The Dark Aprentice Chapter 66

Chapter 66

Harry had watched with a growing sense of anticipation as Tom, despite the celebratory atmosphere that should have enveloped them, approached a pair of his more jubilant followers on the desolate dock of Azkaban. The air, thick with the stench of salt and sulphur, was now tinged with a faint, unsettling sweetness of victory, a scent that did little to calm Harry's unease. The initial, meticulously crafted plan had been straightforward: each of the escaped Death Eaters, flushed with their newfound freedom, were to depart the grim island by portkey, whisked away to the relative safety and comfort of Nott Manor. There, the revelries, undoubtedly fueled by firewhisky and triumphant boasts, would commence without delay, a chaotic yet understandable outpouring of relief and elation from the freed prisoners. However, it became immediately clear that the Dark Lord had priorities that transcended mere celebration, a cold, calculating agenda that always superseded the immediate gratification of his followers, and indeed, his own.

“While liberating my followers is an important objective, the knowledge of where my Horcrux lies is paramount.  If things are to go wrong at Azakaban, Bellatrix is our most important objective.  She alone can tell us what happened to the Cup of Helga Hufflepuff, and bring me closer to my full power.”

Harry's gaze was fixed on Tom, a silent observer as his mentor approached a witch who appeared to be in her late forties. Her dark, unkempt hair framed a face that was both weathered and surprisingly youthful, her eyes, an intense shade of purple, fixed on Tom with an almost unnatural devotion. The moment Tom's hand made contact with her arm, a cry of pure ecstasy escaped her lips, a sound that spoke of a deep, almost spiritual awe at being in his presence once more. The air around them seemed to shimmer with an unspoken energy, a testament to the profound connection they shared. Harry recalled Tom's earlier words, a chilling pronouncement about the unwavering loyalty he commanded, and in that instant, he understood the true depth of that statement. This witch, so clearly enthralled, was living proof of the potent influence Tom wielded over those who served him.

The hushed conversation between the two figures ceased, and Tom, with a subtle nod, turned his gaze to the imposing wizard standing beside her. A low murmur of acknowledgement passed between them, an understanding exchanged as the other escaped prisoners began disappearing by portkey. The man, a grizzly figure with a thick, unshaved beard that framed a weathered face, appeared to be roughly the same age as the woman at his side. His eyes, though obscured by shadow, seemed to hold weariness, hinting at a long time served in the ancient prison. There was an almost palpable aura of notoriety about him, a sense of dark history clinging to his robes. Indeed, by all appearances and his proximity to the woman beside him, this could be no other than the infamous Rudolphus Lestrange, a name whispered with a mixture of fear and grudging respect in certain circles. 

The air crackled with a residual hum of magic as the man, a figure of silent reverence, offered a profound, almost ceremonial bow to Tom. It was a gesture steeped in a deference that spoke volumes, a silent acknowledgment of power and authority. From Harry’s mentor, a plain, unassuming portkey was then extended, a small, polished stone perhaps, or a weathered piece of wood, which the man accepted with an almost imperceptible nod. With a soft whoosh and a faint shimmer of displaced air, he vanished, leaving behind only the lingering scent of ozone and magic.

Tom, seemingly unfazed by the sudden departure, then turned his attention to Bellatrix. Their conversation, though brief, seemed to carry an unspoken weight, a shared understanding that transcended mere words. It was a rapid exchange, punctuated by knowing glances and subtle gestures, before Tom, with an old-world charm, offered her his arm. His gaze then shifted, almost as an afterthought, to where Harry stood. Harry, who had, with an air of practiced detachment, once again donned his golden mask. The mask, now a familiar emblem, gleamed faintly in the ambient light, obscuring his expression, yet somehow intensifying his presence. Tom offered a final, almost imperceptible nod in Harry’s direction, a silent acknowledgment of the young wizard's presence, before he and Bellatrix disapparated, their forms blurring into the air and then vanishing as if they had never been there at all. The sudden silence that descended in their wake felt heavy, charged with the aftermath of their powerful magic and the weight of their victory.

Taking a deep, tired breath, Harry glanced up above to see the Dark Mark he had cast in the sky, a chilling emerald green against the breaking of dawn. A profound sense of pride swelled within him. Tonight, they had done what most believed to be impossible, shattering centuries of established wards. The air still hummed with residual magic, a testament to the colossal effort expended.

With a final shake of his head, a gesture meant to dispel the lingering echoes of battle and the exhilaration of victory, Harry turned on the spot. The familiar pull of apparation compressed the world around him, blurring into a kaleidoscope of colors before snapping back into crisp focus. In the span of an instant, he appeared on the front steps of Gaunt Manor, his home. The old panels of the mansion seemed to absorb the rising rays of dawn, exuding an aura of somber power that perfectly mirrored the new era he had just ushered in. The heavy, ornate door, etched with the serpentine crest of Tom’s ancestors, awaited his return, a silent sentinel guarding the secrets and the future within.

Knowing that Tom was expecting him to follow, Harry made entry into the house, but kept his mask on for the time being. He did not wish to shock the woman with any striking familiarity to an old enemy; the reveal of his true identity was a card to be played with caution, not flung carelessly into the delicate atmosphere of this reunion. He moved with a quiet grace born of years of training, his senses alert to every subtle shift in the air, every creak of the old house. The scent of dust and faint potpourri hung in the air, a strangely domestic smell for a place that held such dangerous secrets.

The woman, he knew, may not have a wand, but Tom had told Harry just how dangerous she was. Her power, he understood, wasn't just of the magical variety that could be channeled through a focus, but rather a more insidious, deeply ingrained ability honed by years of dark practice. Beyond her inherent menace, Tom had also stressed her profound fragility after her years in prison—a vulnerability that could make her even more unpredictable. Harry considered the delicate balance he had to strike: maintaining his guard against her potential malevolence while simultaneously navigating the emotional minefield of her post-imprisonment state. He could not afford to underestimate her, nor could he afford to push her into an emotional corner. The information she possessed, Harry suspected, was critical to finding Tom’s next Horcrux, and he knew that acquiring it was his mentor's most important task.

When Harry arrived in the living room, he hung back into the kitchen unseen, allowing Bellatrix to gush in gratitude that Tom had released her from her prison. Her voice, hoarse from disuse and laced with an almost frantic devotion, filled the air. She nearly babbled that she knew he would come for her, his most faithful servant, without doubt. Her eyes, wide and almost feverish, fixated on him, reflecting a desperate need for approval.

Harry watched quietly as Tom accepted the woman’s gratitude. His hand, a study in practiced calm, held her own, a gesture that seemed both comforting and possessive. If Harry didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought the gesture was intimate, a tender reunion between long-separated lovers. But the teen knew his mentor was a master class actor, a virtuoso of manipulation. Tom’s movements were precise, his expression carefully modulated to convey a sense of genuine concern. He was merely trying to make the woman feel safe and secure, to lull her into a false sense of peace before extracting the information he needed. Harry could almost see the gears turning in Tom’s mind, calculating the optimal approach, charting the most effective path to unearth Bellatrix's secrets in the fastest manner. The silence in the room, save for Bellatrix's incessant murmurings, seemed to crackle with an unspoken tension, a silent battle of wits that only Harry was truly privy to.

Finally, Tom's patience, always a thin veneer over his true, seething nature, had worn out completely. He leaned forward, his voice a low, silken whisper that seemed to slither through the air, "Bella, my dear, do you remember the golden cup I gave to you? Before you were so unceremoniously whisked away to Azkaban?" His eyes, dark and fathomless, bore into hers, a silent demand for recognition.

“Oh yes, my lord.” The woman said at once, her voice bright with a positive elation at the reminder. A faint, almost nostalgic smile touched her lips, though it quickly faded, replaced by an expression of deep reverence. "It was my most prized possession. I guarded it with my life.  I understood that it must’ve been difficult to come across an item from the Founders, and it was my proudest day when you gave it to me to watch over.”

“I would honor so few with such a task.” Tom said easily, his voice a silken thread that wove through the silence of the room. “Your unwavering faith and singular devotion to me, a loyalty beyond question, allowed one of my most treasured items to fall into your hands. It was a testament to your commitment, a reward for your unwavering belief in my vision. But now, a brief and pressing need has arisen, a critical juncture in my rise to power. I require that item, if only for a short time. Rest assured, it is merely a temporary loan; I will return it to you precisely when I am done, when its purpose in my hands has been fulfilled. However, it is absolutely essential that I possess it, even for this fleeting period. Its absence would create a mess of my plans, a delay in the grand design we are meticulously crafting. Therefore, I must ask you directly: Do you know where it is at this very moment?”

“Of course, my lord!” Bellatrix exclaimed, with child-like joy, "Before you disappeared, I placed all my valuables in my vault at Gringotts, just as you instructed. Every galleon, every piece of cursed jewelry, every artifact – all of it is secured there, waiting for your return. I knew you would come back, my lord, and I have kept everything safe, untouched by the grubby hands of the Ministry or the Order. They will never find it, and even if they did, the goblins are fiercely loyal to their contracts. The vault is impregnable, the magic within it potent enough to deter even the most persistent thief!”

Tom looked triumphant, and Harry let out a sigh of relief, apparently it was audible enough to catch the woman’s attention however, and her head spun in his direction, the look of adoration and pleasantness completely devoid on her furious countenance, “How dare you listen to my private conversations with the Dark Lord!”

The woman reached for her side as if she was going for a wand that Harry knew could not be there, but Tom’s hand caught her wrist smoothly, “It’s okay Bella, this is someone very special to me that I would like you to meet.”

Tom gestured for Harry to come forward, and the teen did so cautiously.  Bellatrix pouted with her lip out like a small child, and whimpered, “But he was listening in on our conversation.”

Scoffing the man’s eyes flashed, “You forget yourself, Bella.  You think I could not sense the presence of my young friend here, even if he wasn’t standing right before my eyes.”

Her eyes widened, and her head bowed in shame, “You’re right, my lord, forgive me.”

“That’s alright.” Tom consoled easily, “You are not quite back in your full state.  You just escaped a 14 year imprisonment my dear, there is nothing to forgive, but do not make a habit of underestimating me.”

“Never, my lord!” Bellatrix defended at once.

Harry approached the woman with a cautiousness born of instinct, the same way a seasoned hunter would approach a hungry lioness. Every muscle in his body seemed to coil, ready to spring into action or retreat at a moment's notice. The air around them felt heavy with an unspoken tension, as if the very atmosphere held its breath, awaiting the first move in this delicate, dangerous dance.

Clearly the woman was surprised by his appearance, because as she took him in she seemed to finally realize there was something different about him, “His mask…it’s not the same as ours.”

“That’s because he is not the same as the rest.” Tom said silkily, “This Bella is my apprentice.”

The woman’s eyes widened at once as she looked him up and down.  Her eyes instantly clouded with jealousy, and she asked with almost a hint of an accusation, “Young friend? Is he your son?”

Laughing Tom, slowly shook his head. "No," he replied, his voice a low rumble that nonetheless carried an unmistakable weight of authority. "But he has been under my wing for some years now, and was quite young when he came into my teachings. He was a mere boy, perhaps no older than twelve, when I first found him, lost and adrift in a world that offered little solace. I saw potential in him, a flicker of something extraordinary amidst the fear and uncertainty."

Tom paused, his gaze hardening as he looked at Bella, his eyes conveying an unspoken warning. "I am going to have him take off his mask," he stated, his words a quiet command. "But Bella, I need you to heed my words with utmost care and gravity. Understand this: he is my apprentice, and I will allow no harm to come to him. Not a single scratch, not a whisper of insult, not even a fleeting thought of malice. No matter who it may be, I will allow none to harm him, no matter their power, their influence, or their perceived right."

His voice dropped to a near whisper, yet it resonated with an intensity that brokered no argument. "Do you understand, Bella? Do you comprehend the consequences of disregarding my warning?" The air in the room grew thick with the threat.

Bellatrix swallowed heavily, looking like she would rather ask more questions, but finally nodded in acquiesce.  Tom glanced towards Harry and offered him a nod, and Harry in a swift motion removed his golden mask, and tucked it under his left arm, ensuring he could still draw his wand if necessary.

The woman’s eyes went impossibly wide in recognition, “James?  No, he can’t be.  This…this is his son?  The Potter boy?  How?  Why?”

“All questions that will be answered in time.” Tom promised, “Just know that his loyalty to me is unquestionable, and there is deep magic preventing us from killing the other.  I say this to assuage any concerns or fears you have, but Harry has proven himself a worthy apprentice to me.  Already he has won the Tri-Wizard tournament at fourteen, and killed a turn-coat, Barty Crouch Jr.  I trust you remember just how talented our old friend was?”

Bella nodded, and now looked at Harry in awe, “Master turned you, even after he killed your parents?”

Swallowing hard, hating the reminder, Harry nodded, “I think you know, my lady, that our master is quite persuasive.”

In understanding the woman just offered a curt nod, “Of course.”

A glimpse of sanity and the woman’s former brilliance peaked out for a moment, but just as fast as it was there, the spark of intelligence disappeared, replaced by the admiration she held for the Dark Lord, “Allow me to fetch the Cup for you my lord.  If it is as important as you say it is, I do not wish to delay you.”

“The cup has been safe in Gringotts for 14 years.” Tom said easily, “It can wait a few more days, while you regain your health.  It is going to be a matter of priority, but not above your own health.  Get better, my most faithful, and then we will retrieve my old relic of the founders.”

The words were a clear indication that Bellatrix did not know that she held a piece of Tom’s soul.  That information was something strictly for Harry’s own knowledge.

“Thank you, my lord!” Bellatrix said happily, but a tinge of disappointment appeared on her face, as if she had looked forward to the blood shed that might follow her attendance to Gringotts.

Tom offered the woman one of his charming smiles, and clasped her hand in his own, “Of course, my dear.  Let’s get you to Nott Manor, and reunite ourselves with your husband and my other followers.  Tomorrow we will get you a wand, and in the near future I will ask you to put my apprentice to the test.  Already there are so few among our ranks that can push him, and I know none are as talented as my most infamous follower.”

Bellatrix glanced towards Harry with an almost sinister smile, “It would be my pleasure, my lord.”

Harry swallowed nervously as the psychotic woman looked at him as nothing more than a plaything.  The teen was uncertain if she wanted to kiss him, or murder him, but he was guessing the latter.  The young apprentice was never one to back down from a challenge, but he was apprehensive to duel with the woman.  Augustus had told Harry just how formidable the woman had been in her prime, and his only comfort was that her years in Azkaban must’ve provided some sort of handicap that would give him time to adjust to her strengths.

Tom offered the woman a coaster from the table, and whispered words over it, changing it into a portkey, “Go join the others Bella, I will be right behind you.  I need a few more words with my apprentice.”

The woman looked jealously over her shoulder to the teen, who held a stoic face, but knew not to argue with her master.  Accepting the portkey, Tom hissed the activation phrase, and the woman vanished in an instant.

Harry didn’t wait long after her departure to voice his thoughts, “She’s insane.”

“Undoubtedly.” Tom said with a snort, “But among my most powerful followers.  If we can restore her mind to its former intelligence, the three of us would be an unstoppable force.”

After tonight Harry doubted there were many that could stand up to even just the pair of them, yet he understood the value of a follower of Bellatrix Lestrange’s caliber, “Whatever you think is best, master.”

Nodding Tom rubbed his hand across his face, something the man often did when he was deep in thought, “I had long suspected that was where Bellatrix had hidden away my Horcrux.  The goblins could make retrieving it difficult.”

Frowning Harry asked, “Would they?  I wouldn’t think they would want to get involved in a Wizarding affair.”

“You could be right.” Tom said with a sigh, “But if you are not, then we risk the capture of Bella, and the Goblins may turn her over to the Ministry if they thought they might be rewarded. The Ministry would undoubtedly pump her full of veritaserum to figure out why she risked her freedom by going to Gringotts, and from there we would have an issue I would rather not yet face.  The least of which would be their discovery that I hold the Cup of Helga Hufflepuff.”

“We already accomplished one feat that everyone believed was impossible.” Harry murmured softly, “What if we attempt another?”

Tom raised his eyebrows towards his apprentice, “What are you thinking, Harry?”

Running a detailed scenario through his head, Harry shrugged indifferently, a subtle tension in his shoulders that belied his casual demeanor. "I will go with Bellatrix into Gringotts under my father's cloak," he explained, his voice low and steady. "If the goblins play nicely, and let us through, then I sit quietly beside her with no one being the wiser."

Violence and bright flashes of light filled his thoughts as he considered the alternative. "However, if they lure us into a trap, if they attempt to tip off the Ministry or if they do not cooperate in any way, then the plan shifts.”

A grin began to slide across Harry’s countenance as he considered what would happen next, “I will signal for you with Slytherin's Locket, and we fight our way to the vault. We grab what we need, and then, with your horcrux secured, we fight our way out. It won’t be pretty, but as you said, between the three of us we would be unstoppable." His gaze was distant, already picturing the violence that would likely ensue involving a fight with the goblins..

Tom returned Harry’s smile with a sinister expression of amusement, “A small taste of battle, and now you want to shed the blood of our enemy by the gallon.”

Shrugging, Harry shook his head, “The hope is they just let us through, but given what is on the line, we won’t be taking no for an answer.”

“We would push the goblins to the side of the Ministry.” Tom countered, “They would call for our heads, lock down our accounts.  The little beasts are plentiful, and they would be powerful allies for Dumbledore and his ilk when the real fighting begins.”

“I say we let them go crawling to each other.” Harry said dismissively, “In the end they will all kneel or die.”

“Ruthless.” Tom said pointedly, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate with approval.  A slow, knowing smile spread across his face, a rare display of genuine pleasure. He rose gracefully to his feet, a figure of quiet authority that filled the room. “I like it. We will discuss it more in the coming days. For now you should rest and prepare. If we are to go forward with your plan then a great battle may lie ahead, and you will need all your strength.”

As Tom began to exit the room, he paused at the threshold, turning to offer final words to his young apprentice. “Well done tonight, Harry. On top of what you did at Azakaban tonight, you’ve proven yourself capable of making difficult choices, a quality often lacking in those who would lead. Give me a few days to get my faithful followers in order, to lay the groundwork for our next steps. We will speak again soon, and then our true work will begin.”

With that, Tom vanished, leaving Harry alone in the silence, the weight of the night’s events and the promise of future machinations settling heavily upon him.  

Once upon a time Harry would have felt remorse for what had occurred that night, or that about what was right or wrong.  A younger, more idealistic version of him would have been plagued by gnawing doubts, endlessly questioning the righteousness of his actions. But that version of Harry had been irrevocably shattered, ground into dust by the harsh realities of a world that had long since abandoned any pretense of right and wrong. The Ministry, the very bastion of justice and order, and the Aurors, those sworn protectors of their country, had proven themselves to be nothing more than complicit puppets. Their noble oaths had been rendered meaningless, subsumed by the suffocating tendrils of bureaucratic red tape and the insidious machinations of political expediency.

A profound disgust festered within Harry's soul, a burning resentment for a system that prioritized self-preservation and power over the suffering of its people. A few years ago he had watched, helpless and enraged, as true justice was systematically denied, sacrificed at the altar of convenience and ambition. In the face of such egregious dereliction of duty, Harry found his capacity for empathy withering, replaced by a cold, resolute detachment. The individuals who had fallen before his wand that night were not innocent victims in his eyes, but rather the unfortunate, albeit inevitable, collateral damage of a broken world. Their cries, their pleas, their very existence had become irrelevant in the grand, terrifying tapestry of his evolving conviction. He was no longer a boy grappling with shades of gray, but a teenager growing into a man forged in the crucible of disillusionment, driven by a desperate, albeit dark, pursuit of a justice that the established order had long since forsaken.

Despite his growing resolve, his thoughts shifted to the goblins, and what it would be like to combat them.  A feeling of apprehension seemed to settle over him, a cold knot tightening in his stomach. He had not known much about the beasts, their history shrouded in whispers and fear, but what little he did know sent shivers down his spine. Each of their rebellions, though infrequent, had been marked by shocking brutality and a terrifying disregard for life. Some had stretched on for agonizingly long periods, leaving swathes of the land scarred and depopulated. He understood, with a sudden, stark clarity, that he could not afford to underestimate them. He would need to delve deep into the tomes of the Black and Gaunt family, to research their kind meticulously, to understand their motives, their tactics, their weaknesses. He had to ensure there were absolutely no surprises lurking in the shadows, no hidden traps, no unexpected ferocity that could turn his growing resolve into a swift and bloody defeat. 

Of course with Tom at his side, victory was nearly assured, but still he would take no chances. His very survival, and the safety of those he sought to protect, depended on it.