The Dark Apprentice Chapter 51

(A/N) Sorry guys, I am really sucking on the double updates right now.  Good news, I have already wrote most of 52, and I am hoping to have

Chapter 51

Harry had to take calming breaths when he made it onto the snow covered grounds.  His instincts were flaring for him to attack, to make Delacour pay for attempting to curse him in the back, but he knew the price would be high.

His dress shoes broke the crisp silence of the courtyard, each footfall a sharp crunch against the fresh blanket of snow. A bitter wind whipped around him, mirroring the tempest raging within. The insult, the sheer audacity of the curse hurled his way, still burned like a brand. Tom would have incinerated anyone who dared such disrespect, their ashes would have been scattered across the snow in the aftermath. His mentor would be furious that even despite the reputation Harry was carving that some still dared to push him around this way.

Desperately the teen tried to think of what his mentor would do.  What decisive act would he take to make his enemies pay?  

Enemies.

A grim satisfaction began to bloom in the dark corners of his mind. The next task. Yes, the next task would be their undoing. Both of them. They would learn the true meaning of crossing him, and as payment he would take drops of their blood, at least from one of them, for his ritual.  A payment for their transgression that he could carry with him forever. He would ensure their humiliation, their pain, would be a spectacle people long remembered after their pathetic triumphs were forgotten.

“That was probably one of the coolest bits of magic I have ever seen.” A voice from behind him called.

His head darted towards the familiar voice, and his eyes fell on his date who offered him a sad smile, “Stopping the spell in mid-air with your bare hand.  I have never seen anything like it.  It was hot…terrifying, but hot.”

The teen felt his cheeks color and she laughed, causing his anger to web away slightly, as he murmured, “I would really like to curse them both right about now.”

Tracey waved her hand dismissively, “She isn’t worth the trouble.  Delacour is nothing.  She only went with Krum on some false hope that it would piss you off.  Don’t let it get to you.  She already tried to ruin our evening.  Don’t let her get anything else out of it.”

Sighing, Harry clenched and unclenched his fist a few times, before nodding, “You’re right.  Besides, I have two more tasks to make them pay for it.”

“That’s the spirit.” Tracey said cheerfully, wrapping her hand through his arm, cautiously, as she led him forward.

Instantly Harry realized the girl was shivering, and he shook his head, “I’m sorry, you must be freezing.”

Removing the cloak he was wearing, he placed it around her shoulders, before pulling his wand out and whispering, “Caloris.”

The effects were clearly immediate judging by Tracey’s face, and she beamed at him, while pulling him along the path in a comfortable silence.  Harry could still feel his rage pulsing, but it seemed to be more of a dull drum at this point then the cascading firefight that was happening in his ears prior to Tracey’s arrival.  Between the cold, frigid air, and his date's presence he felt a sense of ease slowly creep back into him.

He could hardly believe he had nearly got into it with the Headmaster.  It was foolish, and he knew it in hindsight.  Tom would be ashamed that Harry had lost his cool, and nearly landed himself in so much trouble over nothing, but then again perhaps the man would be understanding.  His mentor had been known to curse the people that upset him.

“Is it going to hurt tomorrow?” Tracey asked quietly.

Harry’s brain stopped for a moment as he considered her words, and her meaning.  The ritual.  The big day was very close at hand, and he knew the girl must be feeling some sort of anxiety about it, so tried to assure her, “Don’t think about the pain.  It’s temporary.  The benefits you will reap are going to follow you forever.”

“I am nervous.” The girl admitted, “But then I think about how you endured it, and what good it did for you.  I want that.  The confidence, the power, watching you take it all, makes me think I can do the same.  Maybe not exactly like you, but-”

“You have a lot of potential, Tracey.” Harry promised, “I meant that when I said it to Krum and Delacour.  You just have to be brave enough to pursue it.”

Tracey looked flattered by the compliment, and her cheeks seemed to color, as she stopped, and moved to stand directly in front of him, “I trust you, Harry.”

Harry looked at the girl with  soft brown eyes, and felt a sense of anxiousness creep through him.  It wasn’t bad like the type he was used to growing up.  Instead it was like a butterfly was taking flight in his stomach.  There was a tension in the air that he couldn’t quite explain, but he realized that his date was suddenly standing much closer to him than many in his life ever had.

Before he could follow his instinct he felt a sense of magic nearby, and his head snapped in that direction.  The magic was familiar, and irritating to his senses, but before he could think rationally, he pulled Tracey into his arms, and moved them behind a nearby wall of the courtyard.  

Two distinct voices immediately followed and Harry wondered what Igor Karkaroff and Snape might be doing at this late hour.

“It’s happening again, like before, and soon neither you or anyone else will be able to deny it.” The Durmstrang Headmaster hissed.

Snape in his silky voice however seemed displeased by the line of conversation, “I already told you Igor, I see no reason to discuss it.”

Suddenly the man seemed to sense something similar to what Harry had and took long strides forward.  Harry at first thought the man had seen him, and was coming to chew him out, but instead he barked at two students that must’ve been hiding in one of the carriages.  The man immediately took points off both their houses and sent them scurrying away like rats.

Harry released a breath, but looked down to see he had a red faced Tracey pressed against the wall in a fashion that was not exactly appropriate.  His face felt hot suddenly, and before he could apologize his mouth snapped shut as he heard the voices again, “It’s a sign Severus, you know it is.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Snape said back passively.

“Really?” Karkaroff said with a scoff, “Then perhaps you wouldn’t mind rolling up your sleeve, huh?”  Snape jerked away from the man as he reached, making the man laugh in a tone that suggested many things, but humor was not one of them, “You don’t fool me, Severus.  You are scared.  Admit it.”

Death Eaters. The words echoed in the forefront of Harry's thoughts, as he considered the two men who had both been in his master's service. He knew, with a certainty that settled like a cold stone in his stomach, that Snape and Karkaroff both bore the mark of Voldemort's loyal servants. Yet, the information relayed by Barty and the stark reality witnessed within the man's courtroom memory, painted a less than flattering picture of these former devotees. They were not the unwavering pillars of Dark Lord's inner circle he might have imagined, but rather, in Barty's scathing assessment, and the evidence of their own pleas for leniency, cowardly deserters who had abandoned their master when the tides turned against him. This revelation added another layer of complexity to Harry's understanding of the intricate web of alliances and betrayals that defined the wizarding world at the end of the last war, especially concerning those who had once pledged allegiance to the Dark Lord.

It would make sense that their mark was becoming darker, Harry thought morbidly.  Tom’s power was increasing everyday, and soon the man would come out from the shadows and be as powerful as he was before his first downfall, and the whole country would likely fall before him.

“I have nothing to be scared of Igor.  Can you say the same?” Snape replied scathingly.

Karkaroff recoiled as if he had been slapped.  The man looked terrified by Snape's declaration, and all but ran from the man at his first possible chance.  Across the courtyard Harry spotted Barty in disguise looking quite pleased with what he just observed.  Harry for his part saw Snape begin to come their way, and he shot back behind the wall with wide eyes, “Snape’s coming.”

“What do we do?” Tracey asked in a worried tone.

Harry’s heart raced as the sound of Snape’s approaching footsteps echoed in the corridor, each step a warning against the consequences of eavesdropping on their Head of House. Despite knowing Barty was near, panic flared, sharp and immediate, urging him to action. His gaze darted around the small alcove, searching for an escape, anything to avoid the Potions Master’s inevitable scrutiny.

Harry locked his eyes with Tracey’s. In their depths, he saw a mixture of desperation and a tinge of what he thought might’ve been desire. A silent conversation passed between them, a shared acknowledgment of the precariousness of their situation and the desperate need for a distraction that might have indicated they hadn’t been listening in on the man. Without a word, Harry reached out, with his hand and he cupped her cheek. The softness of her skin under his fingertips sent a jolt through him, a stark contrast to the urgency of the moment.

He leaned in slowly, deliberately, closing the distance between them. His heart pounded against his ribs like a trapped bird. The air crackled with unspoken tension, thick with the risk of discovery and the undeniable pull he felt towards her. His lips met hers gently, a feather-light touch at first, a fleeting brush that was more than a desperate act of misdirection and more of an expression of the feelings swirling between them.

“Potter!”

The two jumped apart, playing the part well, and Harry eyed the man with wide eyes, “Professor Snape, we were just…”

“Heading back to the dungeons.” Tracey said helpfully.

The Head of Slytherin House glared at his two students for a long moment, before scoffing, “To bed, the both of you…Now!”

With a final, abrupt gesture, Snape pivoted sharply, his dark robes billowing and swirling around him as the man strode away with an agitated energy, his footsteps echoing slightly in the otherwise quiet space. He disappeared quickly around a corner, the darkness of his attire swallowing him whole, leaving Harry and Tracey alone.

Harry let out a sigh of relief, before turning back to Tracey, who had a strange look on her face.  A brief thought that the kiss might’ve been terrible crossed his mind, and he tentatively asked, “Are you alright?”

Suddenly the strange look vanished, and it was replaced by a sly smirk, “Not bad, you know I had really hoped you would kiss me, but I didn’t quite expect it to happen like this.”

Harry floundered a bit at her words, as he tried to fight the crimson that was undoubtedly erupting across his cheeks, “Sorry, this night has been full of surprises.”

“Then what's a few more going to hurt?”

Grabbing the young man by the front of his dress shirt, Tracey pulled him closely, and pressed her lips back to his. This kiss was different from the tentative touch they had shared moments before. It was much hungrier, more demanding, fueled by an evening neither would soon forget. 

Harry wrapped both hands around the girl's slim waist, and pressed her gently back against the wall, before separating from her lips, and breathing much heavier than before, “That was some kiss.”

Tracey’s eyes fluttered open looking up at him, looking prettier than he had ever seen her, “Yes, my first.”

“Mine too.” Harry admitted, glad there was no one else for her to compare him to for his first time.

“Then let’s do it again, and gain some experience.” Tracey said coyly, leaning back in.

“Maybe not right here.” Harry said with a slight grin, “Snape might come back.”

“Give the bastard a show, maybe he won’t be so grumpy.” She said back softly, and Harry felt a shiver go down on his spine at her words.

“Come on, let’s at least head in the direction of the Dungeons, or we will be in detention for a month.” Harry said as he stepped away from his date, but offered her a hand.

Sighing the girl straightened her dress briefly, before taking his hand, and following him down the hall, never once releasing his hand.  The two cleared the courtyard, and began descending the steps. Most of the student body must’ve still been in the Great Hall, because it was remarkably deserted the closer they came to the Common Room.

“Harry?” Tracey asked.

Stopping, he turned to face his date, and she looked from their conjoined hands, to his lips, before clearly coming to a decision on her next words, “I know part of me wants to ask about what the kiss and us attending the ball together means to you, but I can’t help but think we saw something important between Snape and Karkaroff.”

Glancing around the deserted corridor in the dungeon, Harry turned his attention back to his date, mumbling softly, “I think you are right.”

The young brunette bit her lip softly, as if that made ten more questions appear in her mind, before asking, “You know what they were talking about don’t you?  I could see it on your face.  It was the same look you had when Delacour cursed you in the back.”

“I have my theories, each as dangerous as the next.” Harry confirmed, “But the information is incredibly volatile, more than you realize.  I would suggest not mentioning it to anyone, even Blaise or Daphne.”

“You can trust me, Harry.” Tracey said, stepping closer to him, as she regripped the front of his shirt.

“I am starting to see that.” Harry whispered.

“Then let’s leave the rest of it for another day.  I may not have gotten as many dances as I wanted, but you can make it up to me now.” Tracey said leaning in, and their lips met again.

Breaking their kiss, Harry grinned with mischief as he scanned their surroundings. Finding a safe place with his eyes he gently took her hand, his fingers interlacing with hers, and tugged her along. He knew of a classroom down the deserted corridor, one that was almost always empty, a forgotten space amidst the bustling school. It wasn't just the promise of uninterrupted privacy that drew him there but the distinct possibility of avoiding any further encounters with a certain surly potions master was a considerable bonus in his mind.

The two didn’t discuss much else for the remainder of the night, but pursued a youthful experience that Harry was certain he would never forget.

.o.

“Try to remember why each of you are doing this.  Maybe it will help.” Harry tried to assure, as he guided his friends through the final steps of the ritual.  

In the Undercroft's shadowy embrace, Harry observed his companions steeling their nerves for their initial foray into the intricate world of ritualistic magic. Each rune etched into the waiting bowls bore the mark of painstaking precision, a testament to Harry's diligent oversight. The air hummed with a silent anticipation, the weight of the impending act palpable as the final component lay in wait: the crimson catalyst of blood. He scanned their faces – Tracey’s brow slightly furrowed in concentration, Daphne’s apprehension masked by a determined set to her jaw, and Blaise's wide eyes reflecting the torchlight, a mixture of fear and excitement swirling within him. 

This moment, Harry knew, was a pivotal juncture, a step into a realm where the very fabric of magic shifted and responded to intention and sacrifice. The ancient stones of the Undercroft seemed to absorb their nervous energy, the silence amplifying the significance of the task ahead. Each carefully carved symbol represented a desire, a conduit to forces beyond their everyday understanding, and the impending offering of blood was the key that would unlock those pathways. 

.

Harry felt the familiar weight of responsibility settle upon his shoulders; he was their guide in this territory, and the success and safety of this endeavor rested firmly upon his instruction and their unwavering focus. He offered a reassuring nod to each of them, his own anxieties carefully concealed beneath a veneer of confidence. This was the beginning of something profound, something that would irrevocably alter their understanding of magic and their place within its vast and mysterious landscape just like it had his own. The bowls, each a miniature vessel of potential power, sat ready, awaiting the final, vital ingredient that would bring the carefully constructed ritual to life.

“Does it look right, Harry?” Tracey asked.

Striding to look into Tracey’s bowl, Harry knew immediately the girl had done it as precisely as he once had.  She had done her due diligence, and extensively researched and asked similar questions to the ones Harry once voiced to Tom.  Despite this, Harry could tell by the way the girl bit her bottom lip, and the way her eyes flitted back and forth from the basin to his himself, that she was incredibly nervous.

The aftermath of the previous night hung in the air between them, an unspoken weight that neither seemed inclined to address. The intimate encounter, still fresh in their minds, remained a silent presence, a fragile thread neither dared to tug lest it unravel completely or transform into something they weren't ready to face. Tracey, usually so inquisitive and eager to dissect events, displayed a surprising reticence. She made no move to question Harry about the hushed exchange they had inadvertently witnessed between Snape and Karkaroff, a conversation that had hinted at secrets the teen did not wish to speak of. For his part, Harry found himself relieved by her silence. He wasn't sure he possessed the words or courage to articulate anything intelligent about their intimate moment, nor was he prepared to delve into the unsettling implications of Snape's clandestine meeting. 

Thoughts of that overheard dialogue, the subtle menace in Karkaroff's tone, and the carefully guarded responses of Snape lingered at the edges of his mind, a disquieting puzzle he wasn't yet ready to confront without speaking to Tom. 

He appreciated the unspoken truce, the shared decision to navigate the immediate present without the added burden of dissecting the delicate intricacies of their evolving relationship or the looming darkness hinted at in the shadows of the castle.

“It’s as good as it gets.” Harry assured.

When he moved on to Daphne’s, he recognized the hand of an artist.  Despite not having researched the runes as deeply as Tracey, Daphne had an innate talent for rune carving.  She may not have the same understanding, but both witches were incredibly bright in their own strong branches of the ancient art.

Offering the girl a nod of approval, he then moved on to Blaise, and noted his shaking hand.  He was as nervous as either of the girls, if not more.  His runes were not as precise, but Harry knew they were acceptable, and probably closer to his own attempt.

“Strength.  Resolve.  Youth.  Power.  Clarity.” Harry recited, recalling the runes in each of their basins, “Traits that people pursue their entire lives are going to be given to you…but it won’t be free.”

He felt the eyes of his friends on him as he paced in front of them hoping to offer words of encouragement.  They didn’t have Tom pushing them to be great, but each of them had proven their desire to be true Slytherins.  Each of them had shown a desire to be cunning, ambitious, great.

“The pain you are about to feel, embrace it.” Harry encouraged, “It is just an obstacle in your path.  Even if this is the last ritual you ever partake in, the benefits will be forever.”

Harry could see each of their jaws clench in preparation, and he gave his final words, “Cut your hands, let go of your conscious self, and act on instinct.  I know each of you have the potential in you, now just prove it to yourselves, and the rest of the world.”

The three seemed to exchange nervous looks, before Tracey pulled her wand from her cloak, and held it to her hand.  With a quick slice the girl grimaced, and hissed with a slight undercurrent of pain in her eyes, before she went to work in tracing the ruins.  Daphne and Blaise both stared at the girl for a long moment, before following her lead.

Blaise twitched and groaned slightly at the pain of the slash from his wand, but Daphne barely batted an eyelash at the sensation.  Harry watched as each of them conducted the final steps to the ritual, and when Tracey finished she looked resolved, as she bit her lip nervously, and observed what she had done.

The other two finished not long after her, and Tracey broke the extended silence, “Together?”

Harry watched with anticipation as Blaise and Daphne  muttered in agreement. In unison, their wands were drawn, the polished woods gleaming faintly in the dim light. Respectively, they raised their magical foci, the tips directed towards the waiting basins. Within each basin lay a carefully prepared mixture of their own blood, potent with inherent magical energy; intricately carved runes, each line and angle resonating with ancient power; and an assortment of other ingredients, meticulously gathered by Harry for this precise moment. The combination of these elements formed a nexus of potential, waiting to be unlocked by the final incantation.

Sensing their final hesitation Harry encouraged them, with a soft whisper, “You know the spell.  This is your time.”

All of them looked uncertain, and for a moment, Harry thought one of them would back out, but Daphne saved the moment, “On 3?”

The other two nodded, swallowing hard, while Daphne counted down.  Each number was spoken softly, but to Harry the words echoed loudly, his own excitement coalescing.  When the fire leapt from each of their wands their screams drowned the silence of the room.  The basins were each alight with flames as the magic burned away.

A wave of unseen force crashed over the three students, each reacting with immediate and visceral pain. Blaise crumpled instantly, his knees hitting the cold stone floor with a dull thud as an involuntary cry escaped his lips. His hands flew to his chest, fingers splayed as if trying to physically push away the agonizing pressure that seemed to crush his very being from the inside. His body convulsed, every muscle straining against the invisible assault.

Daphne, typically composed and graceful, was thrown off balance by the sudden onslaught. Her head snapped back as if struck, her usually cool demeanor shattered by a raw expression of distress. Her hands rose frantically, clawing at the front of her robes, her breath coming in ragged gasps. A silent scream contorted her face as she fought against the suffocating sensation that gripped her.

Tracey Davis, though visibly shaken, displayed a stubborn resilience. Tears streamed down her face, blurring her vision, but she refused to fall. Her legs trembled, threatening to buckle beneath her, yet she fought with every fiber of her being to remain standing. Her hands, now behind her head, gripped tightly at the strands of her hair, pulling and twisting as if trying to physically release the torment that wracked her body. The scene was one of abrupt and inexplicable suffering, the once composed students now figures of raw agony.

As quickly as it had started however it ended, and all three were gasping for breath.  Blaise had rolled over onto his back and blankly stared up at the ceiling.  Daphne took a hard seat on the floor, and spread her legs apart, her body sagging in relief.  Tracey, to her credit, remained on her feet, but she was hunched over taking deep breaths.

Harry approached the brunette first and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, “Are you okay?”

The girl hesitated for a moment, before nodding, “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“That bloody sucked, Harry.” Blaise moaned from the floor.

“It’s over now though.” Harry promised, “You all did well.  I remind you all that I passed out for nearly three days.”

“Don’t count the possibility out.” Blaise grumbled.

Patting Tracey on the shoulder, Harry went and kneeled beside Daphne, who looked blankly at the ground, “Daphne?”

Swallowing the girl wiped at a stray tear on her face, “I don’t feel that different.”

“Give it some time.  Heal.” Harry instructed.

“Then what?” She asked, finally moving her blue eyes to meet him.

Harry said nothing as he held eye contact with the girl for a long moment, and then a grinned crossed his face, “Then, we train.”