In Darkness I Stand

Two: The Ceremony

Harry had snapped to attention and bowed respectfully. "Thank you, my Lord."

"You have been faithful to me," Voldemort had continued, circling the young man thoughtfully. To anyone else, this would have seemed threatening, but Harry had known better. He was the closest thing to a friend the Dark Lord had - and Harry was merely an indispensable ally.

"Yes, my Lord."

"I asked you to stay here and study magic, and not once have you disappointed me. Not once have you complained, or protested, or attempted to break our agreement. You have been shied away even from my followers, save Severus and the Malfoys. You must have been lonely and tired. Six years is a long time to obey a vague order, as you undoubtedly know."

Harry nodded again. "Yes, my Lord. You are correct on all accounts."

"Mmm." Voldemort had circled him once more before stopping just in front of him. Thanks to the Philosopher's Stone, Voldemort was able to resurrect himself out of Quirrell's cursed body, forming a new, stronger corporal form from the remains. He was middle-aged, now, but still maintained the handsome look from his past. Dark hair swept back from his chiselled face, intelligent green eyes, only now flecked with Crimson. He was as white as snow, and one pale hand rose up and cupped Harry's jaw almost tenderly like a father would to his son.

Harry wasn't stupid. He knew Voldemort was incapable of love, but he did know that Voldemort could be affectionate and feel loyalty towards people, however few. Harry was thankful that he managed to make his way into that small handful.

"How would you like to be my heir, Harry?" asked Voldemort silkily.

Harry's eyebrows quirked in surprise, the only form of motion in his otherwise impassive face.

"Yes, Potter, my heir," repeated Voldemort with a wicked grin. "I feel like it's about time that you received your reward for being my most vigilant and trustworthy follower, not to mention most gifted as well. There could be a proper ceremony, marking you at last. What say you?"

There was no question of what to say. Harry's Lord had only expected one answer, and Harry lived to please his master.

An equally wicked grin had crossed Harry's face. "I say it's about bloody time."

And so Harry found himself, one week later, waiting behind the door that would lead him into a room that was full of his Lord's servants, Narcissa Malfoy by his side. And, dammit, Harry thought he had every right to feel nervous.

A House Elf appeared beside them silently, gesturing that it was time to make their entrance.

Harry swallowed.

"Relax, dear," whispered Narcissa, stretching to place a tender kiss on his temple. She adjusted the mask that covered his face's upper half with a beautiful smile. "Remember: it does not matter what anyone else thinks. You need only to concern yourself with pleasing our Lord."

Harry exhaled slowly and nodded, taking comfort in her words. She was right, of course. It did not matter what the servants thought. If Voldemort was happy, he was happy.

Besides, Harry was now the Dark Prince. If it came down to it, he could always just kill those who protested him being there.

"Go on," Narcissa said, giving his bottom a light swat. "Don't keep Lord Grumpy waiting."

Harry laughed, recalling the moniker he had hurled at his mentor when the man had pushed Harry a bit too far. The name was a bit of a joke among Voldemort's closest allies but never spoken in front of the Lord himself.

Harry still had nightmares from that round of punishment.

The Dark Prince opened the door, walking down the deserted corridor quickly before pausing outside the double doors, checking to make sure the mask was securely in place, before slamming the doors open with a deafening bang.