The Dark Apprentice Chapter 55

Chapter 55

Following Tom's directive to observe Barty more closely for any unusual behavior, Harry's perception sharpened, and he noticed peculiarities almost immediately. Barty's already present nervousness had intensified palpably, an almost frantic energy radiating from him. More concerning were the increasingly frequent inquiries about their shared master, questions that probed deeper than simple curiosity and often ventured into territory that made Harry deeply uneasy.

Each time Barty's questioning edged towards sensitive or uncomfortable subjects regarding Voldemort, the seasoned Death Eater displayed a disconcerting awareness of Harry's discomfort. He would abruptly pivot the conversation, steering it towards safer topics, or simply disengage entirely, offering a hasty excuse before retreating. These abrupt shifts and avoidances only served to amplify Harry's growing unease and suspicion. The very act of deflecting suggested that Barty was aware of the delicate nature of his inquiries and perhaps even testing Harry's loyalties or knowledge in some clandestine manner. The subtle dance of question and evasion created an atmosphere of tension and unspoken scrutiny between them, further solidifying Harry's resolve to remain vigilant and report any truly significant discoveries to Tom.

Beyond these observations, Harry had also begun to distance himself from his friends.  Before he had done so however, he had told them that he was really going to get serious about preparing for the third task, and told them he had to do more than win the tournament, but didn’t go into details.  

Tracey had seemed hurt by this decision, initially, but Harry promised that in his studies he would find another ritual for her, and continue to point her in the direction that would optimize her growth.  The disappointment from the girl was still felt, but Harry hoped she would forgive him.  The last thing he wanted was for her to catch Tom’s ire.

As March led into April and Harry’s training intensified.  His proficiency in the Dark Arts was becoming absolute, and his teachers were truly starting to realize just how gifted he was in his core wand subjects.  Between McGonagall, Flitwick, Vector, and Babbling, they were all quizzing him on NEWT level parts of their curriculum instead of assigning him the usual homework.  This led to some interesting studies, but nothing that truly challenged the young man.

Each day Harry seemed to catch the long looks from Dumbledore, and wondered what the man was thinking.  Perhaps he was comparing him to another student that had walked the halls before him.  One that had risen to become the most powerful Dark Lord of the 20th century.  Tom Riddle.

The comparison was fair, but unlike the young Tom Riddle, Harry had a guide.  A mentor that was willing to push him, yet make sure he didn’t fall into temptation and lose himself in the pursuit of power, but was still willing to push him as far as he was capable of going.  A capability Harry was determined to push the bounds of.

The weight of his burgeoning magical abilities and the intoxicating allure of greater power consumed Harry's thoughts. He was on the cusp of proving he was among the most powerful wizards of his generation, and he wished to cement this beyond doubt in the final task.  Tom had been right when he scolded Harry for merely trying to win the tournament.  There was more to this than winning, and Harry understood that more and more as he delved into the history of other great wizards throughout history.

To further enhance his chances, his focus narrowed to the intricate and perilous ritual he was meticulously planning, an undertaking still several weeks away but looming large in his mind. Each component of this dark rite was a weight on his mind.  A labyrinth of thoughts circled in his head constantly as he attempted to strategize each component.

The acquisition of this profound power Tom spoke of had become his singular obsession, coloring his every waking thought and shaping his interactions with the world around him. The coming weeks would be a period of intense preparation, a clandestine gathering of the necessary elements, and a final mental rehearsal of the ritual's steps. The air around him seemed to hum with the unspoken anticipation of the transformative and potentially dangerous act he was about to commit.

The most straightforward method for obtaining the necessary ingredient would be to procure the blood of an enemy. Fleur Delacour, in particular, had emerged as a persistent and irksome obstacle throughout his endeavors, thwarting his plans and presenting unforeseen annoyance on numerous occasions. Her continued presence in the tournament was an undeniable irritation.  With the precise application of a finely tuned tracking rune, he would embark on a relentless pursuit of the young woman at the start of the 3rd task, following her every move until the opportune moment arose. His objective would be clear: to eliminate her from the competition at the earliest possible juncture, thereby neutralizing her and securing a significant advantage. Upon her demise, he would claim her blood not merely as a consequence of their conflict, but as a potent trophy that would benefit his magic forever. 

The Blood of the Dead, a potent and rare ingredient that Harry was lucky enough to already possess. He had meticulously collected it in the aftermath of his previous ritual that ended Peter Pettigrew's miserable existence.  It had been a grim souvenir of a pivotal moment. His magical studies, particularly those under the tutelage of Tom, had unveiled the myriad values of Dead Man's blood. It was not merely a macabre relic, but a substance imbued with latent power and even capable of harming vampires. Tom, ever the pragmatist and master manipulator, had been the one to insist Harry preserve it. "One never knows, Harry," he had purred, his voice a silken thread of menace and wisdom, "when such a... unique resource might prove invaluable."

The task of gathering the blood of a champion and a mentor, while seemingly gruesome, presented a surprisingly straightforward path for the ritual. Harry, a Tri-Wizard champion, naturally fit the first requirement. His very participation, let alone his ultimate victory in the demanding tournament, marked him as a figure of remarkable prowess and resilience. The potent magic that coursed through him, honed by perilous trials and triumphs, would undoubtedly be an invaluable ingredient, imbuing the ritual with a profound connection to his already powerful magic.

As for the blood of a mentor, Tom's inclusion was equally, if not more, crucial. He wasn't merely a teacher in the conventional sense, but a guiding hand through the labyrinthine corridors of dark arts and intricate magical theory. His extensive knowledge and the profound influence he wielded over the very trajectory of Harry’s endeavors positioned him unequivocally as the mentor whose essence was required. The symbiotic relationship between his vast wisdom and Harry's burgeoning power formed the very bedrock of their grand design, making their combined contributions not just easy to acquire, but absolutely indispensable for the ritual's success.

Then there was the blood of a virgin.  An ingredient that he had only mildly entertained thoughts of and when he did, he thought of Tracey.  Despite distancing himself from the girl, he knew she still cared for him, and desired to be at his side.  He would only need to ask, and he had little doubt he would receive what he needed, but still he hesitated.  The young woman had done well in her initial dives into the Dark Arts, but this was a big step.  She would undoubtedly ask many questions, and while mostly he could deflect, it was a well known fact that most things to do with blood magic were very dark. And then there was the even more delicate, almost painfully awkward, aspect of the conversation. How would he articulate the necessity of her virginity? How would he explain that her untainted state was not merely a preference, but a vital component, a magical prerequisite for the ritual's success? The very thought of broaching such a sensitive, intimate subject with her, the potential for misunderstanding, the inevitable blush that would undoubtedly color her cheeks – it was enough to make Harry distinctly uncomfortable.

The blood of an innocent, a morally compromising task, a chilling ingredient that weighed heavily on Harry's conscience, more so than any other component. His immediate, almost visceral thought, was to return to Mrs. Pettigrew. In a twisted sense, she was an innocent, an unwitting victim of her son's depravity. The idea flickered through his mind that taking her blood would be a pragmatic solution, a means to an end. He wouldn't lose a wink of sleep over it; the woman had, after all, birthed a monster, a creature of betrayal and evil. However, a deeper, unsettling intuition gnawed at him. He knew, with a certainty that transcended logic, that the very motive behind such an act would be irrevocably tainted, corrupting the ritual and potentially, himself. In the truest, most profound sense of the word, Mrs. Pettigrew was not truly innocent in his heart. This stark realization forced him to abandon the easy, yet ethically compromised path, compelling him to delve into the treacherous landscape of other, far more complex, and potentially dangerous options. The quest for true innocence, untainted by even the faintest shadow of complicity still rattled around in his brain daily.

On the waning days of April, Harry had noted the night before in Astronomy that a full moon was upon them at Hogwarts.  It was on this warm spring day that he began to consider the final ingredient, the blood of a beast.  There were no shortages of monsters he could go hunt in the Forbidden Forest, but a different piece of text caused him pause. 

In a book written by the Gaunts that had many sinister rituals available for studying, he discovered something less horrific than the normal.  A ritual that he would not consider for himself, but his companion that was fascinated to take the next step in her journey of ritualistic magic.

It had been a quiet afternoon in charms, and the day was coming to a close.  Professor Flitwick's class was the last of the day for the fourth year Slytherins, and Harry half interestedly listened to the man’s lesson about the severing charm.  This was a charm Harry had been taught by Tom their first Summer together, and had even taught the charm to Blaise, Daphne, and Tracey during one of their many lessons together.  It was no surprise that his allies looked bored during the lesson, but when Flitwick suggested they begin cutting the fabric he conjured for each of them, Harry took his opportunity to speak to Tracey under a quiet breath.

“Want to have some fun tonight?” Harry asked under his breath, as he pointed his wand at the fabric and non-verbally sliced it in two.

Tracey raised her eyebrows at her friend, and her cheeks colored slightly, before her eyebrows furrowed, and she pointed her own wand at the fabric, “We haven’t had much time together recently, and now you want to just sneak off to snog?”

With a slight hiss and a thrust of her wand, Tracey muttered the Diffindo charm, and sliced her fabric in half, while also creating a decent sized gash in their table.  Professor Flitwick’s eyes shot towards them and he called across the room, “A little more control next time Ms. Davis.”

“Sorry Professor.” Tracey muttered, not catching that Harry himself was now blushing at the misunderstanding, and was thankful the girl was not looking him in the eye.

“A different kind of fun to what you’re thinking.  It would be just the two of us.  After curfew.  It would also need to be a secret.” Harry said evenly, trying to keep the stammer out of his tone from the embarrassment of the misunderstanding.

Tracey looked at him in surprise now, as he slashed his fabric neatly into fourths, not leaving a trace of his own magic past the thin pieces, “Just the two of us?”

Nodding Harry said nothing, while Tracey, with much better control cut the yellow square fabric into a separate piece, with a soft incantation.  This time the fabric cut much smoother than before, and though there was a small scratch on the table it was better than most of the rooms. “What did you have in mind?”

Harry glanced around to see that most of the class was focused on their own work, except Daphne, who had her eyes on the pair with a suspicious look on her countenance.  Ignoring the girl he had not had many meaningful conversations with since the Yule Ball, he turned back to Tracey saying, “I may have a possible answer to your next step in our favorite subject, and it happens to coincide with a different project I am working on.  I thought this would be a good chance to kill two birds with one stone.”

At the casual mention of their “favorite subject”, Tracey’s eyes lit up with excitement, as she whispered, “Really?”

Nodding Harry shrugged, “It’ll be mildly dangerous, but it will be a cool story we won’t ever be able to tell anyone.”

Tracey grinned at this, and nodded enthusiastically in return, “I’m in.  After midnight?”

“It’s a date.” Harry promised quietly, and those words seemed to cement the joy in Tracey’s eyes as she visibly became more upbeat, and changed the subject to the other uses of the charm they were working on to make sure they avoided the suspicion of their professor who was coming around the room.

Flitwick had praised both of them for their charm work, and to no surprise Daphne and Blaise received similar praises.  They had, after all, been taught this particular charm by Harry.

When the lesson ended, Harry and his friends gathered their bags, and began making their way back to the Common Room with mild conversation about the upcoming weekend.  Harry wasn’t as interested in the conversation as they talked about Hogsmeade, but as the two girls began exchanging hushed whispers, Blaise bumped Harry easily with his elbow, “Did you promise to pull Tracey into a broom closet?  She looks like she won a prize, and I haven’t seen her this excited since before the second task.”

“Nothing like that.” Harry said, fighting the smirk that threatened to cross his face.  Ever since Tracey and Harry had gone to the ball together, Blaise had been dropping hints about coming to him for advice about girls.  While he assured Harry that his magical knowledge may be superior to Blaise’s, witches were his speciality, “But I am planning to spend some time at Hogsmeade with her this weekend.  I have been training diligently, and could use a break.”

It was as good of a cover as he could think of on the fly, but knew Tracey would be ecstatic to have that time with him.  It was true too, Harry had been very diligent the last two plus months.  While he wouldn’t throw the whole day away for a Hogsmeade visit, a few hours with his friends, and a few more in private with Tracey wouldn’t hurt.

“That’s the spirit.” Blaise said, clapping him on the shoulder, a huge smile on his face, “Maybe we can share some of that fire whiskey that Pucey gave you at the end of the night.  You can tell me all about it.”

“I could be convinced.” Harry said with a grin, trying to act more his age, and enjoy the high spirits of Blaise and Tracey.

At the corner of his eye he caught Daphne holding a glance perhaps longer than he would’ve thought normal.  Somehow the girl seemed suspicious of him, and he wasn’t surprised.  Daphne was incredibly observant, and he schooled his features to his normal impassive countenance.  

He had often thought about their conversation at Yule, and had even wanted to bring the matter up with her again in private.  Each time he had thought to do so, things tended to get in the way.  It seemed like it just wasn’t yet time to address that particular problem, but he hoped that next year, the two could delve into the problem together.  He had little time to study parselmagic in its healing nature, and was very curious to do so, when he had more time to peruse the topic around Gaunt Manor.

The rest of the evening and dinner passed by normally, and no one was the wiser about what was coming.  Daphne’s suspicions had fallen away over the course of the evening as Harry returned to his studies, and didn’t engage much with the group beyond dinner time.  By the time curfew had rolled around, they had all gone their separate ways to bed, but not before Tracey had offered him a discreet wink, and wished him a goodnight.

Midnight had come faster than Harry had anticipated.  He had read over the steps to Tracey’s ritual in earnest to make sure there would be no surprises, and to ensure he accounted for every possibility.  This was likely the least amount of research he had done on a ritual, but the Gaunts made it seem simple, and while it was dark in nature due to needing the blood of a beast, there wasn’t much more beyond that.  A couple of facets he would explain to Tracey on the way, but nothing that he thought would put her off the idea.  With a deep breath he grabbed his fathers cloak and his rarely used Nimbus 2000.  With a swift wave of his wand he shrunk the broomstick down to miniature size and took a deep breath hoping the night would go off without a hitch.

Staring off into the impenetrable darkness of the Black Lake, Harry stood by the large, arching glass pane window, its surface cool beneath his fingertips. A profound stillness enveloped the Slytherin Common Room, broken only by the almost imperceptible lapping of the lake against the castle foundations far below. He waited patiently, a figure of quiet intensity silhouetted against the inky expanse, for his clandestine meeting with Tracey. The grand stone walls of the common room, usually bustling with late-night conversations and the murmur of studying students, were now silent, amplifying the solitude of the moment. It was only a minute past midnight, the castle clock having just chimed its mournful, echoing tones through the ancient corridors, when the softest of footsteps began to echo across the polished flagstones. The sound, almost a whisper against the pervasive quiet, grew steadily closer, indicating the imminent arrival of his companion.

He remained motionless, his gaze fixed on the darkness of the lake in front of him, even as her light footsteps drew near. He didn’t need to turn to know it was her; a familiar piece of magic, a subtle shift in the air, always announced her presence. As she reached him, her hand slipped through the crook of his arm, a silent anchor in his tumultuous thoughts. Then came the gentle brush of her lips against his cheek, a fleeting, tender caress that sent a comforting ripple through him.

Even without meeting her gaze, he could feel it – the vibrant hum of her excitement, a tangible force radiating from her very magic. When he finally turned his head, his eyes meeting hers, he found himself entirely unsurprised. 

Tracey was dressed in a cloak he had gifted her after the Yule Ball for Christmas.  It was the same he had gifted Daphne and Blaise, but she seemed to enjoy wearing the dark robes the most.  They covered her small frame well, and her brunette hair, usually a cascade of unruly waves, was pulled back into a neat, elegant bun, framing a face that was soft and unmarred by the day's demands. A radiant smile graced her lips, a smile that held no hint of the exhaustion that surely should have followed a long day filled with classes and studies. Instead, it was a pure, unblemished expression of eager anticipation, her eyes sparkling with an inner light that spoke volumes of the adventure she clearly foresaw.

“Ready?” Harry asked softly.

He expected the girl to bombard him with questions, but instead she surprised him by nodding excitedly, “Lead the way.”

Her faith in him was moving.  She didn’t ask how they would escape undetected, or what they would be doing.  She didn’t even ask about the large piece of fabric he was carrying in his hands.  She merely trusted him to guide and instruct her along the way.  He had rarely appreciated his friend more than he did in that moment, and just returned the grin for the first time that evening, and indicated with a jerk of his head to follow her.

They made their way up the staircase that would lead them out of the Slytherin Common Room and into the dungeons, but before they reached the serpentine archway, Harry held a finger to his lips, and began unfolding the soft velvety material that he knew Tracey had not recognized.

In a swift motion he swirled the cloak over his shoulders, and disappeared from the sight of his friend who gasped.  Before she could ask where he had gone, he flipped a piece over his head, so she could once again see him.  Harry grinned at the girl, holding a finger to his lips, and offered a portion of the invisibility cloak to her, indicating she should join him.

Nodding her head, Tracey did as suggested, and came in close to him, as the two slid under the cloak.  Her grin was even wider than before now, and Harry couldn’t help but share the infectious smile as the two began to creep out of the Common Room, and through the dungeons.

It wasn’t a long walk before they reached the grounds. He knew every shortcut, every hidden passageway, every nook and cranny that would get them out of the immediate vicinity of the castle the fastest.  Yet still being this close to a girl this age did play a certain number on his insides.  Tracey seemed amazed by the magic of his fathers cloak, but just watched in wonder as they moved throughout the castle undetected.

At last, with a soft rustle, he pulled the cloak from their shoulders, the sudden exposure to the cool night air a welcome shock after the stifling closeness beneath the enchanted fabric. He glanced around, his eyes scanning the moonlit landscape, searching for any sign of movement or disturbance. The expansive grounds lay quiet and still, bathed in the silver glow of the rising moon.

"Okay," he whispered, his voice low but firm, a hint of the usual determination returning to his tone. "We should be safe to walk and talk from here." His gaze lingered for a moment longer, a flicker of residual caution in his eyes, before he finally relaxed, a subtle shift in his posture.

The stars were out in force that evening, and Harry glanced at Tracey who took a deep breath, looked up at the sky, and let out a big exhale, “You picked a good night to do this.”

Harry nodded, the weather was cool, but not uncomfortable for the time of year.  In their current attire they would be comfortable.  Walking towards the forest, Tracey followed confidently beside him as he took a moment to arrange his thoughts before saying, “Our task tonight will have its dangers, but I promise I will keep you safe, if you promise in return to watch my back.”

“Of course.” The girl said without hesitation, “I trust you.”

Swallowing thickly Harry didn’t know what to say to that, but took her head appreciatively and offered it a squeeze, before releasing it, saying, “Tonight, we are both after the blood of a beast.  I am working on a much larger ritual, and this is merely one of seven components, but for you, a few pieces of your beast will be needed as well as the blood.  The more dangerous the beast, the more benefits you will reap from the ritual.  For your part you will only need to draw blood from our target while it lives.  I believe I will be able to do the rest..”

“What is it we are after?” Tracey asked with a hint of nervousness in her voice for the first time.

Shrugging, Harry shook his head, “I am told there are both vampires and werewolves that have been known to take refuge in the Forbidden Forest.  I think either would be beneficial to our ritual, but I won’t limit our options.”

Tracey seemed to consider his words for a moment before sighing, “I’ve heard there are acromantulas in there too.  An entire colony.  I’d rather not run into those.”

“I would rather not run into a beast that has that many numbers either.  Preferably we find a solitary magical creature.” Harry agreed.

“Shouldn’t we be worried about running into them?” Tracey asked concern still laced in her tone.

Offering a reassuring smile Harry shook his head, “The colony has been…let’s say relocated.”

Raising her eyes in surprise Tracey asked, “By you?”

Nodding his eyes darted around the grounds searching for anything out of ordinary while he said, “And an ally.”

“Your teacher?” Tracey asked with excitement.

“Not exactly.” Harry chuckled, “But a good friend of my teachers.  She has become a good friend of mine too.”

Tracey frowned at this and her eyebrows creased, and Harry chuckled, realizing her line of thought at once, “Don’t worry, she’s not my type.”

Thinking of Sesha, Harry knew it would be impossible to explain the basilisk to his friend, so did not even attempt to do so, “Regardless, we don’t have to worry about giant spiders tonight.  For your ritual a Dugbog or Mongrel would work, but I would prefer something a little more exciting for both of our sakes.”

Nodding in understanding Tracey followed Harry into the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, noticeably getting closer to him than before.  The teen didn’t comment on it, but she decided to continue speaking to likely keep her nerves clear, “What else should I know about my ritual?”

“It will help you grow into your magic faster.” Harry offered his eyes searching the distance for anything out of the ordinary, “The last ritual enhanced your magical abilities, this one will help you reach maturity faster.  It won’t help you outstrip your current projected potential, but it will help you get there faster.  According to my book, it will also give you a better sense for hostile magic aimed at you.  A lot of the people who underwent this ritual reported heightened reflexes in duels, and faster retaliation in spellcasting.”

“Sounds useful.” Tracey said, the excitement returning in her voice.

“For how little you have to do, I agree.” Harry said, “A little of your blood, the right runes, and the blood of the beast, and boom, ritual over.  One woman reported that it stung, but everyone else has said it was just a little discomforting.”

“Much better than last time then.” Tracey responded brightly.

“Much.” Harry agreed.

“What about your ritual?” Tracey asked.

Before Harry could contemplate the lie he was going to feed her, but before he could ponder it a howl split the air.  Both teens froze in place before glancing at each other, Tracey looking much more nervous now than before.  Harry comfortingly offered, “Stay with me, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Tracey nodded, but her unease was palpable. The howl, a chilling lament that seemed to vibrate in the very air around them, was distant, perhaps even miles away, yet it carried an undeniable sense of foreboding. Harry, ever practical, reached into his pocket. With a familiar flick of his wrist and a whispered incantation, he withdrew his broomstick, a sleek Nimbus 2000, and with another wave of his wand, restored it to its full size.

Tracey’s eyes widened, a mixture of awe and concern clouding their depths. Her voice, when she spoke, was barely a whisper, as if sharing a profound secret. "I forgot you had such a nice broom," she murmured, a hint of reverence in her tone. "You know you could damage it by shrinking it like this? The enchantments, the balance of the wood and the magic… it’s a wonder it hasn’t warped already." She gestured towards the shimmering bristles and the polished handle, her concern evident.

Snorting Harry shook his head, “It hardly matters now.  After my stunt this year I am sure Snape will keep my ban intact from the team, but if not, I will get a new one to play, besides this is more important than my non-existent future playing quidditch.”

Mounting the broom, Harry jerked his head to his friend, indicating she should mount the back behind him, and tentatively, with a blush on her cheeks, she did so. The polished wood felt smooth beneath his grasp, familiar and reassuring, a stark contrast to the thrumming anticipation in his chest. He could feel the slight tremor in Tracey’s arms as she settled in behind him, her touch light at first, then firming as she secured her grip.

Harry, with his wand still firmly clutched in his hand, its holly and phoenix feather core a comforting weight, then hissed, “Point me,” the words a low, sibilant whisper that seemed to ripple with parselmagic. He extended his arm, the wand held steady before him, and waited for his magic to infuse the intent behind his words. A subtle hum began to emanate from the wand, a low vibration that resonated through his fingertips and up his arm, spreading a warmth that chased away the lingering chill of the night. The air around them seemed to shimmer, the invisible currents of magic responding to his command. For a breathless moment, the wand seemed to vibrate intensely in his hands, a conduit between his will and the unseen forces of the world, before it spun gracefully in his palm, its tip aligning with an unseen magnetic pull. It pointed due south of their location, a clear, unmistakable direction.

Harry nodded, a grim determination setting his jaw. With a powerful kick off the ground, the broom surged upward, a rush of wind tearing at their cloaks. He felt the arms of Tracey wrap around him tightly, her fingers digging into his robes, a silent testament to her trust and her own apprehension. The ground beneath them rapidly receded, lights blurring into streaks as they ascended into the darkening sky. The stars, previously faint, now glittered with sharper clarity above them, and the distant sounds of the castle faded into a soft murmur carried on the wind. He could feel the steady beat of Tracey’s heart against his back, a rhythm that was both comforting and a stark reminder of the danger they were flying towards. "Hold on," he said, his voice a low command, barely audible over the rush of the wind, but infused with an unspoken promise of their return.