
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11627232.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Harry_Potter_&_Tom_Riddle_|_Voldemort
  Character:
      Harry_Potter, Sirius_Black, James_Potter, Lily_Evans_Potter, Draco
      Malfoy, Ron_Weasley, Severus_Snape, Lord_Voldemort, Tom_Riddle_|
      Voldemort
  Additional Tags:
      The_Dark_Lord_Won, Bad_Parenting, Mentions_of_genocide, Poor_Muggles,
      Dark_Harry, Death_Eater_Harry_Potter, Imagine_a_place_ruled_by_Voldemort,
      Light_Angst, Non-Graphic_Violence, Was_Going_to_be_longer_but_nope
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-07-27 Words: 3508
****** Tag, You're It ******
by Rebldomakr
Summary
     It wasn’t easy to forget about your mother coming home late on her
     day off because she was out with 'friends', the noise of firewhiskey
     bottles clanging against each other when his godfather took out the
     trash because no one else had bothered, and the aroma of copper and
     rot that permeated the air because the Dark Lord even touched the
     village of Godric’s Hollow. Even if there were no Dementors
     patrolling the streets at night, Harry doubted he would have happy
     dreams.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
                                Tag, You’re It
I.
It wasn’t easy to forget about your mother coming home late on her day off
because she was out with friends, the noise of firewhiskey bottles clanging
against each other when his godfather took out the trash because no one had
bothered to yet, and the aroma of copper and rot that permeated the air because
the Dark Lord even touched the village of Godric’s Hollow. Even if there were
no Dementors patrolling the streets at night, Harry doubted he would have happy
dreams.
Life hadn’t always been this way. Harry remembered when they walked until they
found the perfect spot to have a picnic, the family cat trailing after to be
served a bowl of tuna while they ate sandwiches and drank pumpkin juice. The
smell of pumpkins nauseate Harry at best now, when he used to pull on his
mother’s leg until she poured him another glass of the foul-smelling, foul-
tasting juice.
Then at some point, the Dark Lord grew too strong. The Ministry of Magic fell
and Hogwarts was no more a safe place. Albus Dumbledore died at the hands of
You-Know-Who and whatever resistance was left, was slowly picked off or forced
into submission for the sake of their loved ones. The Dark Lord and His  Death
Eaters made it obvious that there were worse things than death. The bodies of
muggles left without souls that’d just exist until they died, where they would
lay dead until someone bothered to bury them was a kinder option than what they
were capable of.
Things got even worse when Peter Pettigrew betrayed them and Remus Lupin was
captured by Fenrir Greyback. Harry’s father’s smile didn’t reach his eyes
anymore. His godfather managed to keep things together, the only one in his
life who was still there. His mother no longer told him to smile, or comforted
him when she passed by his bedroom door and heard crying. Harry wished he could
say he loved his parents, but that had gone away a long time away. Resentment
filled most of the space of where he was once happy.
Harry could find joy in some things. When he was with his godfather, of course,
who taught him magic. It was his godfather who had sneaked him into Diagon
Alley to get his first wand, see, and the one who snatched up the Hogwarts
letter before his parents could burn it. “You’ll get there, I swear.” Sirius
had sworn. “I don’t care who runs the place.” And, truly, he found joy at
Hogwarts. Headmaster Snape was foul, Harry learned his routine to know how to
avoid him, but he enjoyed his classes. He excelled.
The results of his first year exams came carried by a snowy owl that Harry fed
bacon to, wishing he could get an owl of his own. There was plenty money to
purchase an owl, but his mother told him he was too young for an owl to call
his own.
“An O in Dark Arts.” His mother muttered, dropping the letter onto the kitchen
table. “But an A in History of Magic. Maybe you could change your priorities.”
She said. “We could teach you better things here, you know.”
“Lily, let him go to Hogwarts.” His father said. He peered at the letter and
smiled. “An O in Transfiguration, too! Good job, Harry.” He had swollen bags
under his eyes and his breath smelt strongly of liquor.
It was no secret they didn’t like him going to Hogwarts. Somehow, Sirius had
convinced them and Harry was too scared to question anything much. For all he
knew, the permission was hanging off of a thread and could be broken if he
dared place the strain of a “Why?” on it.
“I’ve changed shifts at the store. I’ll be working the nights now.” His mother
said.
Harry said he was done with his breakfast and left the kitchen, before he could
see the evolution of Lily and James Potter’s latest fight. He took the exam
results and escaped the cottage.
II.
He was a diligent student. Harry was in the half of the Gryffindor House that
didn’t care much about who ran the school. He often came at odds of the other
half’s leader, Ron Weasley, who accused him of being a traitor. Everyone knew
the stories of James Potter, the once-great Auror who had killed twenty Death
Eaters before signing neutrality when the Dark Lord killed Albus Dumbledore.
They still thought he was a good wizard, even though he now worked at the new
Ministry of Magic as a ‘proper’ citizen of the new world. They thought he
should be like him, rebel against the Dark Lord and what He controlled.
Regardless of what they thought, though, Harry was very apathetic to it all. He
knew he wanted to make his godfather proud and the best way to do so was to
find a place in the new world and live a pleasant life. It all began with good
grades.
First year courses included Transfiguration, Charms, History of Magic, Dark
Arts, Potions, Herbology, Astronomy, and Defensive Magic. At the end of year
exams, he’d managed to pull in five Outstanding’s, one Exceeds Expectations,
and one Acceptable. In his second year, the courses remained the same with the
addition bi-monthly lessons for Arithmancy and Healing Arts. He had managed to
get an Exceeds Expectations on an early-O.W.L. exam for Astronomy and Herbology
before he’d left for the holidays, before his third year. He was able to choose
four electives, including Healing Arts as a full, complete course. 
Academically, he excelled. Socially, he was a failure. His record was also
filled with incidents when he ‘back talked’ to a professor, attacked another
student, got into a non-permitted duel, and broke curfew. Nonetheless, his
godfather was quite proud of him and secretly bought him an owl, one he would
name Hedwig, for his fourteenth birthday. His mother had torn up his third year
exam results after reading a note from a professor complimenting his ability in
the Dark Arts.
The first time someone actually spoke to him with kindness, perhaps even with
the desire to become friends, was in his fourth year. Draco Malfoy, who he’d
punched in his first year, paired himself up with Harry in their Dark Arts
class.
“Hanging around them, now, are you?” Ron Weasley spat at him later.
Harry, who could admit to himself that he had a slight temper, reacted
impulsively. He used Weasley as target practice until he was disarmed by
Professor Crouch and sent to the Headmaster’s office, where he was thoroughly
scolded, two hundred points removed from the Gryffindor House, and given a
month’s worth of detention with Crouch.
He had always found happiness being at Hogwarts. Away from his parents, in a
world where he could lock himself away in an unused classroom or in the
library, it was nice. Then, Harry had begun to make friends. First was Draco
Malfoy, followed by others who saw it as permission to befriend the son of a
former rebel.  He had never thought friendship was that important, then he felt
the joy of it. He had never been aware of the loneliness he felt before and he
was happy to drown himself in the company of others whenever he found he wasn’t
working on his schoolwork.
III.
Harry had cast the Killing Curse for the first time in his fourth year. It was
in June, two weeks before the end of year exams. He had already taken early-
O.W.L. exams for History of Magic, so he could hopefully drop the course
permanently, and there was little worry in his mind at the time. He had spent
the previous night in the Slytherin common room, invited to see a seventh
year’s freshly-stamped Dark Magic. It was something to be admired when the Dark
Lord chose you to be a Death Eater [though Harry knew better than to tell that
to either of his parents or even his godfather].
 Professor Crouch taught them the basics of the spell and handed everyone a
cage that contained a rat. “We will cover this spell only today.” He
proclaimed. “Good luck.”
He had pointed his wand at the rat. He distantly remembered the man who could
turn himself into a rat, and often did to amuse Harry himself. The others in
the classroom were cautiously walking around their caged rats or shouting the
curse, no one having succeeded yet. “Avada Kedavra.” He, unlike his peers, did
not shout the spell or say it very much energy.
A bolt of green shot out and struck the rat. Its short legs collapsed, eyes
motionless, completely limp. Dead. Harry had gotten the Killing Curse on the
very first try.
“Merlin.” Professor Crouch was suddenly there, eyes wide and rabid. “Did you
only cast that once?”
Harry nodded.
“Congratulations.” Crouch whispered, looking up from the dead rat to Harry. “I
don’t believe anyone else has ever gotten the curse on the first try. Ten
points to Gryffindor for your success, Mr. Potter.”
He would be the only one to successfully cast the spell that day. It made him
very proud, though he couldn’t brag to his parents or to his godfather.
Everyone knew by the end of the day, gossip spread like a wildfire in Hogwarts
Castle. It probably shouldn’t have made his gleeful when Ron Weasley avoided
him for a good week.
Coming home that year, Sirius picked him up from King’s Cross. Normally, his
father came with. Harry wondered what had happened when it was only his
godfather. He wanted to ask where he was, but he was also too scared to try to
wonder what might’ve happened. The Dark Lord was about to declare war on
France, everyone knew it, and maybe he’d decided to kill every known rebel,
former and current, to be sure there’d be no problems. He had entered the
cottage, greeted by the stony face of his mother and his father sitting in the
living room nursing a glass of what looked like water but could’ve easily been
vodka.
“They wrote a letter.” His mother said.
“For what?” Harry asked.
“Your success in Dark Arts.” Sirius muttered behind him, closing the front
door.
“You cast the Killing Curse and got it right your first try, they said.” His
mother stepped towards him. “Harry, is it true?”
He nodded. He wasn’t expecting the palm of her hand to come forward, smacking
against his cheek and flinging his head to the side. He bit his tongue and
blood quickly poured out, filling his mouth.
Anger surged. “Fuck you.” He spat, blood splattering out with his words. He
shoved past her and went directly towards his room. He’d only come out when he
heard his trunk being placed outside of the door.
IV.
Harry left his parent’s cottage when he was fourteen years old, in 1995, just a
day after coming back from Hogwarts. His godfather helped him pack all of his
things and moved him into the Black family home, 12 Grimmauld Place. He was
given a bedroom and a House Elf named Kreacher, then left mostly alone. Sirius
wouldn’t say it out loud, he loved him too much, but he was disappointed. He
befriended the portrait of Sirius’ mother and the frail Elf that maintained the
townhouse, in what felt like vengeance.
He tossed everything his parents had taught him out the window that day. He
went to Diagon Alley, walking past the crumbling muggle city around him to get
to Leaky Cauldron and the hidden entrance into the Wizarding district. He would
obtain a job at Flourish and Blotts before the sun began to set. By the end of
the summer, he had befriended the other workers at the store and many of the
usual patrons. He had been ignorant of an entire world, the boom and surplus
that filled the Wizarding World under the Dark Lord had never been seen by his
eyes.
The anger for his mother and father only surged. He saw their selfishness and
desire to raise him the Lightway kept him from living a life in the bright
place the Dark Lord had established. It didn’t matter who they had been,
because he wasn’t them. He was free to enjoy it all and, truthfully, so were
they. The only thing that kept them from it all, was them. And they had been
holding him back, too. He had imagined achieving a good life in a glum, dim
world with skies that were blue but felt grey, thanks to them.
“Merlin, you’ve gotten a tan.” Was the first thing Sirius had said when he saw
Harry in late August, after not a single visit since he was dropped off at the
townhouse.
Kreacher seemed to make a point by only serving tea to Harry.
Sirius gave him a sack of galleons to buy school supplies. “I’ve already gotten
everything.” Harry said. “Been living fine, got a job at Flourish and Blotts.”
He told him, taking pleasure in the shiny sadness in his godfather’s eyes, the
bags under them, and the wrinkles that aged him ten years in two months.
“Oh.” Sirius said. “I had given Kreacher gold to buy food and stuff.” He tried.
“Did he get everything alright?”
“Yes.” Harry nodded. “Is that all?” He made his voice as cold as he could.
Sirius left with a quiet goodbye.
And Harry would never admit he cried himself to sleep early that night.
V.
“Are you ready for O.W.L.’s this year?” Draco asked him on the Hogwarts
Express, in a cramped compartment.
Harry was resting his head on his chest, watching out the window to watch the
hills roll by. He didn’t answer quickly enough, maybe, because Blaise Zabini
had spoken up. “Harry’s already taken O.W.L.’s for three classes.”
“Woah. Really?” Draco questioned.
“Astronomy, Herbology, and History of Magic.” Harry answered himself, this
time. “Didn’t want to pursue the N.E.W.T. for them so I wanted to get them out
of the way, as soon as possible.”
“Do you know what you want to do already, outside of Hogwarts?” Pansy Parkinson
asked.
Harry fantasized with the idea of becoming a politician to encourage anti-
muggle laws to spite his mother, but thought he’d rather choose something he
would enjoy. He just didn’t know what he’d enjoy yet. “No.” He said.
“I’m going to be a Death Eater.” Draco declared. “Like my father and
grandfather.”
“Please, if any of us is going to be a Death Eater, it’s going to be Harry.”
Pansy giggled.
Pairs of eyes all turned towards him. Harry turned away from the window and
stared blankly back at Pansy. “You do know who my family is.” He said, slowly.
“I doubt the Dark Lord could trust me enough to Mark me.”
“Besides, the standards for Death Eaters have gone down since of the war with
France.” Theodore threw in. “People could probably join just by asking the
right people.”
“I can’t wait until we win. Wine just isn’t the same unless it’s French.”
Daphne commented. The mood was, effectively, lightened.
Harry found no change in his life at Hogwarts, despite what had occurred over
the summer. He was happy for it. He worked as hard as he’d done before,
excelling even as the magic grew harder and the workload got heavier. He
stopped attending Quidditch matches to score more time in at the library to
ensure he didn’t fall behind.
He managed to stay out of trouble for a good month, before he got into an
argument with Hermione Granger. For the first time, he’d referred to
muggleborns as mudbloods. In a classroom full of Gryffindors, it hadn’t been
well-received and she was the first one to speak out. Professor Rosier didn’t
interfere, at first, watching from his desk as the drama unfolded.
“You can’t say that!” She told him. “It’s a slur! Isn’t your mother a
muggleborn? How would she feel if she heard you say that!”
Likely because he was in no mood for a fight, he merely pulled out his wand and
cursed her with a new spell he’d just learned in Dark Arts. She had to be sent
to the Hospital Wing after she started coughing up blood and he went
unpunished, mostly. No points were taken and he received no detention, nor a
scolding from any professor, but his House began to make minimal contact with
him. Even the fraction of the Gryffindors who were fine under the Dark Lord’s
rule kept away from him. It was only the youngest of the House that didn’t
avoid him, mostly anyways.
Draco had congratulated him when word reached the Slytherins. “I hate Granger.
She never stops talking.” He said.
Harry agreed.
VI.
On Halloween, in his fifth year, Harry was summoned to the Headmaster’s office.
He hadn’t even done anything, he had thought, but he went obediently. It was
best to avoid the Headmaster’s wrath. But Headmaster Snape had been waiting
outside of his office, leading him past the guardian statue up the stairway.
Sitting at the man’s desk was someone Harry just barely recognized.
“Harry Potter.” The Dark Lord Voldemort greeted, offering a sharp-toothed
smile. “Take a seat.” He gestured towards the chair opposite of him, on the
other side of the desk.
He quickly sat down. Snape exited the office.
“Can you dare to take a guess as to why I’m here?” You-Know-Who asked.
Harry shook his head, slow.
“Last year, Barty, or Professor Crouch as you know him, administered a test to
see which students seemed skilled enough to become Death Eaters. Students who I
could initiate into my ranks before graduation.” He said. “I was expecting no
one to successfully cast the Killing Curse, but I was hoping that the results
would direct me to students who went without hesitant to cast it or, perhaps,
made their rat a tad ill. You, Harry Potter, performed well beyond my
expectations.”
“I killed the rat.” Harry said.
“Yes.” The Dark Lord purred. Harry swallowed.
“And I…Exceeded your expectations.” He added. “Which is,” He licked his lips.
“Good, right?”
“Oh, it’s very good.” The Dark Lord said. “I’ve been watching you very closely
since, examining your past and every bit of information that could be gathered
about you. And it’s all very pleasing, Harry.”
“Do you want me to be a Death Eater?” Harry asked, the realization finally
striking.
“I do.” The Dark Lord answered. He looked directly into Harry’s eyes.
A blast of pain slammed into him, spreading from his eyes down to his gums and
through the back of his head. It sunk down to his neck and shoulders. His mouth
opened unwillingly and he wanted to scream, so desperately, or to move, to
react in some way, but he was frozen in place. Behind all of the pain, there
was flashes of his entire life.
Playing Quidditch with his family when it was nice enough outside, his mother
cheering them on from the ground came the most clearly, first. Then there was a
flash of Remus Lupin, followed by the gloom that wrapped around the cottage
when he was taken. His father coming home, half-conscious, supported by his
godfather came, too. There a good, long, blur, until he experienced his last
memory with his mother in slow-motion. It ended with him being told to go to
the Headmaster’s office by Colin Creevey.
The pain vanished as quickly as it had struck him. Harry whimpered and, if he
was standing, he would’ve fallen. He couldn’t maintain his posture, slumping.
He didn’t feel an ounce of energy in his bones.
“What did you do?” He managed to whisper.
“I looked into your mind.” The Dark Lord said. “To see, truly, if you are
worthy.”
Harry wanted to laugh, but all that came out was a broken cry. His eyes slid
shut. The last thing he heard, was the Dark Lord telling him, “You are.”
VII.
When he woke up, he was where he’d fallen unconscious. The Dark Lord was
drinking from a porcelain cup.
“Good to see you’re awake.” The Dark Lord said.
“What,” Harry began. “The fuck. Is that how you recruit all your Death Eaters?
Fucking invading their minds like a,” He struggles. “A mind rapist!”
The Dark Lord looked amused. “I see there’s a lasting effect on your
inhibitions.” He said. “Luckily for you, it’s only amusing to me. For now.”
Harry felt the blood drain out of his face. “Sorry.” He squeaked.
“There it snaps back.” The Dark Lord grinned. “Now, Harry Potter,” He set his
cup of tea down. “Would you like to be a Death Eater?”
“Don’t you already know the answer?” Harry asked.
“I’d still like for you to say it.” The Dark Lord said.
It must’ve been an impulse, the effects of You-Know-Who ripping through his
mind, because when Harry opened his mouth, he said, “Yes.”
End Notes
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