the Dark Lord, is the most powerful sorcerer in the world, and I am his apprentice." The words hung heavy, each one a hammer blow to Daphne's preconceived notions. This wasn't merely a powerful wizard she was dealing with; this was the instrument of a truly terrifying force, a force that now, apparently, possessed all its faculties and more power than ever before. The implications were staggering, rewriting the very landscape of the magical world as she knew it.

Then came the direct challenge, the gauntlet thrown down with an almost casual arrogance that belied its immense weight. "You wanted to reap influence by allying with me, Daphne, stay at my side, and it can all be yours." He wasn't offering a partnership of equals; he was offering a position, a place in the shadow of his immense power. It was a tempting, terrifying proposition. The influence she craved, the societal standing she so meticulously cultivated, the power she yearned to wield—all of it laid out before her, contingent on her unwavering allegiance. The cost, however, was equally clear: submission. To stand by his side meant to embrace the darkness he embodied, to align herself with the very entity that had once terrorized their world. The choice was stark, its consequences potentially boundless, and Daphne, for perhaps the first time in her life, felt truly exposed.

Stepping back into her personal space, Harry gently placed a finger on her chin, tilting her head to meet his gaze. A whirlwind of emotions churned within her. They had spent an entire summer entwined in a desperate pursuit, poring over ancient tomes and forgotten scrolls, all in a fervent bid to salvage her sister's fragile life. Yet, despite their shared intensity and intimate proximity, she realized with a jolt that she knew remarkably little about how he spent his time when not immersed in their shared journey.

A profound shock coursed through her, rendering her momentarily speechless. The words he spoke were almost too fantastical to credit, yet his unwavering conviction left no room for doubt. "You could be Minister of Magic if that was your wish," he declared, his voice resonating with an almost tangible power. "You can be anything you want, with all my power and connections at your disposal." His eyes held hers, a silent promise burning within their depths. "Just keep faith. Together, we can heal your sister, and that will merely be the beginning of the possibilities that lie before us." The weight of his words settled upon her, a daunting yet thrilling prospect of a future she had never dared to imagine.

“Help me save my sister.” Daphne begged, “And I will give you everything.”

The grip on her chin tightened slightly, and she nearly winced, but instead her blue eyes just widened as he whispered, “Swear it, and I will do everything in my power to save her.”

“I swear,” Daphne said without hesitation, inching towards him. Her eyes, usually so full of calculating ambition, were now wide and earnest, reflecting the flickering candlelight from the nearby sconces of the library. The air in the room was thick with unspoken tension.

Before the two could separate, Harry closed the distance between them, and kissed her fervently. The kiss was reciprocated without hesitation, and Daphne raised onto her toes, her fingers intertwining with his hair, to deepen the kiss. A long-held desire, simmering beneath the surface of their friendship, finally erupted. She had wanted to do this for months, but never would she have stepped over her best friend, Tracey, to do it.

A small, heavy weight of guilt settled in her gut as their lips held in a tender, breathless lock. Tracey may have been gone, a void left in their lives, but only a few short months had passed since her tragic demise. Now, here she was, kissing her best friend's boyfriend. It was a tangled web of emotions – a boy that both of them had harbored affection for, a silent competition that now, by cruel twist of fate, she was the only one left to win. The sweetness of the kiss was tinged with the bitter knowledge of what it cost, and the bittersweet realization that their shared grief had somehow forged a new, undeniable connection between them.

His devotion to saving her sister, a bond forged in shared hardship and silent vows, kept her loyalty to the teen utterly unshakable. He may have been the Dark Lord's apprentice, a figure shrouded in shadow and whispers of forbidden power, and perhaps the course of Britain's future may have irrevocably changed under his influence, but she would stand at his side, a steadfast follower in a world teetering on the brink. Whether that was from the shadows, her presence a silent, guiding force, or at the forefront, a visible bastion of defiance, it didn’t matter to her. The fact that he was willing to give so much of his time and power to help her, to dedicate himself to the daunting task of liberating her sister from the clutches of a magic neither of them understood, meant everything to the young witch. It was a beacon of hope in a darkening world, a testament to a compassion she hadn't expected to find in one so closely tied to the forces of darkness, solidifying her unwavering allegiance.

She allowed herself to be pressed up against the Black family desk, but then her hand went to his chest, and pressed him gently, halting the kiss, “I need to be stronger if I am going to stand at your side, if I am going to save my sister.”

“We will do what we must.” Harry promised, breathlessly, his eyes flitting from her eyes to her lips, as if he wanted nothing more than to kiss her again.

“Promise?” Daphne asked.

Instead of words, Harry just pushed back into the kiss, but when he began kissing her cheek he whispered in her ear, “I promise, I just can’t promise that the way forward to saving her will be pretty.”

Daphne had to the moan that threatened to escape her lips as he moved to her neck, but she leaned back from him shaking her head, “I’ll do whatever it takes, Harry.  We just have to end it.”

Green and blue eyes met, and Harry for his part just nodded, “Then I have some ideas we can discuss.”

Just as Harry was about to pull back and begin proposing the ideas, Daphne grabbed him by the front of his shirt and dragged him forward.  She had waited several months to get this kiss, and the answers to her sister's affliction could wait a few moments longer.