House: Gryffindor

Class: Divination: Necromancy

Task: Write about someone turning to dark magic to attempt to raise a loved one from the dead.

Word count: 1741 (Excluding Author's Note, but including entire Entry and Title)

World: AU (Alternate Universe) where Voldemort is reincarnated and Harry is dark.

Summary: Amid the final battle, Lord Voldemort lures Harry Potter into the Forbidden Forest to await his trial. Harry has done everything the Dark Lord asked, even going as far as ensuring the death of Severus Snape, the man who killed the greatest Wizard of all time. Once there, he tries to recruit him one last time for the Dark Side by telling him he needs to kill one of them in order to make them invincible. As a result, his plan backfires, but Harry gains a valuable piece in his strive for his mission of Purity. Voldemort reincarnated; Dark!Harry.

Author's Note: I've never written a Dark!Harry, so please forgive me if I don't do it justice. I can't say RL sucks right now, but my new jobs doesn't allow me to write as much as I used to. I desperately wanted to get something submitted for this round, and I did! As soon as this is graded for the forum I participate in, I plan on coming back to shape it in the exact way I want it to be :) This piece was wonderful to work with, and I hope y'all find enjoyment, even a little!

As always, enjoy

-Carolare Scarletus

.~.

In the End

.~.

"It was entirely too easy," his voice weaved through the foreboding branches. Harry Potter came to a startling halt, listening to Lord Voldemort's voice caress his senses in the most tantalizing way. He had arrived alone as he asked, only after watching his former Potion's Master be mauled by Nagini and bleed to death in his arms. After what seemed like hours, he'd finally surface from the basin of his memories and learned that Severus Snape, the one to murder the great Albus Dumbledore, had been falsely accused of his treachery. He'd been just a piece in this giant Wizarding Game, only defeated by the least suspecting player, Harry himself. "You've done well, boy."

Harry didn't tense at the familiar whisper of his master's words, nor at the sensuous touch of Nagini as she slithered passed by him. For a moment, he watched her beautiful form become one with the inky backdrop of the night before, he too, was swallowed up whole by the trees.

"You should've seen his face," Harry told him scornfully. "He begged me to stop the pain."

"Ah, but I did." Lord Voldemort's voice ringed in his ear. "And, as promised, I shall grant you your wish."

Harry perked up at the idea of his master delivering his wish. He'd waited so long for this, to finally see the face of his deceased mother. He'd been groomed by Lord Voldemort himself, conditioned into the perfect weapon for the Light, as well as the Dark. Now, as he walked through the dense foliage of the Forbidden Forest, he was going to receive the one thing that kept him going for so long. And, nothing was going to stop him from doing so.

"You have done so well," his master's breath whispered into his ear. "Just a little while longer and you'll have everything you'd ever wished for, just as I promised, Harry Potter."

After all these years, his master's words never rang so true. He'd been following under his command after his encounter with him during his first year. He'd wanted to kill him, but found his remarkable use of words and scripture too good to be true. Needless to say, Harry had been intrigued. Vowing not to turn him in, Harry had let him escape with Professor Q. His master had fed off of the man until, during his second year, he attached his soul to his past self, as well as Harry. He'd been a willing participant in the blinding realm of the Dark Arts. Ever since then, he'd been a loyal follower. Harry never once divulged his secrets, and when that old man of a Headmaster tried to pry it from him, or when Snape pushed himself into his mind, Harry quickly shied away and blocked them from discovering his dark intentions.

No one suspected that one day, Lord Voldemort would permit him to see his dead mother again.

The very thought of it sent reverberating chills to run down his spine. He felt the welcoming coldness of the landscape as he pressed further into the divided branches of the forest. Harry looked around him, only guided by his intuition. In his palm, he felt the Philosopher's Stone pulse to life, and he bit the inside of his cheek from exhibiting any sort of impulse by the command.

"Harry, what has become of you?" he could hear his mother's voice ask. His master didn't know, but his visions consisted more than just the destined future he'd hoped for. Harry, through the connection his mother created when she gave her life for his, could see all that have fallen. Every mistreated soul, departed from their rightful bodies, the path in which they had led their lives whistling away like some macabre form. Harry hadn't realized it when it first began, but as he walked closer to where his master awaited him, he knew better to believe the lies the slipped from his mouth.

"Would you believe me if I said i did it all for you," he said to the open air. The stone pulsed again, and he laughed under his breath. "I had to meet the woman who saved my life, didn't I? I had every right, whether I did it by reprimatal means or otherwise. I was determined to raise you from the dead, mother. And, if you're here to stop me, I would like you to know that nothing on this plane will deter me from my mission."

"You do not know the consequences."

"I don't think you understand the depth of my devotion." Harry could feel the lost souls become agitated. They were trapped within the stone; yet, he was able to walk around a free man. Perhaps, after tonight and the dark won, he'd be able to walk among the free again as well. Until then, he could only imagine the exquisite taste and the feeling of not having these damnable chains attached to his very soul. "He is my master. I serve only him. He had shown me everything I wished to know, and now, I'll be able to repay you for your sacrifices. In the end, I only wish for your forgiveness for making you suffer so."

"To split one's soul is to taint the very core of one's being. You have not yet crossed that bridge, but if you were to be successful, you'd never be able to see us again. You'd be stuck where he is destined to fall."

The smile on Harry's face did not fade with his next words, "Oh, no. See, that is where you are wrong. Lord Voldemort's destiny won't end in that way. Not after what I have done to ensure that."

In his other hand lay a opaque, ragged stone. The contents of the swirling substance glistened for a moment, before dispersing and revealing a golden sphere the size of a small coin. The very forest seemed to stop moving; the voice in which summoned before them fell quiet, as did the stone in his other hand. Harry knew that the spirit's were at a loss for words. They made their dejection known. The wind howled all around him, the sounds of their mounting defeat paying homage to some ungodly deity. He relished in the idea of what he did, of what his master would learn. He had to ensure his master's victory, even at the cost of his afterlife. Harry would face whatever lay beyond that thin veil of the living and the dead; he wasn't afraid of it in the slightest.

He came to a stop just beyond the path that led to his master. With a daring, sadistic smirk, Harry pulled the low-hanging canopy and vines from in front of him, and stepped into the area in which kept him from his master. Vanquishing the spirits back into the stone, Harry withdrew from the darkness and knelt down in front of Lord Voldemort. A pleased expression crossed his pale features, making his hallowed face appear even whiter than it already is. For someone whose face had become deformed through the years of malpractices of Dark Magic, his master retained some of the youthful and charismatic disposition he'd had in his youth. Harry admired him even more for his ability to control that he had no control over himself.

"Harry," he welcomed him. The half-serpentine man had drawn his wand, afraid he'd been betrayed. Once he knew that he was safe, Voldemort let his defenses down and greeted Harry as an old friend. "I am pleased you came."

"Of course, my Lord." Harry told him, drawing his arm across his chest as he paid respect to him. "How may I do your bidding?"

"As you know, Harry," Voldemort began, his voice a breathy whisper in the air, "Severus had betrayed me. You did a good deed to ensure that his death was timely, and I've come to the decision to grant you your wish."

"My wish, my Lord?"

"Yes," Voldemort's enunciated with a precise hiss. "Now, stand. I must speak to you before we begin."

All around him, Voldemort's followers disappeared on at a time. Within seconds, they were left alone in the quiet area of the forest. His master was true on his word; this was to be a private affair. It took years to gain the respect and kinship they possessed; after all, they were one and the same.

An intense hatred he'd tampered with began to envelope him. Without his master's permission or knowledge, he felt the rising heat of the powerful magic boil in his veins. Harry looked to Voldemort, waiting for him to speak and provide him whatever piece of information he needed to hear. Until then, he'd have to keep this possessive spell under his master's all-seeing radar.

"Harry, my loyal servant, it is time to make us whole."

A stabbing sensation sliced through him, and when Harry found the courage to look, he found that his master had drawn a knife and had pierced through his chest and right to his aching heart. The blade pushed into the folds of his skin. As it the tip pressed more firmly into the exposed underside of his arm, a single droplet of red beaded through the small cut. It was not enough for the initial sting to wash over him and the fear to settle disturbingly in his heart. The small scriptures seemed to shine with enthusiasm despite the words he was uttering. The ritual had begun the second his blood was spilled; there was no going back. He exhaled a tightly held breath of trepidation, signaling to whomever he was calling that he was ready for them to proceed. The pain, after years of it, was just as hard to deal with as it was when he first felt its caress. No matter how much pain he had to deal with, he was determined to see the entire ritual through. Harry's blood became a bath in which his master rejoiced to have lay waste to their sins.

When he awoke, he found his master's lifeless body lying on the forest floor. His hands were stained not with the reddened blood of his counterpart, but with his own spilled substance.

Harry had become everything he'd ever hoped for.

But, even through this life, Harry was not meant to follow the ones that he had taken down to get what he wanted.