𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑

the one with the daughter of pentacles

"Half-gods are satisfied with wine and dancing. Real gods want blood."

•

HARRY HAD GIVEN up to the pain in his scar. When he fell into the darkness he was Lord Voldemort, and before him stood a girl. A lot of people around him were dressed in that wicked mask adorned with black robes. The girl had long black hair that rippled down her back like a waterfall,and her eyes were bright red. A man stood next to her, slightly taller but not much older. He held her outstretched hand to Lord Voldemort.

"Are you ready for it?" Harry-Lord Voldemort- asked. The girl looked up at him and chuckled.

"I've always been ready for this," she said with a wicked gleam in her eyes. Red seemed to sleep out of them.

"Are you ready to serve you Master once and for all?" Harry asked in a hissing, serpentine voice.

"Yes," she said instantly, growing slightly impatient.

"Well, then, there's no reason to delay," Harry said. He held up his wand and pointed it at the girl's wrist. "Morsmordre!"

The girl didn't wince at the black, smokey magic that seeped through her skin, into her body, infecting her blood, her veins and her bones. Water prickled at the corner of her eyes as she glared, without blinking, at the Dark Mark forming. After what felt like several agonizing minutes, it stopped. The serpentine writhed in her wrist and settled to the Mark, as if falling asleep peacefully.

"You're now one of us," Harry said menacingly. "I'm proud of you, Meredith."

The scene shifted in front of him so wildly that Harry almost staggered. Until it settled into a similar place. It was the sitting room of a elegant house. It looked rich and posh. About twenty Death Eaters huddled around the area, whispering unceremoniously to each other. A girl stood before Harry- Lord Voldemort- she looked almost like the black haired girl before. Except, her face was colder, her eyes were golden and her smirk was unbearable. She had dark auburn hair, unlike the girl before, and she wore the black robes of a Death Eater.

"This is very familiar," Harry said. He felt joyous, utterly excited. "Are you ready?"

"I was born ready, Mr Riddle," she said. Harry felt just a tinge of anger for she had refused to call him "my Lord". But the girl before him was powerful, chaotic and had the devil's brain. He wanted her more than he wanted anything.

"Morsmordre!"

The dark smoky magic flew out of his wand again and instead of seeping through her skin, it winced away from her wrist, as it burned to touch her. It slithered around, the serpentine figure trying to find a way in, but to no avail.

"Try again," the girl said with a smirk. Harry adored it just as much he hated it.

"Morsmordre!" He said without a glance at her. And this time, her eyes turned alarmingly red and the smoky magic seemed to be shoved into her skin. She didn't wince. She didn't shout. She let the Mark in, infecting her blood, her veins, her bones, until it settled into the Dark Mark on her skin. She glared at the Mark and her eyes turned golden. She looked at Harry, almost throwing him off at how blazing she looked.

"I'm one of you now," said Skylar Firegold.

A maniacal laughter filled his head as the Death Eaters clapped, and the revolting feeling of sheer joy, joy at doing something evil, filled Harry's veins, as the pain abruptly ceased and he felt himself come back, as if from under several layers of bubble wrap.