Chapter Text
Owls flew through the Great Hall, delivering mail as they did each morning. I received my weekly letter from my parents, and prepared to drop it into my cauldron, when another letter fell into my lap. I looked up to see an unfamiliar owl fluttering off—but amidst the cacophony of squawks and beating wings, no one else could tell that something was amiss.
Though the envelope looked normal, I didn’t feel comfortable opening it at the table. Secretive as I was, the last thing I wanted was to attract attention by reacting strangely. And there was no telling if the contents of the letter were undesirable.
Open alone.
The words were scrawled in an elegant script on the back of the envelope—and I somehow kept my face neutral while reading them. No one even noticed me sliding both unopened letters into my cauldron without a word. My heart was racing, but I couldn’t share my anxiety with the Housemates I didn’t trust. Most sixteen-year-olds were loath to keep secrets, anyway. Especially secrets about people they didn’t like.
* * *
Classes dragged on that day, seeming to take twice as long as usual. Why did time always slow down when I was impatient for something? It was so unfair.
I paid attention to my professors as best I could, but my mind kept wandering back to the mystery letter now tucked into my pillowcase for me to read before going to sleep. It was a busy day, with double Potions preventing us from having any breathing room before lunch; and I’d barely had time to dash down to the Slytherin dungeons to deposit my mail, wolf down a turkey sandwich, and head to my afternoon classes.
It was all I could do to act like everything was fine when my Housemates and I finally retired for the evening. Time slowed even more during these last few minutes of the day, and I struggled not to shake in anticipation.
Who is writing to me? I wondered as I climbed into bed and drew my curtains closed. Why didn’t they want me to open their letter in public? Is something wrong? Who do I know, that would want me to keep a secret? Apart from my best friend, I couldn’t think of anyone who would bestow upon me knowledge so critical that they’d need to write me a secret letter.
My hands trembled. I took a deep breath and gingerly opened the envelope, careful to keep quiet. A small piece of parchment was inside. In the same elegant handwriting I’d seen that morning, I now read a message that made my stomach drop.
Miss Halaway,
I am the person you’ve been secretly researching. I want to meet you as much as you want to meet me. Be outside the Hogsmeade entrance at 10:30 this Tuesday evening, under your cloak, and I will explain everything I want from you. Do not be late.
My heart thumped as I gripped the bed covers. There was no way this was real. How could Lord Voldemort have found out that I existed? And why would he have any interest in meeting me? I was supposed to initiate contact with him; not the other way around.
It had to be a prank. Or a plot for revenge. An enemy had discovered my secret—using my stolen invisibility cloak to sneak Dark Arts books out of the Restricted Section—and was trying to blackmail me. This person would likely be waiting at the Hogsmeade entrance, as stated in the letter, or aiming to catch me on my way out of the castle.
Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes as the heavy weight of failure settled over my body, threatening to suffocate me. I had tried sohard to keep my activities under wraps. All I had wanted to do was learn, damn it! I wasn’t hurting anyone! (Not yet, anyway; but that was beside the point. Simply reading should not be a crime.)
How naïve I’d been, to have felt smug and triumphant about conducting this secret research project for two and a half years. I must have grown overly confident during the past few months. Racking my brain, I tried to think of who could have figured me out. A few suspects came to mind; but no one seemed vindictive enough to obsessively follow my movements and therefore discover my late-night forays into the library.
And then a small voice whispered deep inside me: What if it’s not a prank? What if it really is him?
If Voldemort had written to me, and I didn’t show up out of fear that a classmate was trying to humiliate me, then all my Dark Arts research would have been for nothing. A golden opportunity to prove myself, requiring much less effort than I’d anticipated, would crash and burn. Maybe Voldemort would even hunt me down and kill me for disobeying him. If he could find me at Hogwarts and learn my secret without even setting foot on the castle grounds, there was no limit to what else he could do.
And if this letter was a trick? Well, Merlin damn it, I knew some nasty curses. I chastised myself for having sucumbed to thinking like a victim, when such a skirmish could be a perfect time for me to stand up for myself and send my enemies a message. I flashed back to all the scrapes I’d gotten into during my first year—one of which had earned me a Howler from my mother, after I’d sent a bully to the hospital wing. If I could handle all of that, then I could confront some imbecile who was probably just jealous of my ambition and nerve. Who else possessed the courage to repeatedly sneak into the Restricted Section, and the stealth to avoid getting caught? If I put my adversaries in their place, they would never dare to intervene with my research again.
I could do this. Too much was at stake for me to risk being a coward.
Tuesday was four days away, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted the time to pass quickly or not.
* * *
I barely ate dinner on the evening in question. Knowing that I couldn’t appear nervous in front of everyone, with an enemy potentially watching me, I kept my face relaxed and ate as slowly as normal behavior would allow. Even though I only finished half my plate, I figured I didn’t look too conspicuous—I always struggled to eat while stressed. And unfortunately, I was stressed quite often. So this behavior was nothing new. No one gave me any concerned or quizzical looks.
Everyone was typically asleep by 10pm on weekdays, so it wasn’t difficult for me to slip under my cloak and out of the castle. Still, my heart was pounding as I prepared to leave. I tried thinking of this venture as just another routine event, like going to the library in the middle of the night—and I almost succeeded. But my nerves kicked in as soon as I approached the front door. The Prefects on patrol duty were near the Entrance Hall, and so I had to wait a few minutes before sneaking out. Once I was walking down the path leading to Hogsmeade, my shoulders relaxed and I began to breathe more easily.
I prowled around the area for a few minutes. If enemies were hiding, I needed to know exactly where; I couldn’t be a sitting target. But no one was waiting for me outside the deserted entryway, even in the bushes, so I deemed it safe to remove my cloak. I wasn’t sure if Voldemort—or a prankster—could see through invisibility cloaks; and I also didn’t want to have both hands occupied if an adversary came at me with their wand extended. I cautiously folded my cloak under my left arm, before patting my wand inside my robes for reassurance.
“Evening, Miss Halaway.”
The greeting startled me. I had been expecting to see someone walk toward me; not hear a disembodied voice come from out of nowhere. A powerful, resonant adult male voice I had never heard before. The speaker commanded authority.
This was no student playing a prank. Was it really HIM?
“Where are you?” I whispered, frantically looking around and trying not to tremble. Though I could see no one, I did hear soft footsteps in the grass. Was this man wearing an invisibility cloak as well? Or employing a Disillusionment Charm?
I gasped as two strong hands grabbed my shoulders.
“Right here,” the voice murmured in my ear.
Before I could open my mouth to respond, the most bizarre sensation took hold: I was sucked into a tight vortex that spun me around and sucked the air from my lungs. I could neither move, speak, nor breathe.
And then my feet touched stone. Where am I? How did—
Firm, cold hands cupped my cheeks and forced my face upward. And I could finally see the mystery man, who had never been a mystery at all. All along, I had known that he had written to me; I’d simply been too afraid to believe it. Such fortune had seemed too good to be true.
“Alex Halaway,” the Dark Lord drawled, smirking down at me. “What a pleasure this is.”
My lips parted, but I could form no words. Where was all my preparation? What had happened to all the conversations with him I had rehearsed inside my head? Why was I gaping like a fish out of water? God, I must have looked so ridiculous.
“And thank you for your punctuality—” My lower lip quivered as he tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. “—not that I expected anything less, of course.”
He took his hands off my face, but he was still standing quite close.
My eyes dropped to the floor as I bowed my head—as a gesture of deference, and to hide my embarrassing facial expression. I hadn’t the faintest idea why he was touching me, and using such affectionate gestures, but perhaps such behavior was part of his modus operandi: unnerving and confusing people to make sure they knew he was in charge.
He tilted my chin up and cocked his head to one side. “Tell me, Miss Halaway, do you not speak?”
A cross between a sigh and a grunt escaped my lips, mortifying me further before I found my voice.
“I’m sorry, my Lord, I mean no disrespect,” I mumbled quickly, the words tumbling out of my mouth. “It’s just...” Slow down, Alex. Slow. Down. Don’t make a fool of yourself. “I don’t like to speak unless I have something important to say; and right now, I don’t know what to say. My head is spinning.”
“I see.” He removed his hand from my person and smoothed over his robes. “Well, it’s about to spin some more because we’re Apparating a second time. I brought you to this intermediary location first, to gauge your reaction to me.”
“Where are we?”
“My initiation room. This is where I summon my Death Eaters to witness an induction into the ranks.”
Would I ever be here again, for such a purpose?
I dared not voice my thoughts aloud. Voldemort could’ve had any number of reasons for reaching out to me, and I didn’t want to put the cart before the horse.
The oxygen-sucking vortex enveloped us once more, and we landed in a gigantic library. The sight of so many books excited me, in spite of my confusion and anxiety. And the hall itself was gorgeous: sconces on the stone walls cast a warm glow on row upon row of bookshelves, containing hundreds of tomes begging to be read. Some looked freshly published, while others appeared to be decades old. Or more. At the thought of spending hours lost in these precious volumes, my lips turned upward just a hair.
Without warning, the air grew thicker.
The Dark Lord had taken a step closer. I instinctively took a step backward—and my shoulders hit a bookshelf jutting out from the wall. There were many of those, I now saw, forming a multitude of passageways throughout the library. I wondered how many people had gotten lost in here.
“You’ve never Apparated before, have you,” Voldemort remarked.
I shook my head.
“You’re quite good at it.”
“Thank you, my Lord.” I stared at my feet—looking at this man and his penetrating gaze was too nerve-wracking. I could feel him watching me, silently daring me to speak. I couldn’t.
“So.” He rested his hands on the shelf behind me to box me in. “Nothing important to say? What rubbish. Surely, you must be bursting with questions.” He stepped in even closer and lowered his voice. “Talk to me.”
I inhaled and made myself look into his dark eyes, trying not to appear as frightened as I felt. At least he didn’t look angry; merely curious about what I would say. And a tad impatient. I couldn’t affort to remain silent any longer.
“Okay,” I sighed shakily, before taking another deep breath. And then the words just ruptured forth.
“Where am I...why am I here...how do you know who I am...how do you know I’ve been researching you? Is someone watching me at Hogwarts and telling you what I’m doing...am I not being as careful as I thought I was? What do you want from me? Why am I—am I in danger....?”
He smiled broadly. “That’s more like it.”
I sagged against the bookcase with a heavy exhalation. Voldemort appraised me for another moment before responding.
“Firstly—and most importantly—you are in no danger. In fact, as long as you obey me, you are much safer here with me than you are at Hogwarts.”
“How? What is this place?”
“This is my home.”
“You live here?” I blurted, looking around again. “All these books are yours?!”
“Yes, Alex,” he chuckled. “Everything here belongs to me. You may read any and every book that strikes your fancy; but not now. There are more important matters at hand.”
“Like what?”
“I am about to explain. I will answer some of your questions tonight. For others, however, you’ll have to wait until a more appropriate time.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
I nodded and dropped my eyes to the floor. “Okay. So...why am I here? Can you tell me that now?”
“You are here to learn the Dark Arts. Assuming you work hard and master these skills in a timely fashion, I will initiate you as a Death Eater when you turn seventeen.”
My hands flew to my mouth as I gasped.
“I understand that you have been researching the discipline for quite some time now, which is lovely; but now you must learn through practical application. You cannot serve me properly by reading alone.”
“Wow...I—”
“I will be bringing you here two nights per week, for two hours each. During the first hour and a half, I will teach you various spells and potions and the like. And then, in the time remaining, we will go over your notes.”
“My notes?”
“The notes you’ve been taking from the Dark Arts books you’re studying at Hogwarts.”
All the heat fled my face. “How do you know that I’ve been—”
“Another time.” He held up his hand.
I sighed and closed my eyes, trying to ground myself. Succumbing to terror would not help me think clearly.
“Now, I realize that you are finishing your sixth year at Hogwarts, and therefore you will soon begin preparing for NEWT examinations. As such, I cannot monopolize your time without impacting your schooling. I’d prefer to bring you here more than twice a week, but—”
“If...if it weren’t for my exams, how often would you bring me here? Forgive me for interrupting; I was merely curious.”
“Oh, Alex, I would bring you here every night if I could. But such a task would be impossible. You must prioritize your studies. Be that as it may, I do believe that twice weekly sessions will be sufficient. So, let’s get started.”