Chapter Text
"Potter!"
Harry flinched but didn't tear his eyes off his empty plate, nor stop rubbing absently at his left forearm under the table. It was morning, early morning in the Great Hall, and he hadn't slept a wink. He wished he had. Fuck, did he wish he had!
"Potter," Nott hissed, stopping across the table from him and leaning over it, planting his hands wide apart for support. "I know it was you under that mask last night. What the hell were you thinking!?"
"I wasn't," Harry croaked. "Apparently."
"You're damn right you weren't! You fucking moron, did you even wonder what the procession of masked students was doing before you decided to stun one and nick his fucking mask? It's not like we were particularly subtle!"
"No, okay? No. I thought - it doesn't matter what I thought. I was trying to spy!"
"You? A spy? Didn't Professor Snape basically shred your occlumency barriers on a weekly basis last year? How the fuck do you expect to -"
"I didn't think!" Harry snapped. He flinched again as his raised voice drew a few dour glares from the very few other students (mostly Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws) awake at their ungodly hour. When he spoke again it was quieter. "I didn't think, Nott, okay? I was a complete moron and I've ruined my life. I said it now, are you happy? Is that what you wanted to hear?"
Nott made a pinched expression before letting out a sound halfway between a sigh and a groan. Pulling a chair out, he dropped into it and started piling things onto his plate - then changed his mind and went for the coffee. "You hopeless idiot, no, I can't say I'm particularly happy you fucked up this badly. Unlike Draco, I don't hate you. And I'd have to, to be anything but sympathetic about unwittingly taking the Dark Lord's Mark."
A third flinch. He rubbed harder at his forearm like rubbing could wear the ink away, but he knew it couldn't. It wasn't even like an ordinary tattoo; it felt alive, a foreign magical presence slipped beneath his skin, alien and itchy-crawling and perversely comforting. A constant reminder of his Lord's -
Ugh!
Nott gave him an understanding look in the midst of forking some bacon onto his plate. "It's strange, isn't it? Like having a little piece of Him sewn into you. Can't imagine you're liking the fealty, either."
"He killed my parents," Harry said plaintively. "He killed Cedric. His bloody second in command killed my godfather!"
"And despite that, now there's some part of you that knows him as your sworn liege and associates him with protection and safety, right?"
"Yes."
Nott nodded. "Thought so. It's weird for me, too, if that helps. I'm not used to feeling allegiance to anyone but my Lord Grandfather."
"Your family did - this?" Harry asked, a little appalled.
"Mhm. It's not common these days but it's not exactly uncommon, you know? A lot of the older pureblood families still keep the practice of swearing fealty to the patriarch or matriarch. Technically I'm not even sworn to our Lord directly; I'm a vassal of a vassal. Still direct enough to count, though, before even considering the implications of his title."
"Don't call him that," Harry muttered belatedly. "He's not my - anything. What implications?"
"You're a Dark wizard now," Nott said, meeting Harry's eyes directly. "You weren't before. Now you are. And he's the Dark Lord. That means something."
Harry felt his stomach sink. "Means what?"
"He's both protector and champion for the Dark - its creatures, its mages, its petitioners. He rules us with the blessing of magic itself. A part of you will always acknowledge that. We're kindred now, in a way we just fundamentally weren't before, and while I guess that kind of...pan-nyctean viewpoint isn't necessarily the majority, we Notts have never let that sway us." He flashed Harry a quick grin. "Call me Theo."
"Harry," Harry permitted, grudgingly. Nott grinned again and took a bite of sausage, finally prompting Harry to half-heartedly begin filling his own plate.
"I'll have to see about finding you a coven," Nott - Theo went on. "It can't be too hard, I managed to get that Muggleborn bound in last year. Maybe you can join mine. I'll run it past Daphne."
"Muggleborn?"
"Hn? Oh, yeah, Emily Squires, sorted Slytherin - but you're probably asking more about why there'd be a Dark Muggleborn at all, aren't you?"
"More or less. Isn't the whole point of this thing blood purism, or something?"
"Not hardly. We'd never have gotten the werewolves on our side if it was. Our Lord has plenty of the Old Families in his Inner Circle, but it's a good mix even there. The Dark is...big, fractious, diverse, secretive, insular, xenophobic, accepting, a whole host of things. It's hard boiling an entire world down to quick quotes for you over breakfast, sorry Harry. Suffice to say, you're far from the only half-blood to bear that Mark and there's definitely more than a few Muggleborns wearing it too."
"Yippee," Harry grumbled. Theo snorted out a laugh. "Like who, then?"
"Oh, off the top of my head, uh...Morgan Mulaney? Went to Azkaban with the loyalists back in the day. Experimental bioalchemist, Muggleborn, bit of a mean streak when it comes to Ministry officials. Professor Snape is a halfblood of course, and Augustus Rookwood, Thorfinn Rowle, Medea Sanguery, Tristan Sayre...I've heard rumor that the Dark Lord himself isn't pure, which ought to tell you something right there."
"He's a hypocrite."
"Or you're mistaken. Which one would you like to be true, Harry?" He nodded towards Harry's left arm pointedly.
"What I want has never really figured into anything," he muttered.
"Well, maybe things will be different now. After all, you did have some targets in mind for your Initiation, didn't you?" Nott smirked. "No hesitation, Crowley boasted. A natural. Now, I wonder what they meant to you?"
Harry clenched his fists but said nothing. He didn't want to acknowledge it. Acknowledging it meant acknowledging how killing the Dursleys had felt - how powerful, how relieving, how righteous. The soaring of his magic, his exultation, the giddy realization that now they can NEVER send me back again!
The grim satisfaction of casting the Dark Mark into the sky above Privet Drive, an indelible stain on the vaunted normality of the neighborhood that abused him every summer. Because it wasn't just his relatives, oh no, it was the teachers who believed Petunia when she lied about his delinquency, it was the principal who suspended him for cheating when he aced a test, it was the nosy neighbors who never reported the bruises they saw, the adults who didn't interfere in a child getting beaten up by a gang of larger boys, the bobbies who laughed and sent him off with a pat on the head when he begged for help, the housewives who tittered and tutted about how disheveled and rangy he looked...
If the observing Death Eater - Crowley? - hadn't pulled him back and reminded him of their Lord awaiting, Harry - murder on his mind and magic singing in his veins, feeling wonderfully, terribly free - would have gone house to house to house and repaid a decade and a half of humiliation and ostracism and scorn with interest.
For the first time since last night, Harry subtly pushed the hem of his left sleeve up and let the raised lines of the Dark Mark peek out. In a moment of weakness he'd killed his last living blood relatives, and he'd been branded forever for it. But now that it was done, and he'd crossed every line he thought he never would...
I shouldn't. A good person wouldn't.
Privet Drive was unprotected. Maybe he could pay them another visit, for old times' sake.
"Nothing important," Harry answered. Theo's smirk widened.
"Lie."
"Maybe I'll tell you when it's not so fresh," Harry sighed, deflating. The food he'd collected had already seemed unappetizing, but now any desire to eat it was well and truly gone. Still, though, he'd need energy to get through classes and it sure wasn't coming from a good night's sleep. He picked his fork up and scooped up a measly little mouthful of eggs. "Nobody will miss them, anyways."
"Oh really?"
"Well," he snorted bitterly, "nobody important."
"Fair enough. You're in it now, so I guess I can afford to be patient; you'll tell me someday."
"Will I?"
"Of course." He grinned around a mouthful of sausage. "I have a feeling we're going to be great friends."
Harry rolled his eyes at that but said nothing, focusing on his breakfast instead.
The Great Hall slowly began filling up, Slytherins and Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs wandering in in twos and threes and sevens. Even a few early risers or night owls from Gryffindor started turning up, typically seventh years fresh off a NEWT study session. It was Christmas; there ultimately weren't many students in the castle. Nevertheless, with the brewing war more had stayed to a avail themselves of Hogwarts' wards than usual, and there were enough in every house to make the sight of Nott eating at the Gryffindor table more than a little odd. With the addition of caffeine, people began to wake up, and heads were turned.
"Good talk, Harry," Theo said finally, as the bulk of Gryffindor arrived in one great clump. He stood up and dusted crumbs off himself. "We'll do it again sometime. Fair warning, by the way, we'll be summoned this weekend for some basic - and it'll be Yaxley doing it. The man's a hard-arse worse than Moody. Prepare yourself."
"Basic?"
Nott, already halfway down the table, pretended not to hear him. Harry half-stood, frustrated; "Nott!"
Yep, definitely fucking with him. No way did he not hear that. Harry scowled and collapsed back into his seat, eating an angry forkful more of eggs. Great friends, huh? Well, with a start like this...
Hiding the Dark Mark was excruciating, if not physically then emotionally. He could no longer wear short sleeves and always had to remain conscious of the position of his left arm; he was hyperalert to any potential witnesses when circumstances forced his sleeve up. He couldn't shower with the other boys in his dorm, nor change in the dorm room like he always had, nor switch into Quidditch gear in the locker rooms...
Such a small thing, to force such a large change in his routine. And that wasn't even touching on the legilimentes sharing the castle with him! Dumbledore mercifully didn't interact with him much outside their little biography lessons, but Snape - fuck, was it hard contriving excuses to avoid the man's gaze! If he caught a glimpse of That Night in Harry's mind, he'd either laugh himself sick or worse, approve, and his loyalties were so uncertain that whether it would lead to Harry's exposure to the Order or not was anyone's guess.
His stress levels skyrocketed. So when he finally snuck away from it all and holed himself up in the back of the library for some much-needed study time, and he was immediately tracked down by Nott and Daphne Greengrass, he thought he could be forgiven for being a teensy weensy bit snappish.
"So you're a Death Eater?" Greengrass opened, sauntering up with Nott beside her and crow feathers tied into her black hair with bits of colored string. She had a grin on like she'd just stumbled upon the best blackmail material of the decade, probably because she had, and a messenger bag looped over one shoulder that was covered in enchanted buttons proclaiming slogans for what seemed like every political cause under the sun.
"And you're a nosy bitch who wouldn't know secrecy if it bit her on the arse," Harry bit out, glaring. It didn't discourage her; if anything she seemed even more delighted, and primly settled herself into the chair across from Harry. Nott took up the seat to her left, surreptitiously waving his wand to set up a privacy ward that felt like the white noise of television static.
"Secrets, Potter, are for coven-siblings only," she said. "Everything else is just gossip waiting to be shared. Now, show me your forearm."
"No!"
"Oh, come on, you have to admit it's a little unbelievable, don't you? I want proof from my own eyes!" She made grabby hands. Grabby hands! What kind of pureblood Dark witch was this? "Come come, give me your hand."
"Absolutely not!"
"She's not going to relent," Nott said, amused.
"I'm really not," Greengrass agreed, grin sharpening just a little.
Harry looked between the two of them and saw not a scrap of mercy. He caved with a groan and set his left arm into Greengrass's outstretched hands, inside facing up; she immediately seized it just in front of the elbow and yanked the sleeve down. And there it was, inked dark and slightly raised, practically humming with unseen magic, paid for in blood - the sign of his Lord's -
Fucking hell!
-favor.
"Well aren't you precocious," Greengrass cooed, fascinated by it; she tilted her head, birdlike. "A murderer at sixteen. Who'd you kill?"
Harry wrenched his arm out of her grip and clutched it in his lap, below the table and out of sight. "None of your business."
"On the contrary, it's every bit my business," she countered, tearing her eyes off the Mark and boring into Harry's own. "Theo said you need a coven to join and wants you in ours. As the coven's Voice it's my responsibility to evaluate prospective members, and if I'm going to let you in, I need to know who you killed and why. Will there by any vengeful next of kin hunting you? Do you have any prejudices that could cause discord? Are you a mad dog who kills for the thrill of it or was it justified - revenge? Love? Ambition? I must know, Potter, so do share, please."
"I didn't ask to join your coven," Harry snarled.
"No, but I offered," Nott interjected, unimpressed. "You're Dark now. Our magic moves different from Light wizards. You need a coven to moderate you or it's only going to veer wildly out of control and send you tipping into insanity. We're just social in a way ordinary wizards aren't, and that's before you even consider the effects of possible nonhuman ancestry that might migrate to the fore given your new alignment."
"Like Parseltongue," Greengrass added. "Snake-speakers are just like any other beastspeaker in that somewhere back in your family tree, one of your direct ancestors got experimental. We're wilder than ordinary humans; it doesn't show much in Light families because their magic is all..." She waved a hand vaguely and grimaced slightly in distaste. "...cerebral."
"Numbers and shite," Nott said, nodding. "Arithmantic. Orderly. Precise."
"Our magic is the magic of flesh and blood and bone," Greengrass took up, making Harry shiver at the involuntary reminder of his Lord's resurrection. "It's about nature more than nurture, who you are not how you act. It's not common for a Light wix to cross over, but it's also not unheard of, and you're probably in for more than a few changes. Let us help at least stave off the bad ones."
"Out of the goodness of your hearts, right?" Harry snarked.
"Well it's certainly not because of your pleasant and welcoming demeanor," Greengrass sniffed.
Harry huffed in reluctant amusement, and subsided into a thoughtful silence. His eyes darted back and forth across his half-finished homework as he considered his options. The problem was, he didn't know enough about Dark wixen or the Dark Arts to know if they were telling the truth or if they had an ulterior motive for wanting him to join their coven; he wasn't even sure what a coven was. He could fix that easily enough, he supposed, but without a backup source he was back to square one.
He would have to trust them, in essence. He'd have to trust two complete strangers on the opposite side (the same side, a part of him whispered) of the war, and that just wasn't a leap of faith he was comfortable making.
But did he even have a choice? There was too much to what they were saying for him to feel safe ignoring them; his magic did feel different, move different, sit different - it lived in his marrow and tendons now, not just his mind, a silent white-noise TV static itching under his skin, popping and crackling with potential. It was maddeningly kinetic and for lack of a better word, punchier - Charms class earlier had been a minor nightmare as he tried to rein himself in. He'd failed embarrassingly often and started more than a few fires. There wasn't more of it or anything, but it reacted just differently enough to be a danger, to him and everyone around him.
Was a leap of faith more dangerous than that?
"Is there anywhere I can look more into this?" he asked. "I don't...trust you. I don't mean that insultingly, just, we've never exchanged two words in the last five years of Hogwarts..."
"It's a big step to take," Greengrass agreed easily. "An important one. It's smart not to rush in without thinking it over."
"For once," Nott snickered.
"Shut up," Harry grumbled. "But is there? Just to verify what you're saying?"
Nott and Greengrass shared a look. Greengrass answered. "Strictly speaking, yes, there are books. The problem is, without the assurance of a shared coven-spell...we don't completely trust you. They're old books, kept in secret, and if the Ministry or Dumbledore got their hands on them, or even just transcripts of them..."
"Some knowledge is too important to share with outsiders," Nott concluded. He shrugged. "Sorry, Harry, I know that leaves you in a bit of a bind."
"For real," Harry grumbled. He adjusted his glasses and sighed. "So, back to square one again."
"How about this," Greengrass said slowly. "We have a period of...a trial, of sorts. Get to know each other. There's rites and meetings you won't be able to be involved in until the coven-spell accepts you, but for everything else, we can involve you, let you get used to the idea. I think I like you, and I'm willing to trust you that far at least. If you share the details of your kill."
Harry considered that for a moment. "My Muggle relatives," he answered finally. "Not really a secret anymore, is it? I was raised by my mum's Muggle sister and her lard of a husband. They all hated magic and me. It was...a lot easier to kill them than I expected."
In a smaller voice he added, "I don't regret it."
After a moment, Nott said, "I killed the Ministry clerk who impounded my parents' ship. They passed it down to me when they died in the last war; apparently some obscure bylaw or another makes willing naval vessels to children criminal, or something, so they stole it, and it's just been gathering barnacles in Portsmouth since I was seven. I'm not even allowed to visit it. Strictly speaking I don't have any legal claim to it. And that clerk was just so bloody smug about it, like she'd finally gotten one over on the old families...yeah, no regrets."
"Morbid," Greengrass chirped. "But good to know. Thank you - both of you. I'm glad to know you're not complete fucking psychopaths. More seriously...when you say they hated magic and hated you, Potter..."
"What do you think? They wanted nothing to do with it or me. I spent my first summer back from Hogwarts locked in my bedroom and fed through the bloody cat flap. They blamed me for everything odd that happened as a kid and punished me for kicks; I did all the chores, all the cleaning, they worked me to exhaustion...swung at me, sometimes...mostly fists but sometimes - things, like a frying pan once..." He chuckled bitterly. "I don't know why I'm even telling you this!"
"Maybe because on some level you want to talk about it. Just like you wanted to talk about your murders." She shrugged, still watching him curiously intently. "So they did you harm, then?"
"As often as they could but never enough to satisfy them."
Greengrass nodded slowly, considering. When she spoke, there was a weight to her voice that went beyond mere deliberation; it was something supernatural, magical, a silent echo behind her words, the breath of an invisible beast brushing over his prickling skin. "Familicide is a heinous crime, but family that willfully harms you is no true family to you. You killed them, and admit it, but I judge the killing just; you are no blood traitor, and I absolve you of the name and crime."
At some point in her pronouncement, her eyes had slipped closed; they snapped back open now, and she blinked heavily and shook her head briskly like she was waking from a nap. "Right, then," she muttered. "We'll see how this goes I guess. Theo, you'll be going with him to the Crowmaster's little weekend boot camp, yes? Bring him to the lounge under North Tower to meet everyone when you get back."
"Will do."
"Do I get a say in this?" Harry asked, clenching and relaxing his fists to bleed off the urge to bolt. He hesitated to open with the volley of real questions he was dying to answer, like what the HELL just happened? and wait is THAT what blood traitor means? What the fuck did the Weasleys do!?
"Do you have any objections?" Greengrass asked, giving him a look. "Or are you just being difficult? Because I took your answer to be an implicit agreement to a slow joining of our coven, and if I was wrong I want to know up front."
"...mostly just difficult."
"Good, because I was about to revise my assessment of your intelligence sharply downwards. You can't hide that Mark on your arm forever, you know, and it won't be pretty when it comes out. Having a network to fall back on when your old social circle drops you like a cursed quaffle is just good sense."
Harry flinched at the truth in that. God, Ron would be furious at him - and Hermione! Bloody hell. And what about the DA members? Neville? Luna? It would be awful - like dropping a bomb into a pond full of fish.
"Not all of us need a flock, Daphne," Nott pointed out, amused. She rolled her eyes.
"Humans are social animals too. Do you want him in the coven or not, you arsehole?"
"Obviously yes! He'll fit in fine, just watch. I'm just being a berk about it."
"Well, don't, then."
"Sounds boring."
"I was actually trying to do some homework, so if you two are just going to flirt now..." Harry grumbled. Greengrass laughed aloud.
"Me and Theo? Not hardly! He's a little too male for my tastes. And I'm sure if he wasn't, Melinda would be heartbroken~"
Nott sneered in disgust. "Don't remind me."
"Melinda Bates. His little third-year stalker," Greengrass confided to Harry, grinning. "She thinks Theo is just so handsome. She likes to share how much she thinks so in the common room. Loudly. And at length."
"And tried to bribe a house elf to spike my morning coffee with a love potion so poorly brewed it would've dissolved my tongue last year, don't forget."
"How romantic," Greengrass sighed dreamily, batting her eyelashes. Harry failed to suppress a snort of laughter. He didn't even try to hold it back when Nott pulled an old ink-bottle cork out of his pocket and bounced it off her forehead.
They didn't leave him alone. He did ultimately get a few essays done -done better with their help, in fact, than he would have with Hermione's help (well, more concisely at least) - despite their continuous byplay. They even managed to suck him in a little, drawing out of him his favorite desserts and one or two funny anecdotes from past years.
For a little while, Harry managed to forget the Mark burned into his arm, and that was worth its weight in gold.