The Dark Apprentice Chapter 89 (Patreon)

Chapter 89

Harry did not manage to catch up with Augustus before the man had vanished from the Ministry of Magic. The pursuit proved fruitless, and Harry, accepting the temporary setback, instead returned to the sanctuary of Gaunt Manor for a period of much-needed rest. He was still profoundly depleted, the lingering exhaustion a testament to the intensity of his recent conflicts. The primary drain had been the fierce duel at the Ministry itself, which had taxed his magical reserves and physical endurance to their limit. Following that pivotal battle, he had been called upon to attend to, and participate in, a series of ensuing engagements fought across the country. It appeared not everyone had been inclined to bow down quietly to the new order, necessitating a swift and often brutal quelling of isolated resistance movements and pockets of continued defiance.

This necessary period of recuperation eventually concluded, leading Harry to the familiar grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a place that now represented multiple, pressing items on his personal agenda. His arrival at the edge of the forbidden forest was initially greeted by a disconcerting, silent tableau. Hagrid, the usually booming and effusive groundskeeper, stood rigid and unmoving at the edge of his massive hut. He was holding a crossbow, its tensioned string and bolt aimed vaguely outwards, as if he were actively expecting an imminent attack from the surrounding woods or perhaps even the approaching figure of Harry himself. The man offered no welcoming shout, no customary greeting. Instead, he simply looked away, deliberately avoiding Harry’s eyes, and then, without a single word or question, retreated into the shadowed interior of his dwelling. Harry, though momentarily unsettled by the clear distress and coldness emanating from the half-giant, chose to dismiss this strange, accusatory look for the time being. He continued his journey, walking purposefully towards the looming silhouette of the castle.

As he drew nearer, a palpable and unnatural silence hung over the grounds. He noted a complete and total absence of student activity. The sprawling lawns were empty, the usual clamour of youthful voices and stray magical bursts entirely missing. Today, however, was a significant date on the school calendar: it was the first day of the students’ return for the final examination period. Harry knew this scheduling specifically included the critical assessments for both the Fifth-Years, preparing for their O.W.L.s, and the Seventh-Years, facing their career-defining N.E.W.T.s. The quiet was therefore deeply unsettling, suggesting a solemnity and perhaps even an apprehension far beyond the usual end-of-year jitters.

Even upon entering the hallowed halls of Hogwarts the lack of student activity was apparent.  Instead of turning towards the Headmasters office like he planned, he turned towards Dungeons.  Along the way he was greeted by none of the prefects or senior students, leaving Harry to believe that something was wrong as his wand slipped into his hand.

Tom, now in a position of undeniable authority, had issued stringent directives: no student or staff member currently residing within the hallowed halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was to suffer any harm. Harry, despite his inherent distrust, did not believe that Augustus would be foolish enough to outright defy such a command. However, Harry's anxieties were focused on the motley assortment of individuals Rookwood had conscripted to fill the faculty vacancies—individuals whose loyalty and temperament were far less reliable.

The most concerning addition was Rabastian Lestrange, slated to teach the Dark Arts—a subject that had been outlawed for decades. Harry knew Lestrange possessed a dangerous level of skill and magical power, making him undeniably capable. Yet, that capability was overshadowed by his notorious lack of patience and a vicious temper, qualities that made him profoundly unsuitable for the role of an educator, especially one dealing with impressionable minds and volatile magic. The thought of Lestrange's volatile presence in the classroom sent a chill down Harry's spine, knowing the potential for abuse and psychological damage was immense.  This may not have been something that would normally bother Harry, but the last thing he wanted was to alienate people against the Dark Lord even further.

Joining Lestrange was Ivanna Rosier. Hailing from a notorious line of Death Eaters, the Rosier name itself carried a weight of dark legacy. Ivanna, however, had distinguished herself not on the battlefield of the last war, but on the international dueling circuit. She was recognized as a quiet, disciplined, and lethally effective duelist. Her specialty was swift, non-verbal spell-casting, and she was due to teach the Duelling class when the students returned for the next term. While her expertise was undeniable, the cold, almost detached ruthlessness she displayed in a duel made Harry wonder what kind of ethics, if any, she would instill in her students.  He had little run-ins with the young woman, but her reputation had her pegged as his generation's Bellatrix, at least until he could get Daphne in the running.

Finally, there was Thorfinne Rowle, an individual whose very presence was a grim harbinger of the new curriculum. Rowle was designated to teach "Blood and Ritualistic Magic," a deeply unsettling area of the magical world that had been relegated to the darkest corners of forgotten lore for good reason. His very inclusion signaled a move far beyond merely "tolerating" the Dark Arts and into actively embracing its most taboo and potentially dangerous practices. Harry recognized that Tom was not merely reshaping the faculty; he was fundamentally changing the soul of Hogwarts, turning it from a sanctuary of learning into a training ground for his dark regime, with this trio of dangerous, morally compromised teachers as the first, frightening wave of change.

It was these three that Harry wondered was the cause of the missing students.  He quickened his haste to the Dungeons, and when he arrived at the portrait hole he hissed the password as he arrived, watching the snake as it glided apart allowing him entrance into the Slytherin Common Room.

Marching down the steps Harry felt his heart quicken, but as he reached the bottom, he was met with gasps, and excited chatter immediately.  Harry’s heart felt relieved as he saw a dozen come his way offering handshakes and friendly greetings.

Pucey, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, shook Harry’s hand with the fervor of someone who had just won the lottery, a giddy, triumphant smile splitting his face. The Carrow sisters, in a show of affection, each offered him quick, congratulatory kisses on the cheek, their pale eyes sparkling with an excitement that bordered on fanaticism. From the upper years, Urquhart stepped forward, his usual reserved demeanor giving way to a startlingly firm handshake. Vaisley followed suit, his grip just as earnest, and both of them offered the same deferential promise: if there was anything at all they could do for him, they were his humble servants, a dramatic and potent declaration of newfound loyalty.

These were the first to make their way through the congratulatory throng, signaling the new order to the upper-years. But then came his closest allies, the ones whose greetings weren't merely formal displays of respect or opportunism. Blaise clapped a warm hand onto his shoulder, his dark eyes full of genuine pleasure, before pulling him into a brief, manly hug, finishing it off with a hearty pat on the back, “Tracey would be really proud of what you have accomplished, Harry.  I am sorry she isn’t here to enjoy it with us.”

Harry offered his friend a solemn nod, but also a soft smile of appreciation of all they had been through.  Thoughts of Tracey, particularly in the face of victory, were hard, and he did his best to suppress those unwanted emotions. Now was not the time or place.

Theo Nott approached him next with a lopsided, familiar grin that he only ever wore around their inner circle, and instead of a handshake, he simply bumped Harry's shoulder with his own, his quiet, sincere congratulations on the victory needing no further elaboration.  Instead he offered a bow when they separated, "I knew you had it in you, Potter, or should we call you, Lord Potter? Brilliant work!" The easy camaraderie and genuine joy of his inner circle cut through the more formal reverence of the others, anchoring him in the center of the sudden, heady rush of triumph.

Then there was Daphne, standing slightly apart, her expression less effusive than the boisterous crowd, but the genuine warmth in her subtle smile was a powerful affirmation that meant more to Harry than any shout of praise or wave of excitement. It was a silent acknowledgment of his return and his recent, challenging journey.

When the initial wave of excitement and congratulatory cheers finally began to die down, Harry surveyed the assembled Slytherins with a deep sense of satisfaction. Every single student, from those who hardly knew him, craning their necks, to the oldest students offering respectful nods, all had come out from their dormitories and common room to greet him. The green and silver-draped room felt charged with a palpable energy. Clearly, they had all been waiting, perhaps even needing, to hear from him—their controversial but now undeniably successful champion and leader. He knew he couldn't disappoint them.

"I want to thank all of you, truly, for this welcome and for your support," Harry began, his voice firm and projected clearly across the space, echoing slightly off the stone walls. He let his gaze sweep over every face, establishing a personal connection with each person present. "I know that the last few days have brought a lot of change—change within our school, change within the political landscape of the country, and certainly, change that will follow our world."

He paused, letting the gravity of his words settle in the room. "The atmosphere outside of these dungeons remains volatile, full of uncertainty and scrutiny. Yet, to come back among you, after all that has transpired, and to be welcomed with this degree of loyalty... it is not just amazing; it is profoundly reassuring. It confirms what I have always believed about the strength and cohesion of this House. We stand together, and in times like these, that unity is our greatest weapon."

Applause followed his words, and Harry offered smiles to everyone, “Things are going to be better for our soceity.  I know you all heard the words of the Dark Lord.  It doesn’t matter if you are muggleborn, half-blood, or Pureblood, if you have the power, then you will all be welcomed in the new world.”

More applause followed his words, and some looked uncertain, while others looked hopeful.  Harry said nothing further, but held up his hands in a wave as he went back to his core group exchanging quiet words of greetings as the rest of the house dissolved back into their routine activities, but clearly buzzing with excitement at Harry’s arrival.

When the crowd began to dissipate, leaving just the three of them—Theo, Blaise, and Daphne—a heavy silence settled over the group. Harry felt the familiar urge to discuss the recent events in private, away from even the two people he considered his closest male friends. Reaching across the small space, his fingers found Daphne’s hand, his thumb stroking the smooth, cool skin of her knuckles. He met her gaze, a silent request for a moment alone passing between them, a look that conveyed the urgency of his need for a private word.

Daphne understood him instantly, her years of navigating social complexities and Harry’s own guarded nature making the interpretation effortless. She offered a graceful, natural smile that didn't quite reach her eyes—a subtle indicator of the seriousness of the situation—and executed the necessary excuses with practiced ease. Her tone was polite, bordering on formal, spinning a brief, plausible reason for their immediate departure that was far more convincing and socially deft than any clumsy, rushed explanation Harry would have attempted. Without waiting for a response, she subtly guided Harry, her hand resting lightly on the small of his back, propelling him toward the common room door and into the echoing silence of the stone hallway outside. The entire maneuver was seamless, efficient, and, most importantly, discreet.

When the portrait door behind them closed, Harry didn’t hesitate to push her hand aside, and wrap his own around the small of her back, pulling her into a kiss.  The kiss was electric, and Harry felt a sense of relief as she returned it vigorously.  When the two separated their foreheads rested against one another as Harry said, “It’s been a long few days, I am sorry it took so long for me to visit.”

The teen ignored the fact that he hadn’t even originally visited Hogwarts to see Daphne, but now that he was here he was glad he came by.  The support of the Slytherin’s and Daphne’s continued loyalty in him gave him the needed boost of encouragement.

“I understand.” Daphne promised, “I didn’t before, but I do now.  I never imagined this is what you and the Dark Lord were up to.  This is beyond anything I ever imagined.”

“We have a lot of capable witches and wizards behind us,” Harry agreed easily, “But I want to know more about what’s going on here.  How were things today?”

“Tense.” Daphne said carefully, “Most of the other houses are terrified.  It doesn’t help that half the Slytherin’s are openly boasting about what is happening out there, but this is their victory.  A victory their families couldn’t even dream of.  Part of me understands even if I wish they had a little more tact.”

Harry nodded sagely, before asking, “Rookwood and the others have been fine?”

“We haven’t had much interaction with them to be honest.” Daphne admitted, “The three new teachers were merely observers today, mostly standing among themselves.  Headmaster Rookwood put on a kind face to everyone though.  He spoke of a bright future for us all, and hopes of starting a club next year of the most promising older students.”

“He’s recruiting.” Harry said in realization, “He wants to know who the next generation of great witches and wizards will be for Tom’s ranks.  It’s-”

“Smart.” Daphne finished simply, “If the Dark Lord wants to hold the country, and pursue the world, he will need capable followers in every generation.  I intend to prove myself as one of them.”

Harry wanted to tell the witch that she didn’t need to prove herself.  That she had proven herself enough to him, but a part of him knew the decision of who would be in his future was out of his hands.  Tom would ultimately decide who was capable and who was not.  The only thing he could do was ensure his girlfriend was up to the challenge, “You have quite the headstart on most of our classmates, and I can give you some of Tracey’s notes, along with mine, if you really want to get ahead of the curve.”

“It sounds vain, but I should aim for headgirl, and try to excel in Ivanna Rosier's class.” Daphne said simply, “I knew Ivanna growing up, she may favor me if I stand out.  I will need every credential under my belt if-”

The girl cut herself off, but looked up to Harry questioningly.  The teen felt his heart turnover with affection as he realized Daphne had been stressing about her worth to the cause, and he shook his head fondly knowing what was on her mind, “I agree every merit will help, but it was this,” Harry touched her temple with his index finger gently, “That I liked so much.  Hold onto that, and keep doing what you have been doing, and when you graduate you can stand at my side.”

“What happens between now and then?” Daphne asked quietly.

“War.” Harry said simply, “Against any foolish enough to stand against Tom.”

Neither said anything for a long moment, but Harry could tell Daphne was hardening her resolve, and said nothing further as the teen offered her a kiss on her brow, “I will visit when I can.  Train you, offer notes, and give you ideas on how to become great.  Until then do everything you can here, and don’t hesitate to write or inform me of anything out of place.  I will do my best to be around, but until then, I relinquish the title of King Snake.  It has been some years since Slytherin has had a queen, but I will make sure those in our house know who my chosen heir is.”

Daphne scoffed, but she kept a playful, triumphant smile on her face, “I hardly need your help at this point to cement my place as Queen Snake.  The others have been looking at me to lead in your absence.  When we return next year after exams, I doubt any will attempt to go against me.  Particularly if you show face and kiss me in the Common Room on occasion, like you used to.”

Harry grinned at her words, “Going all the way to the Common Room just to kiss you in front of my old classmates sounds like a lot of effort.”

Daphne knew the teen was teasing her, so instead of getting flustered she rose to the challenge stepping into his personal space, “I will make it worth your while.”

The two met for a kiss, then several, but when they separated, Harry sighed, “I need to go meet with Augustus.”

“Then I shouldn’t hold you up any longer.” Daphne said softly, “Just don’t forget to visit, Harry.”

“I will visit anytime I’m home.” Harry promised, “I will write as well.”

“Now you just sound clingy.” Daphne protested, but her smile told him what she really wanted.

“Cheeky.” Harry countered, before offering another kiss, and separating from the girl.  He took a few steps away before turning his back on the girl.  He didn’t even make it out of the hallway, before he turned his head over his shoulder and saw her standing in the same place, “Some day soon, you won’t have to wait for my return, but be at my side.  Where you belong.”

“Not soon enough.” Daphne said wistfully, but then turned her back towards him, whispered the password, and disappeared back into the Slytherin dorms.

.o.

Harry arrived at the Headmaster’s office, the gargoyle guardian melting back into the wall with a silent scrape of stone, allowing him passage. The majestic eagle perched atop the door, its eyes like polished amber, merely tilted its head before the heavy oak door swung inward, granting Harry entrance without any further interruptions or demands for a password.

The brief pause outside had been necessary, a moment for introspection regarding the journey he had undertaken to reach this point. Leaving Daphne behind was an unexpected ache, a conscious choice he realized in hindsight he would rather not have made. The familiar, comforting certainty of her presence had become a quiet expectation. Yet, he also knew, with obvious respect, that her journey was far from complete. Her path of proving herself to the world, to the wizarding elite, and perhaps most crucially, to herself, required her to stand alone for a time. She was not the type of witch who would find lasting satisfaction or inner peace merely resting comfortably on his arm, sheltered by his name and power.

Harry recalled the Daphne of five years ago, the quiet, ambitious Slytherin heiress. Perhaps that younger version of her might have been satisfied with the security and status his companionship offered, a comfortable, high-society destiny secured. But the Daphne Greengrass who now existed—the resilient, profoundly changed witch who had ruthlessly murdered her own father to ensure her sister, Astoria, could live a happy, healthy life, free from the crushing blood curse—was an entirely different soul. The girl he had first met was gone, replaced by a formidable, independent woman who had forged herself in the fire of unthinkable sacrifice.

Now, Harry stood at the threshold to Augustus’ office. He took a deep, measured breath, allowing the heavy silence of the ancient castle corridor to settle his nerves. The tension of the recent conflict, the weight of the secrets he once carried, and the questions that plagued him held him steady. He reached out and knocked firmly on the solid wood, then waited patiently, his heart beating a steady, relentless rhythm, for the final, expected summons to be granted entry.

The door swung open after not even ten seconds of waiting, and Harry was greeted by the new Headmaster of Hogwarts at once, “Ah, Harry, I had heard you arrived.  Please come in.”

Harry said nothing as he entered the man’s office, walked up the steps to the man’s desk, and observed the large, now well groomed man rise from his chair, and offer Harry a slight bow of deference.

“Augustus,” Harry greeted with a nod, “How are you settling into your new role?”

“It is everything I ever dreamed of as a boy.” Rookwood admitted, “I always wondered upon the secrets of Hogwarts, and now I am discovering new ones every day.”

The man gestured to the seat across from him for Harry to sit, and he took a seat on his own, mirroring Harry’s movement, “But I am guessing you are not here to inquire about my position as Headmaster.  The Dark Lord I suspect will do that himself.”

“You’re right.” Harry said at once, “I have an inquiry of a more personal matter.  One I fear, even our master, would be ill suited to answer.  This is something more of your personal expertise.”

Augustus frowned at this, “There are few arts our master is unfamiliar with.  Even fewer than I can claim advantage of knowledge over.”

“I won’t leave you in suspense.” Harry promised as he drew the long pale wand out of his robes, “I remember you telling our Lord that you have a familial expertise in Wand Lore.  I was wondering what you could tell me about this one?”

Augustus frowned at the inquiry, but watched Harry carefully as he laid the wand out on the desk, and allowed the man to observe it freely.  A questioning look from the man clearly sought permission to take it into his own hands, and Harry nodded his assent.

Casually Augustus picked up the wand, and his eyes widened immediately, “This wand is powerful.”

The man said nothing else, and Harry allowed the man to contemplate the artifact in his possession, as the wizard continued to speak out loud, “15 inches.  Elder Wood.  The rarest of all wand mediums…the core…I don’t recognize it, but it holds a distinct feeling, one I have felt before.”

“Death.” Harry said simply, and Augustus’ eyes shot up in surprise.

“Indeed.” The Headmaster said before continuing his observation, “I have never felt anything like it.”

“It was the wand of Albus Dumbledore.” Harry said softly, “Yet, when I defeated him that day in the Ministry, the wand felt like it belonged to me.  It serves me perhaps even more faithfully and powerfully than my wand that is the brother of the Dark Lords.”

Augustus' eyes widened at this.  Tom and Harry had never shared with anyone that the two had this connection between their wands, but something about the grizzled man left Harry trusting the former Unspeakable, “Incredible.”

Harry leaned forward asking the simple question, “What can you tell me?”

Augustus continued to turn over the wand in silence saying nothing for what felt like several minutes, before he placed it down, and released a deep breath, “The wand, it is made of properties I have only heard legends of.  I believe…I believe…Well, I don’t know what to believe.”

His words puzzled Harry, as he leaned back into the chair now, “That complicated?”

The Headmaster sighed, “Your question may be more difficult than you realize.  What do you know of thestrals?”

Harry blinked a few times, before shrugging his shoulders, “Very little.” It was an easy admission, Hagrid had mentioned them before in his class, and he had even seen a few in the Forbidden Forest, “I know they are creatures that can only be seen by those who have witnessed death.”

“Yes.” Augustus said simply, before turning his eyes up to Harry, “Why do you believe that is?”

“I hadn’t really thought about it?” Harry said evenly, but his confusion was evident in his tone.

“There are legends, legends that my family in particular were once fascinated in about thestrals.  What is perhaps even more interesting is that your family, or a derivative of it, was once involved in this legend.”

Harry furrowed his eyebrows in contemplation, “A derivative of my family?  Elaborate.”

Augustus nodded thoughtfully, “The Peverells.  It said the Potters descend from them.  They were one of Britain's original magical families.  Traced back as far as any of the other sacred 28 families, including my own.”

“What can you tell me?” Harry asked curiously.

“According to legend thestrals are harbingers of Death himself.” Augustus said softly, staring at the wand in what Harry now believed to be reverence, “Thestrals are the charger that Death would come in on.  Those may be legends, but what is certainly not a legend is that the wand, this wand, holds the core of a Thestral heartstring.  Something to my knowledge has never been done in the history of wand lore…only in legend, and only once.”

Harry frowned deeply at this, “Only once?”

Augustus took a deep breath before, glanced around as if he were worried about being overheard, before saying, “I want to tell you more, Harry.  I want to be as helpful as possible, but this is not the place.  Before I tell you anymore, what do you know about the Deathly Hallows?”