In Darkness I Stand

Two: The Ceremony

Six years was a long time to be rumoured dead. It was a long time for flowers to gather then wilt upon a white-marble headstone that had become grey and weathered. It was a long time for people to mourn, to cry, to scream, and to accept the fact that a particular emerald-eyed boy with a lightning scar would not be coming back anytime soon. It was a long time for rebellions to falter, for fighting to seem pointless, and for hope to dwindle. Yes, six years was a very long time.

It was also a long time to remain hidden. Harry knew the inside of Malfoy Manor just as well as Draco, possibly better considering Harry's rank with the Dark Lord. He was well aquatinted with every portrait, knew the name and tendencies of every House Elf, and had read every book in the Malfoy's rather impressive library, which was an admirable feat on its own.

It wasn't like he'd had nothing to do while tucked away from public view. There were lots of things one could do at the Malfoy residence. It was amazing how many interesting (albeit, illegal) things one family could own. Some statues moved in the middle of the night; written in deadly inks on poison paper were books in the library that could kill you with a single papercut; some plants could eat an entire man whole. The mansion was full of exciting things and an abundance of mysteries just waiting to be solved.

Harry wanted to get the hell out of there.

"Stop fidgeting," Narcissa reprimanded for the fourth time.

Harry immediately released his hold on the black cloak that he donned, straightening. "Sorry," he said, also for the fourth time.

He heard her sigh before he felt her delicate fingers straighten his collar. "You are usually much more poised than this, dear," she chastised gently. She patted his shoulder, then removed her hand. "Is there something on your mind?"

Harry resisted the urge to mess with his cloak again. He could hear Severus's snide voice saying 'A Lord does not fidget, fondle, nor twitch,' in his head.

"I guess I'm just anxious," Harry said after a long moment. "I'm ready to leave this place, go out in the world. I want to be of use to my Lord, and I can't do that locked up in here. Not now that I know nearly all of the Dark Lord's tricks."

Narcissa hummed neutrally. "You sound just like my Lucius," she said, a soft tenderness coating her words. "When he first became a Death Eater, he was so excited. He was dying to go out into the world and purge it of its filth and inferior life forms. But patience is the best virtue, my Prince. The Dark Lord does not take impertinence well."

Harry nodded, knowing first hand how irritable his mentor and Lord could be. He had the scars to prove it.

Despite his short temper and violent wrath, though, Harry had been surprised to learn how informative the Dark Lord was. He was a remarkable teacher, praising intelligence and logic and encouraging questions - so long as they weren't tedious. He pushed Harry beyond his limits, forced him to work until he was depleted and sore and near collapse. Then he would lift up his wand, give Harry a cold look, and say, Again.

It had all paid off, of course. Six years of constant studying by the side of one of the most talented and brilliant wizards to have ever existed caused Harry to improve at a miraculous speed. He was soon able to accomplish magic meant for wizards three times his age, brew potions intended for only potions masters, and use curses so lethal and dark they weren't even registered in the Ministry out of fear that someone would stumble across them.

"You've done well," Voldemort had praised earlier that week, banishing the mangled remains of Harry's last experimenting with the combination of several dark curses. "Remarkably, even. I am quite pleased with you."