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The Dark Apprentice Chapter 82
🕑 Added 2026-01-29 05:12:01 +0000 UTCA/N This chapter has not yet been reviewed by my editors. There could be minor changes to follow today or tomorrow, but if anything major changes, I will tag everyone to let them know what those changes were. I do not think there will be much, but just in case, I didn't want to delay you all any longer. The next chapter will still come out on the coming Tuesday. Cheers everyone and sorry for the delay.
Chapter 82
“They caught us at dinner.” Harry explained to the assembled crowd of Aurors, who were watching with steely, but sympathetic eyes. He sat in a bedroom sized, square shaped room. A single light illuminating in mid-air above Harry and the one Auror he would’ve rather avoided throughout this whole incident, Roland Davis.
Swallowing heavily, Harry did his best to appear distressed, despite being anything but. It took all of his willpower to shove down the exhilarating elation of his victory. Generations of great witches and wizards had chased the solution to the Greengrass family blood curse, and in the span of six months he had not only ended the tragedy, but also saved a young girl's life. The fact that the young girl in question was Daphne’s sister, only added to his victory.
The teen continued, his voice carefully modulated to convey a profound, weary sadness. “Lord Greengrass and I both sensed the wards shattering. It felt like-”
“And how did you sense this?” Roland Davis asked, interrupting his story.
Shaking his head, Harry tried to dismiss the interruption, “It felt like we were living in a glass house, being crushed by a mountain of rocks.” Harry ran a hand through his already messy hair, a gesture calculated to look like genuine distress. “I am very intune with the magic around me, and this was destruction like I’ve never felt before. Both of us knew, instantly, what it meant. There is only one wizard alive who possesses the raw power, to bring down the wards around the manor with such impunity. We knew it was him.”
He paused, letting the unspoken name hang in the air—the name that brought a fresh wave of weariness to the faces of the listening Aurors. “But Cyrus… Cyrus seemed calm. Daphne told me that her father had always been a great politician, the believer in the power of words over wands. He thought that negotiating with… with the Dark Lord would work in his favor. He truly believed he could pledge his allegiance to the man in exchange for their lives, and decided to go for a parlay.” Harry’s expression hardened into a mask of disgust. “He had hoped to buy time for his family… but… it wasn’t meant to be. Negotiation was never on the table after refusing the Dark Lord even once.”
“And how did you know Lord Greengrass had rejected He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Names' offer to join his ranks?” Roland Davis asked.
Taking a shaky breath, Harry kept his Occlumency intact, and focused on the lies he needed the group before him to believe. At the corner of his eye he saw Dumbledore standing in the back of the room. Arms hanging loosely at his side, his expression stoney.
Instead of the annoyance he felt at Dumbledore’s presence and the clearly paranoid Auror before him “We discussed it over the holiday. It was one of the reasons I felt safe with the Greengrass family. Daphne had preached to me about the ancient wards that protected their home, and about a Lord that had a family history of neutrality, it seemed like the perfect combination.”
“What happened after the Dark Lord broke through the wards?” Auror Davis asked with suspicion clearly on his countenance, “How did you escape with the women in the Greengrass family?”
A dark, burgeoning pride swelled in Harry's chest, a feeling he didn’t allow to fester. He yearned to boast, to lay claim to the feat he had just accomplished. The destruction of the Greengrass family wards was no casual undertaking; it was a testament to a growing mastery that few his age—or any age, for that matter—could claim. The task had demanded a confluence of knowledge and raw power, requiring a delicate, precise combination of parselmagic and the inherently messy, yet potent, art of blood magic to successfully bring the complex magical defenses crashing down.
He counted himself lucky to have had Daphne’s blood readily available. That very substance had been the necessary ingredient to unhinge the intricate layers of protection that had guarded the ancient Greengrass manor for centuries. Yet, even with that essential ingredient, the accomplishment remained staggering; few wizards could possess the skill, the audacity, and the dark resolve to execute such a complex magical assault.
And that was only half the battle. The physical destruction of the wards, impressive as it was, stood alongside the insidious mental manipulation that followed. He had meticulously crafted elaborate, utterly convincing false memories for both Astoria and Lady Greengrass. This was not a simple obliviate charm; he had woven entire new memories with legillemency. Seamless replacement memories designed to mask his true actions and motivations. Furthermore, the two Greengrass house elves had also required painstaking memory modification, their own simple, loyal minds carefully pruned and rewired to ensure no errant, inconvenient memory of his presence or their destructive act remained. The sheer scope of the mental magic alone was enough to make any seasoned legillmens balk; for Harry, it was simply the necessary cleanup after a job well done.
Continuing the well rehearsed lie, Harry spoke, “After Cyrus decided to confront The Dark Lord, I decided we needed a contingency plan.” Harry explained, digging into the cover story that Daphne had prepared with him, “My parents had fallen at the man’s hands before, and I wasn’t going to let Daphne go the same way.”
Pausing for a long moment Harry stared at the table, “Cyrus didn’t even raise his wand before the Dark Lord struck him down. There was no conversation, no begging and pleading, just a slash of red light, and the man crumbled…bloody, broken.”
“And seeing this gave you the strength to apparate yourself and three others away?” Roland asked skeptically.
Harry’s emerald eyes narrowed at the quiet accusation from the Auror. "It wasn’t quite that simple," he stated, his voice carrying a calm, unyielding authority that belied his age. "I have been able to apparate for some time now, an ability I taught myself specifically as a contingency plan in case it was necessary during the Tri-Wizard tournament. I wasn’t going to rely on Dumbledore or the Ministry to ensure my survival."
This revelation caused an audible ripple of murmurs to pass through the assembled Aurors and Ministry officials. Few wizards, even those long out of Hogwarts, could boast of self-teaching such a complex and dangerous skill. Harry, however, ignored the growing buzz of commentary, keeping his focus fixed on the lead interrogating Auror, Mr. Davis.
"I will also remind you," Harry continued, his chin lifting defiantly, "that I am currently the top student in all of Hogwarts at both Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. Should you doubt this, both Professor Vector and Professor Babbling could easily speak to my abilities in their respective fields. For someone with my understanding of ward breaking, even one anchored by the Dark Lord, was not the monumental task you seem to imagine. He was not expecting anyone to mount such an escape, especially after the Lord of the family, the powerhouse was killed. His wards, while powerful, were designed for shock and awe, not long-term containment.”
He paused, allowing the weight of his statement to settle over the room, then delivered the final, crushing comparison. "We were lucky. Lucky that I had delved so deeply into ward breaking when I was trying to learn to break down the Goblet of Fire’s enchantments. Hundreds if not thousands of hours of research saved our lives. Our escape was fortunate, but not the miracle you are trying to paint. Had the Dark Lord really known I was there, I doubt we would’ve made it out alive.”
Stiffly Auror Davis just folded his arms and leaned back in his chair, “These attacks have been happening all over the country. You, and Greengrass Ladies, are the sole survivors of such an attack. If what you say is true, you are beyond lucky.”
The man’s tone indicated he did not believe Harry in the slightest, but instead the teen shrugged, “My family is famous for our lucky escapes, but everyone’s luck runs out eventually. I am just grateful that my moment didn’t come while there was still a chance to save my girlfriend's family.”
This seemed to cement his lies in the eyes of most of the room around him. His composure, despite the gravity of the situation, lent an air of sincerity that was hard to dispute. For them, the matter was closed—a simple, albeit terrifying, case of a young wizard's burst of power under extreme distress.
However, Auror Davis remained unconvinced. His expression, a carefully calibrated mask of professional neutrality, did not shift. The flicker of suspicion in his cool, assessing gaze was minute, but it was there, like a tiny stone disturbing the still surface of a pond. He did not challenge the account directly, but instead, he glanced to the woman standing stoically on his right.
This woman, sharply dressed in robes the color of deep indigo and wearing a single, meticulously polished monocle that caught the dim overhead light, was an enigma. She was a silent partner in the interrogation, observing Harry with an unnervingly still intensity. Upon catching Davis's questioning look, she offered the slightest, almost imperceptible shake of her head—a clear sign that, like the Auror, she was far from satisfied with the young Potter's convenient narrative.
Her voice, when it finally cut through the tense silence, was crisp and authoritative, carrying the weight of finality without a hint of warmth. "It seems you were quite fortunate, Mr. Potter," she said, her tone suggesting that good fortune was a volatile, unpredictable factor that could not be relied upon. The phrase was a dismissal wrapped in a veiled caution. Her eyes, magnified slightly by the lens, narrowed just enough to convey the implicit threat: We may not have the truth now, but we are watching. "You should return to Hogwarts for the time being."
“I will go after I speak to the Greengrass’.” Harry returned stubbornly. The Auror looked like she would argue, but Harry continued, “When I was released from Hogwarts over the break it was into the protection of the Greengrass family. I must speak to them before just leaving.”
The woman seemed like she was not going to relent, so Harry pushed, “Please, my girlfriend's father was just murdered on the grounds of her ancestral home. Don’t make me leave her here alone.”
The woman looked like she would put her foot down, when Dumbledore finally spoke, “I will remain behind with Mr. Potter until the two Greengrass girls are ready to return to Hogwarts, tonight. I will also arrange for Lady Greengrass to go under the protection of the Order of the Phoenix. We will keep her from harm's way for the time being…if she is receptive to such help.”
Roland Davis sighed, and the woman across just nodded stiffly at the man, “It will be as you say then, Chief Warlock.”
With that the two Aurors stood, and the redhaired woman spoke one last time to Harry, “These are dangerous times Mr. Potter. Consider yourself quite fortunate you find yourself within the safety of the Ministry this evening. After a run in with You-Know-Who, most can not claim such good tidings, even my own Aurors.”
The biting urge to make a snarky, deeply cutting comment about the laughable notion of 'safety' within the Ministry was nearly overwhelming, a sharp, metallic taste entered Harry's mouth. Safety, he scoffed internally, the word a laughable joke.
Harry, after all, bore direct responsibility for several of the most recent, prominent notches in the death toll on the Ministry side of the conflict. And this current situation was only a pause to the more devastating losses that would follow their numbers in the near future. His very presence, his continued existence, was a promise of destruction for the established order they so desperately sought to defend.
However, the strategic part of his mind, the part that had been carefully honed by years of Tom’s tutelage, asserted control. A quip, no matter how satisfying, was unnecessary and would only serve to complicate this tenuous exit and expose too much of his true desires. A carefully cultivated air of detached cooperation was far more useful.
Instead, the corners of his lips were deliberately held in a neutral line, and he offered the red-haired woman a curt, single nod. It was a gesture of acknowledgment, nothing more, devoid of warmth or true respect. He then pivoted, his movement fluid and economical, and accepted the Headmaster's silent invitation. The older man held the heavy, oak-paneled door open, providing Harry with an unhindered path out of the interrogation room.
The exit led him into the vast, bustling, and depressingly bureaucratic main office of the Auror department. The air was thick with the scent of old parchment, stale ink, and the nervous energy of people perpetually teetering on the edge of a catastrophe they couldn't control. The open space was a hive of activity: uniformed Aurors hurried between desks piled high with case files, the crackle of half-legible communication spells punctuated the constant, low murmur of worried conversation. He was a lightning rod in this room, a vessel for their fear, and their desperate, fragile hope. They had no idea the fates that awaited him if they planned to stand against Tom and the others.
Harry didn’t get too far into the office before he was enveloped in the arms of his girlfriend. Daphne buried her face into his neck, and her shoulders shook silently, as Harry wrapped his arms around her, putting a hand on the back of her head and rubbing it gently, “Are you okay, Daph?”
The real question was clear, were there any mistakes? Daphne just faked a hiccup and shook her head, “As okay as I can be. I feel like we have been here for hours, I just want to go home.”
Dumbledore cleared his throat at this, and the two separated turning towards the older man, “While I am afraid home is out of the question for now, Ms. Greengrass, I do believe an early return to Hogwarts would be for the best, for now.”
“No, I can’t leave my sister or my mum.” Daphne said fiercely, her acting skills surprising Harry.
“I will personally see to your mothers safety.” Dumbledore promised, “It will be much easier to protect one adult witch than it would be to protect the four of you together. Astoria will of course return with the two of you, it is in all of your best interest to be among your friends and peers during these difficult times.”
The words trust me seemed almost implied, but Daphne scoffed, “No where is safe anymore. The only reason we aren’t being tortured to insanity, or worse, is because Harry got us out of there.”
“An admiral thing was done by Mr. Potter, undoubtedly.” The look on Dumbledore’s face seemed to hold his true feelings on the matter, but Harry said nothing as the old man continued, “But Hogwarts is the safest place in the world. You must forgive my modesty, but for as long as I remain in the school, Lord Voldemort will not attack it.”
Harry wanted to rage at the insinuation that Tom was afraid of the Headmaster. His master would fight Dumbledore anytime, anywhere, if the man would show up to the deadly dance. Instead however, Harry just left his eyes on Daphne, not trusting his own emotions for a moment, as she spoke, “Fine. It will be as you say, Headmaster.”
The man bowed his head, “A wise decision, a hard one to make in these pressing times, I understand. Your mother and young Astoria are waiting for us in the atrium for the time being with some extra layers of protection in the meantime. We should not keep them waiting.”
Putting a protective arm around Daphne's shoulder, Harry cast a hostile glare toward every lingering Auror eye that tracked their movement. The intense conversation the blonde Slytherin had shared with the Headmaster had made them a focal point of the office, but it was the steely gaze of Roland Davis that made Harry nearly halt in his tracks. The man's suspicion was palpable, a dark, heavy weight in the air, and Harry knew it was entirely justified after the calamitous events that had befallen his daughter, Tracey.
A flicker of resentment crossed Harry's face. He knew he was the focus of the man's silent, accusatory scrutiny—a scrutiny that had every right to exist, considering his past with that particular family. Harry had once held Tracey’s affections, a fact that now felt like a cruel irony, a skeleton in his closet rattling at the most inconvenient time.
He would not, however, allow the man’s suspicion to transition into any form of overt hostility or untoward transgression against him. His patience, already thin from the day's events, was wearing down. He might have been involved in Tracey’s life, and he would’ve done anything to keep her safe, but his tolerations of her fathers silent or other accusations would only go so far.
Arriving in the Ministry Atrium, Harry saw that the real Alastor Moody was standing guard over Daphne’s mother and sister, along with the large African Auror that had stood against Tom on the night of the siege against Gringotts. The two men were formidable undoubtedly, and even the young bubble gum haired witch could be capable, but Harry knew they were no match for him, much less Tom.
“Alastor, Kingsley, Nymphadora, I thank you for keeping an eye on Lady Greengrass while we sorted out this tragedy.” Dumbledore offered with a bow of his head, before turning to face the mother of two, “Lady Greengrass, for the time being I believe you should go with Auror Tonks here. Her mother, Andromeda Tonks, Nee Black, was once accustomed to hosting women of your station, and will ensure you are well looked after until we can get you settled in a more permanent safe house.”
The woman said nothing, but swallowed heavily, and looked as if she were going to say something profound, before thinking better of it, nodding, and bowing her head. Harry wanted to grin in triumph, but instead just slipped his hand in Daphne’s, offering her comfort. Her journey had been the longest today. She had taken a big step today, and he was proud of her, something he would declare at the earliest possibility in private. After all, they should be celebrating. Her sister would now live a long life thanks to them, and her children, their children, and any others in the Greengrass line would live free of the malignant curse that once haunted their family.
“I will see to the safety of your children, Lady Greengrass.” Dumbledore’s voice a soft, but firm, assurance, carrying the weight of his office and his reputation. His blue eyes, usually twinkling with an impenetrable mirth, were momentarily shadowed with genuine concern as he looked at the distraught woman. However, if Dumbledore's promise of protection registered with Lady Greengrass, the effect was unnoticeable. Her entire focus seemed fixed on an internal struggle, her breathing shallow and ragged. She looked less like the poised, elegant matriarch of an ancient house and more like a ghost, all colour drained from her face.
Nymphadora Tonks, assisted the woman to her feet offering soft words of encouragement. It was clear the young Auror was waiting for the woman to bid her daughter farewell, but instead Lady Greengrass kept her eyes cast low, defeated and empty. The pink haired girl waited a long moment, before receiving the nod of approval from Dumbledore, and escorting the woman to the fireplaces that would be connected to the floo network in the back of the Ministry.
Without further prompting Dumbledore guided his three charges to the floo network as well, wishing his colleagues good evening, before offering the teens the password to his office. When they arrived Professor Slughorn greeted them somberly, and was offering his condolences to Daphne when Harry arrived. The beautiful blonde thanked the man stiffly, but with abject politeness. The man afterall had been kind to the couple, and there was no reason to slight him, something Daphne understood even when the world seemed to be upside down for her.
Harry had looked forward to comforting and celebrating with the girl, but the Headmaster arriving in a column of flames ruined this notion when he said, “Horace, please escort the Greengrass girls to the dungeons. They have had a trying holiday and need their rest. Mr. Potter and I need a few words.”
The man blustered at his words, “Surely it can wait, Albus, after all, they have all had a trying holiday.”
“It’s okay, Professor.” Harry said, offering the man a sad smile, knowing this was exactly the moment he needed to finish the job, “I will be okay.”
The man looked uncertain, but finally acquiesced to the request, but not before Daphne shot him a questioning look. Harry offered an imperceptible shake of his head, before watching the two girls follow their head of house out the large framed oak door leaving Harry alone with Dumbledore.
Sighing Harry took a deep breath, before moving to take the seat across from the wizened old man before letting his shoulders slump, doing his best to play the part of a defeated teenager, “If you are going to gloat Headmaster, I will ask you to spare me the lecture.”
“Harry, my boy, “Dumbledore chided gently, “Of all the things that need to be said and done, gloating is not among them. I merely wished to ascertain the whole truth of what happened last night. Not the abridged version you gave the Aurors.”
Pushing his occlumency to its limits Harry did everything he could to keep a blank face as he stared at the desk, trying to force the feeling of shame to leak into his magic. He needed to throw Dumbledore off of this if his plan were to work, and then he would need to manipulate this moment to lead him to victory.
“He knew I was there, sir.” Harry said softly, “The Dark Lord. I am not sure if he knew before he arrived, or if he could sense me after, but he knew. When Daphne’s father was killed, he tried to convince me to come out. To face my destiny.”
Harry’s eyes shifted up at this, and he noticed Dumbledore had stiffened and paled at his words, before he continued speaking, “What did he mean, sir? What did he mean to face my destiny?”
“I suspected you weren’t completely honest with the Aurors tonight.” Dumbledore said cautiously.
Harry shot to his feet, forcing rage to course through his magic as it began to swirl around him, a glass on a nearby shelf exploding, “You are worried about my honesty? After all that’s happened, that’s what you are worried about? What about your honesty with me?”
“This is serious, Harry, more so than you can possibly imagine.” Dumbledore scolded.
At this, Harry pushed his magic out ready to throw the necessary convincing tantrum to drive home his point as he clenched his fist so hard that his knuckles turned white, a visible tremor running up his arm. The raw, unleashed magical pressure in the room spiked again, a wave of unseen force crashing against the walls and furniture. Books on the towering shelves began to rattle violently, small trinkets lifted an inch or two off their respective surfaces, and the flame in the fireplace flickered wildly as if battling an unseen wind.
His voice, when it finally broke the suffocating silence, was dangerously low, stripped bare of all politeness, replaced by a venomous, ice-cold fury, “I’m sorry, Headmaster,” Harry began, the title dripping with bitter sarcasm, “did you think I was treating this as a joke? What gave my punchline away, Headmaster? Was it the fact that I was literally tortured—forced to endure a sick, twisted game—the last time I stood face-to-face with the man. Was it supposed to be the memory of my dead best friend, who was murdered trying to protect me from one of his lunatic followers that you paired me with for most of the year?”
His voice rose sharply, a raw, emotional crack piercing the magical tension. “Or, perhaps, was it the delightful comedy in the fact that that same madman, that same creature, mutilated and killed my girlfriend's father?” Harry threw his hands up in a gesture of utter, desperate exasperation, his magical aura flaring like a supernova before instantly being brutally controlled again. “I am genuinely sorry, Headmaster, but I seem to have missed the punchline. Which specific, hilarious part of this did you think I was not being serious enough for?” The question hung in the air, heavy and damning, demanding an answer that Harry knew Dumbledore could not possibly give.
Dumbledore sighed heavily and held a hand in the air gesturing his apologies, “Peace, Harry. I did not mean to downplay the tragedies you have endured.”
Silence fell between them for a long moment as Harry allowed his shoulders to sag in a faux image of defeat, “Too much has happened. I have a reputation to uphold, and three years left of schooling to get through, Dumbledore. If the other Slytherins thought for even a moment that I would stand against the Dark Lord, they would rally against me. Slit my throat in my sleep if I wasn’t careful and perfect in my defenses. All to gain favor with him.”
“Is it really my destiny, Headmaster? To stand against The Dark Lord? To die by his hands?” Harry asked without looking the man in the eye.
“The truth. It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution.” Dumbledore said softly, “It matters not what fate you were born into, Harry, but what you choose to do with the fate you are blessed with.”
He wasn’t certain, but Harry thought he might’ve just vomited in his own mouth, or rolled his eyes out of annoyance, but he kept impossibly still, “I need to know what I am up against.”
“Give me till the end of term.” Dumbledore said heavily, “Finish your OWL’s, and before you go to the Order’s safe house this Summer, I will tell you the truth of what awaits you when it comes to Lord Voldemort.”
Wanting things to move faster Harry spoke quietly, but his voice was full of steel when he laid down his accusation, “You would leave me blind to what awaits me? He could find a way to get me. He could command one of his followers' children to do all kinds of things to me, or to Daphne, Headmaster, I need you to do better than that.”
Sighing, the man let out a breath, “Very well. Give me a fortnight. This truth will involve quite the journey, and one I will need to take precautions for.”
Triumph. Harry felt it rush this veins, elation. He did everything he could to remain composed, and seem angry, despite feeling anything but. Instead he bowed his head, “Any attack against Daphne or I will be met with extreme prejudice sir. I expect you know that? I don’t know how my house will act when they find out I was almost in the crosshairs of the Heir of Slytherin.”
“Protect yourself,” Dumbledore conceded, “But do not bring more harm than necessary to my students, Mr. Potter.”
The growl nearly escaped his lips, but Harry bit it back, and rose from his seat, “One fortnight, Headmaster. Or I will take things into my own hands. Nothing will come from that.”
With his final threat left, Harry began making his way out of the office, and had to do everything he could to stop the smile from escaping his lips.
Comments
Vrail
Harry's coldness and budding psychopathy are truly on display here. Not only the blatant manipulation and complete lack of guilt, which is expected at this point, but the threatening of his classmates. Those were not empty words, his fellow Slytherin do not know the truth, and if they attack he will do serious potentially fatal harm to them. To so casually toy with peoples lives, simply for the overall manipulation of Dumbledore, he has truly become worthy of being TOM's apprentice. Not the blatant madness of Voldemort, but the cunning ruthlessness of Tom at its most terrifyingly effective.
