The Dark Apprentice Chapter 87 (Patreon)

Chapter 87

Breakfast the morning after Dumbledore's shocking and unexpected demise was, in the grand, unsettling tapestry of Hogwarts life, eerily unchanged. The Great Hall, usually a tempest of noise and energy, pulsed with a low, familiar thrum of routine. Sunlight, pale and hesitant, streamed through the high windows, illuminating dust motes dancing over the familiar scarred oak tables. Most of the older students—the Sixth and Seventh Years—were hunched like academic vultures over their textbooks and parchment, their faces etched with the familiar stress of impending OWLs and NEWTs. The younger years, blessedly oblivious to the cataclysm that had transpired in the Headmaster's office, gossiped with the ceaseless, charming triviality of youth. Their chatter was a predictable mix: the latest gossip about the opposite sex, the merits of the next Quidditch match, and the inevitable drama of school life. It was a picture of perfect, unsettling normalcy that Harry watched from his doors of the Great Entrance Hall for what felt like an eternity.

His gaze, however, was perpetually drawn to the staff table, a focal point of his current, highly volatile plan. It was there he noticed Professor McGonagall radiating an almost palpable aura of rigid anxiety. She was stirring her porridge with a furious, unnecessary vigor, her eyes flicking repeatedly and with deep concern toward the majestic, ornate, and now ominously vacant Headmaster’s chair. The silence emanating from that empty seat was deafening to Harry. It confirmed his suspicion, a cold, clinical fact upon which he and Tom had built their entire strategy: the news of Dumbledore’s violent death had not yet permeated the ancient stones and wards of Hogwarts. The school was still operating on the assumption that the great Headmaster was merely indisposed, perhaps away on one of his inscrutable, mysterious errands.

A sliver of grim satisfaction curled in Harry's stomach. This silence, this temporary ignorance, was a precious, vital gift. It bought them time—time Harry desperately needed to execute the final, most delicate phase of their plot. He needed a clean, uninterrupted opportunity to present their 'new way of thinking'—a philosophy forged in the depths of dark ambition and radical change—to the faculty and the students. This period of unwitting peace was the buffer they required, the calm before the storm from which he and Tom would emerge, undeniably and spectacularly, victorious, their hard-won efforts and meticulous planning finally bearing fruit.

Next to Harry, Daphne sat with her head leaned comfortably on his shoulder. The warmth of his body was a soothing presence against the lingering chill of the early morning. She shifted her neck occasionally, a slight, almost imperceptible movement, ensuring that no stiffness or ache would follow the relaxed position. The shared silence was a familiar, easy intimacy that had grown between them over the past several months, a quiet understanding that required few words. After a moment longer of simply enjoying the peace, Daphne raised her head just enough to whisper into his ear, her voice soft with concern, “Are you okay?”

A faint, almost imperceptible tremor ran through Harry, a sign of the focused tension he was trying to hide. He turned his head to meet her gaze, his emerald eyes deep and steady. “More than okay,” Harry promised, his voice a low, reassuring rumble. He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze before separating from her with a quiet, deliberate movement. The time for quiet was over; the time for action was approaching.

“Something…new is about to happen at breakfast today though,” Harry continued, his voice dropping to a serious, almost conspiratorial tone. He leaned closer, holding her gaze with his intense stare. “And I have to ask you to remain calm. I know you will see things that will surprise you, perhaps even frighten you, but you must keep your composure. Whatever you are about to witness is not going to hurt you, or anyone else that doesn’t attack first. Understood? Your safety, and the safety of those around us, depends on all of us remaining calm.”

Daphne’s pale, aristocratic features shifted in surprise, her eyes widening as she took in the gravity of his words. She knew Harry did not speak lightly, and the cryptic nature of his warning set a knot of apprehension in her stomach. Nevertheless, she was a Greengrass, trained in composure, and she trusted him implicitly. She swallowed hard and nodded rapidly, a silent pledge to his instruction.

In response to her affirmation, Harry’s eyes began a swift, calculating sweep around the cavernous Great Hall. The room was steadily filling, the majority of the student body having arrived, a rising tide of chatter and the clatter of cutlery signaling the start of the daily routine. But Harry's attention was drawn to a different kind of arrival. His gaze sharpened, focusing on the massive oak doors at the Entrance to the Great Hall. A lone familiar man stood, and his red eyes met Harry’s offering a brief nod, before stepping behind the alcove to remain hidden for a moment longer.

At the sight of Tom, a cold, hard resolve settled over Harry's features. Without hesitation, he drew his wand from his sleeve—a quick, practiced motion that went largely unnoticed in the bustling hall. His hand was steady, his grip firm. He brought the tip of the holly wood close to his lips and hissed softly, a low, guttural sound that carried a complex series of Parseltongue commands. A moment later, a small, black-scaled creature, no thicker than his thumb and barely a foot long, uncoiled itself with astonishing speed from the tip of his wand.  The creature, a highly venomous mamba, shook out of the wand, its intelligent, golden eyes locking onto Harry's for a fraction of a second, an unspoken acknowledgement passing between them. Then, with a speed that made it a mere dark blur, darted out of the room. It was gone, flowing over the stone floor and through the throng of legs without detection, clearly understanding the precise, urgent task Harry had assigned it, and it did so without question or pause.

Offering a brief, reassuring nod in the direction of the imposing double doors of the Great Hall, Harry gently patted Daphne on the hand where it rested on his own, a silent promise of his return. He then rose smoothly to his feet, a simple action that nevertheless managed to draw the immediate, sharp attention of a significant number of the Slytherins clustered at the long table. He dismissed their sudden scrutiny, however, in favor of a more personal farewell, leaning slightly over his chair to press a light kiss to Daphne's cheek, a small, public gesture that was distinctly out of the ordinary for the reserved boy. He then executed a graceful step over his own now-vacant chair, turning his focus to the lengthy aisle that separated the student tables from the raised platform of the staff.

The buzz of conversation, which had been the low, steady thrum of the morning meal, instantly began to crackle with whispers all around the vast hall, a sudden storm of low, speculating voices. But Harry, seemingly impervious to the sudden shift in atmosphere he had caused, marched with a deliberate, unhurried pace towards the Professors' table. His expression was carefully maintained: even, neutral, yet holding a clear, unwavering seriousness that broadcasted the gravitas of whatever mission was drawing him forward. As he neared his destination, the sight of him—a student interrupting the breakfast routine and approaching the staff—caused noticeable reactions. Professor McGonagall’s lips tightened into a distinct frown, a gesture echoed by the concerned, bewildered expressions of many of her colleagues. Even the pink-clad, utterly loathsome figure of Professor Umbridge, the object of Harry's recent, powerful mental manipulations, offered a distinct, albeit manufactured, scowl from where she sat amidst the faculty.

“Forgive me for interrupting everyone’s breakfast, professors, but there is news that I think everyone in this room needs to hear.” Harry said commandingly.

The Professors seemed to exchange nervous looks, as if they expected that their very worlds were about to be turned upside down.  One by one however all eyes shifted to Professor McGonagall who offered Harry a stern look, “What is it, Potter?”

Harry cleared his throat, and then magically amplified his voice, “Last night, Professor Dumbledore and I went to the Ministry of Magic to retrieve an item that belonged to me.  From there we were ambushed by the Dark Lord.”

Many refused his words, loudly, and even some of the professors looked horrified, while Professor McGonagall rose to her feet, “That is impossible, Potter, where is the Headmaster?”

Without another word, Harry merely drew a long pale wand from his robes, and held it firmly in his hand as its power thrummed in his hands.  He knew there was something different about this wand, but he had not quite put his hand on it.  Nonetheless McGonagall recognized the wand, and all but collapsed into her chair with a heavy thud.

The shouts began, and panic seemed to envelop the Great Hall, but with a slash of the pale wand in his hand, the hall fell into silence.  The Professors seemed outraged at this, several shooting to their feet.  Professor Flitwick snapped, “Potter, undo your spell at once.”

“I would be careful where you point that wand, Fillius.  That is my apprentice you are threatening.” A new booming voice said from the entrance to the hall, and Harry turned his head to see the men that had been hidden by the door flood into the room.  A dozen strong, and at the front was Tom himself.

Gasps followed the man’s declaration, and Harry offered a bow to the man, and stepped aside, as Tom strode his way between the benches.  Many scurried away, some climbed over the table in hopes of putting distance between themselves, and the red-eyed wizard that had arrived.  Most of the staff had drawn their wands now, and some even dared to point them at Tom.

“You are unwelcome here.” Professor McGongall hissed, finding the strength to rise back to her feet, clearly prepared to defend the students if necessary.

“It is impossible to be unwelcome in something that inherently belongs to you, and make no mistake Minerva McGonagall, Hogwarts is my birthright.” Tom countered easily, before turning to address the students, “The world is a very different place than it was yesterday.  Great change awaits us all, and it will start here at Hogwarts.”

A malevolent purple spell, clearly intended to incapacitate or perhaps even kill, shot through the air from Flitwick's wand, which was aimed squarely at the unsuspecting back of Lord Voldemort. Before it could make contact, however, a flash of crimson light erupted from the wand of Harry, who stood just a half-step behind his master. The shield met the incoming curse with a silent, invisible barrier, causing the hostile magic to dissipate harmlessly into nothingness.

Tom didn't so much as flinch, let alone turn around. His focus remained entirely on the group of students before him. His lack of reaction was a profound display of his unshakeable confidence in his young apprentice. His faith was a palpable thing, a silent testament to the devastating effectiveness Harry had proven to possess.

Without shifting his gaze or altering the calm, measured tone that belied the immense power he held in check, the Dark Lord issued his command. "Harry," he said, his voice cutting through the tension-thick air like a silver wire. "I wish to show patience with these people whom I respect so much for their tenacity, misguided as it is. However," his red eyes flickered with a dangerous, cold calculation, "if another person dares to cast a spell at me, do not hesitate. Kill them."

The statement was not a warning to Harry but an unambiguous, chilling order delivered with the finality of a decree. It was a clear line drawn in the dust of the collapsing wizarding order: 

Moving to stand behind the man, Harry stared down his Professors of the last five years, and Flitwick growled, “You are a gifted student, Potter, but this is madness.  Get out of the way.”

“You only have a fraction of an idea of what I am capable of, Professor.  It is I that killed Dumbledore, after all.” Harry declared, causing gasps to fill the air.

“Impossible.” Flitwick whispered, and McGongall placed a hand over chest as if she were having a great sudden pain.

“For most, yes.” Harry agreed, “But not for the apprentice of Lord Voldemort.”

Slughorn on the end looked like he might faint, but Harry held both wands in his hands now.  The Holly and Phoenix wand he had grown up with, and the longer wand made of spirals he had taken from Dumbledore.  Tom had insisted he keep it since he struck the final blow, and Harry was grateful to wield such a trophy, his very first in the act of conquest.

Tom cleared his throat, and Harry said nothing further, and just guarded the man’s back.  He knew it was mostly for show, a symbol of trust, after all he had a dozen of his most capable followers standing at the back of the hall.  If this came to a fight, it would be bloody, and fast.

“It is true, Harry Potter is my apprentice.  Harry Potter did kill Dumbledore.” Tom admitted simply, seeming to relish in the shock of the student body, “He has been following my teachings for just three short years, and look how far he has come.  He is the example that I wish for you all to follow.  For he is proof that greatness can be achieved at any age.  That is what I wish to carry over to Hogwarts.”

Tom began to pace in front of the scared students, and spoke softly as his voice spread over the Great Hall, “You all have nothing to fear from Lord Voldemort.  For as long as you do not stand against me, or my followers, you will be safe.  Whether you be, Muggleborn, Half-Blood, Pureblood, or Blood-Traitor, it matters not to me.”

“From this day forward,” Tom continued, his voice resonating through the Great Hall, holding the attention of every student and professor, “you will be given a chance to learn and study magics that have long been forgotten, suppressed, or simply deemed too dangerous for the timid minds that previously controlled this institution. Hogwarts will no longer be a haven for mediocrity or a prison for ambition. If you harbor a natural penchant for a particular branch of the arcane arts—be it Transfiguration, Charms, or even the most misunderstood disciplines—it will not only be accepted but actively nurtured, not discouraged. We will guide you, with open minds and experienced hands, through all forms of magic. May that be the pragmatic, raw power of the Dark Arts; the intricate, life-altering procedures of Blood Magic; or even the ancient, ritualistic magic that is capable of saving lives just as easily as it is of ending them.”

Tom paused, allowing the gravity of his words to sink in. A significant hush had fallen over the hall, broken only by the faint crackle of the enchantment overhead. His gaze swept slowly over the student tables, finally settling with unnerving precision on the Slytherin ranks. “I know for a fact,” he stated, his voice softening just enough to imply intimacy and profound knowledge, “that there is one among you today, right now, who would have faced a much shorter, more painful life had my apprentice and his allies not delved deeply and courageously into the complex, often-maligned field of ritualistic magic to cure a blood curse that had haunted a family for generations.” His eyes fell deliberately upon Astoria Greengrass, a young girl whose face flushed crimson under the sudden, public attention. He had undoubtedly recognized her from the deep well of Harry’s recent, vivid memories—memories that contained both his compassion and his ruthless efficiency—but he offered no further comment on the topic, simply a subtle, knowing nod.

“Behind me stand some of the most gifted, though perhaps conventionally-minded, instructors in the Magical World,” Tom continued, gesturing vaguely towards the petrified staff. “But they are limited. Limited, I am afraid, in their practical knowledge of the forbidden or newly rediscovered arts necessary for true magical progress. It is for this reason that I have taken it upon myself to begin restructuring the faculty. I have appointed a new Headmaster—a visionary—and assigned additional staffing, composed of practitioners from disciplines previously unpracticed within these walls, who will help guide each of you in your magical journeys that will begin in earnest next year. Their goal will be to elevate you beyond mere academic compliance and into genuine mastery.”

A tension was building, palpable and brittle, in the air. Tom’s expression, however, remained serene, almost paternal. “I will soon turn you over to your next Headmaster, who will outline the future. But before I do, I wish to leave you all with this simple, guiding principle: work hard. Prove yourselves worthy of the opportunity you have been given. Be the cunning and the ambitious in your endeavors, the loyal and the fair in your alliances, the brave and the steadfast in the face of fear, and above all, the intelligent and the determined in your pursuit of knowledge. Do all of this, and you may just attract the attention of those who possess the power and wisdom to make you truly great. Just like Harry himself did all those years ago.”

He took a breath, a final flourish before the introduction. “Now, without further ado, I would like to introduce to you the new Hogwarts Headmaster—”

“No!” Minerva McGonagall’s roar of protest shattered the moment of hushed anticipation. Her voice, fueled by righteous fury and desperation, cut through the quiet like a whip. Surging forward, she wrenched her wand free, her intent clear—to stop the man, whatever the cost. “Defudio!” she bellowed, the word a battle cry as a jet of crimson light erupted from her wand tip, rocketing toward Tom’s chest.

But before the legendary transfiguration witch could hit her mark, or even utter a second syllable, a silent, invisible force slammed into her. She was hoisted violently into the air, as if seized by an immense, unseen fist. The magical shockwave tore her half-finished spell completely apart, the crimson light dissipating into harmless sparks. Choking, her feet dangling uselessly ten feet above the floor, Minerva clawed desperately at her throat, her face turning a dangerous purple as the crushing, magical constriction around her neck tightened.

The other professors roared their disapproval, but it was all silenced by the deafening hiss of a new arrival.  At the other end of the hall, curling up just outside the entrance doors was the basilisk.  Harry saw the terrified screams on the faces of the silenced students, and he was grateful they had all been placed under the spell, as they scattered to the walls.

Tom hissed loudly, and Harry recognized the man commanding his ancestors familiar, “Relax, great one, I can handle this.  Thank you for coming, old friend.”

The sound of the snake language seemed to frighten the students into submission, and even the professors had lowered their wands, clearly understanding that if a fight erupted the mythically powerful beast would enter the fray against them and students would undoubtedly die in the crossfires.  It was strictly an intimidation factor, however, because the basilisk would not be needed to defeat the professors.  Harry knew that Tom did not want blood shed at Hogwarts today though, and had hope that the transition of power would be peaceful.

“There will be no other warnings, Minerva McGongall, out of the respect I once held for you, I will spare your life.  Expect no such mercies a second time.” Tom said coldly, as he released the woman, forcing her to cough violently in relief.

Tom shrugged his shoulders, and held his hands in the air, “There is no need to panic. My familiar is here to keep you safe. Just as my ancestor, Salazar Slytherin intended.  Her gaze is only deadly to those she wishes to harm, and she will not harm any student that does not first attack her, you have my word.  Please, retake your seats.”

It took a few minutes, but the students seemed to realize they had no choice as they slowly moved back to their tables, and Tom just offered a pleasant smile to them all.  When the seats had been reclaimed Tom spoke again, “As I was saying before, I would like to introduce you all to your newest Headmaster, a former Unspeakable, and perhaps my most brilliant follower, Augustus Rookwood.”

Thankfully the Slytherins were quick on the uptake, and applauded the man’s arrival.  Harry was grateful the other houses were completely stupid, as many of the students offered less than enthusiastic applause, but applause nonetheless.  

Augustus marched down the hall, removing his Death Eater mask, and flipping down his hood, showing a clean shaved man with curly hair.  Harry believed the man to be in his early 40s, but wasn’t exactly sure, but offered a slight bow of his head, as he slid out of the way, and Tom moved to stand beside him as the former Unspeakable began addressing the students.

“I know this is frightening for many of you.  Change always is…”

The man continued to give a speech trying to assure the students of their safety and the coming progress that would follow next year, and Tom turned to Harry whispering softly, “I think that went well.”

Harry fought back the snort that threatened to escape him, “No one has died yet, so I suppose that is a victory.”

“We will send the students home today,” Tom advised, “Speak with the staff, and make what is coming crystal clear. Any that wish to not return will be granted their leave, peacefully.”

For the first time Harry was certain they were doing the right thing. In all the violence that would surely follow, keeping it out of Hogwarts would be for the best.  If they really wanted to sway people's loyalty, changing the minds of his generation would be the best place to start.

“We’ve done it.” Harry whispered.

“There is still much to be done.” Tom promised, but said nothing further as Rookwood concluded his speech, and applauded along with the students.

With the basilisk moving out onto the grounds, Rookwood dismissed the students to their dorms, informing them they would all be going home for the time being, while fifth and seventh year students would return on their own to the castle in the coming weeks to take their exams.  He encouraged them to study hard and prepare, but assured them a few days of revision would be allowed at Hogwarts before they were expected to take the test.  This was merely a chance for the country to acclimate to what was coming.

In the end the students piled out.  Most of the Slytherins now looked at Harry as if he were the next coming of Merlin, while a few eyed him in fear.  They knew in some way or another many of them had wronged Harry over the years, but after everything that had gone on, Harry was not looking for revenge, just a way forward.  His eyes fell on Daphne who looked like she desperately wanted to come to his side, but instead he just offered her an assuring nod, and a slight jerk of his head indicating that she would need to return to the Common Room for now, and reluctantly she complied.

When just the Death Eaters, and the Professors were left, Tom addressed them, “I understand this is difficult for many of you.  I understand that Dumbledore was a friend to most of you, but a new era has begun, and it does not have to be as horrific as I am sure you have painted it in your minds.”

Next to Tom, stood Augustus, who agreed immediately, “We do not wish for violence here at Hogwarts.  Any that do not wish to return next term, will be allowed amnesty to depart.  No repercussions.”

“But if you do return,” Tom continued firmly, “You must understand that there will be changes.  Your fundamental subjects can remain the same.  All will be invited to return, and your lessons will not interfered with, merely expanded by other subjects.”

“And who will fund this?” Pomona Sprout demanded, “New staff, more subjects, how will we accommodate?”

“Do not worry about the finances.” Tom assured the long table, his voice carrying a rich, resonant timbre that commanded immediate attention, “They are the absolute least of everyone’s worries now. In fact, those who choose to return to us, who embrace the new world we are forging, will not merely be forgiven, but will be rewarded handsomely. We are prepared to offer substantial incentives to bring everyone back into the fold with open arms. We wish to bring everyone back in good faith, not through coercion, but through compelling example. Allow us to show you all, not just with empty words but with tangible, undeniable evidence, that the future does not have to be an endless cycle of death, fear, and violence among each other. I assure you all now, with absolute certainty, we have already won.”

A cold, heavy truth seemed to settle over the long mahogany table, replacing the hushed murmurs with an unnerving silence. Tom’s gaze swept across the faces of those gathered, a look of profound, calculated triumph in his eyes. He tightened his grip on Harry’s shoulders, a proprietary, intimate gesture. “I have converted even the one destined by prophecy and fate to oppose me—the one you know as the Boy-Who-Lived. His power, his name, his very destiny now serve our cause. I have also strategically removed the most powerful, the most influential, and the most determined figures who could have truly combatted my authority—those who would have stood as genuine threats to the new world order. Any remaining resistance now, regardless of its size or fervor, would be utterly futile, an act of sheer, self-destructive madness. And while let it be known that we will not provoke further violence, having already secured our victory in Britain, we will not hesitate for a single second to crush, utterly and decisively, any feeble flame of defiance that arises.”

“And you will not judge certain populations of the castle just because of their circumstance of birth or family?” Professor Babbling, a Muggleborn Professor, asked.

“I meant what I said.” Tom promised, “Despite those I champion, I care not for the Pureblood politics.  I only wish to find the most gifted, and show them a better way.  I will not deny the fact that Pureblood students will have an upper hand, because it is true, if a Muggleborn and a Pureblood student are of the same magical level, then the student with a foothold in the Magical World will likely prosper more, but I hope this merely encourages all students to be the very best they can be.”

Scoffing, Umbridge down the table, eyes widened as she realized she had just made the sound aloud, and Tom’s eyes flicked towards the woman, “Delores, I had forgotten you were here.  Given what my apprentice tells me, I am afraid you will be the sole member of staff not invited back next year.  I may have other uses for you, but not here at Hogwarts.  I am afraid my vision for you lies elsewhere.”

Like another side of the world, Harry thought petulantly.  Umbridge however bowed her head in fear, and said nothing further.

Augustus then re-adressed the gathered professors, “My only request is that you all remain on a little past the end of term.  Allow the fifth and seventh year students to finish with the professors they are used to.  When the new term begins on September 1st we can implement the changes we are imagining.  Changes we will keep you all up to date with if you decide to return.”

“Will that creature be roaming the castle freely?” Flitwick asked in a cold voice.

Tom smiled freely at the question, “Sesha is a very loyal beast.  She has been within the school for nearly a thousand years.  She will be the guardian of our fine institute.  After all, not all will take the changes to our world so happily.  We must continue to boost the defenses of the castle, and Sesha will of course be willing and able to fight any invading force.  You will not need to worry about her food either, there is enough in the Forbidden Forest to make her very happy.  You also have my assurance that she will not harm any student.  Salazar Slytherin had intended for Sesha to be used in this capacity, but the other founders were not comfortable with the idea.  As his descendant I am thrilled to see this vision come to fruition.”

The words clearly indicated the removal of the beast would not be an option, and the other Professors were smart enough to catch onto this.

“Now,” Tom said with a clap of his hands, “I know this has been a shocking morning.  Go get some rest, think about my offer, and let Augustus know as you decide whether you will be returning or not.”

Offering a slight bow of his head, and a flourish of his hand, Tom began retreating out of the Great Hall, with Harry right on his heels.

“Potter,” McGonagall asked, causing the teen to stop and look at the woman, “Are you not staying?”

Before Harry could answer, Tom put a hand on his shoulder, “I assure you, my apprentice, is far beyond the Hogwarts curriculum, and now that everything is in place I have far more important uses for him.  Rest assured, I will look after him like he is my own, as I have for the last three years.”

This seemed to make Professor McGonagall sick with thought, but Harry’s heart swelled at Tom’s declaration, and followed the man towards the grounds, as the Death Eaters fell in behind him.  Glancing over his shoulder Harry knew he would return to Hogwarts many times over the coming days, but doubted he would ever do so as a student again.