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The Dark Apprentice Chapter 56
🕑 Added 2025-10-21 08:30:00 +0000 UTCChapter 56
They flew for miles, but as another howl ripped across the night sky, they began to slow realizing they were much closer to their intended target. Harry said nothing as he dipped his broom to be just above the treeline. His eyes darted across the forest floor, searching for signs of a magical beast.
“You know this would be really romantic if we weren’t hunting a monster.” Tracey said cheerfully.
Knowing the girl was just nervous he attempted to ease her with words, but kept his eyes searching the grounds below, “If you will let me, I can be a little more romantic for you in Hogsmeade this weekend. Assuming we survive this.”
“You’re not funny.” Tracey said, squeezing his midsection hard.
“I really did think we could go to Hogsmeade this weekend!” Harry defended, with a smirk crossing his features, “But we can talk about that on the way back. Let’s stay focused.”
The girl said nothing for a moment, and the two continued to hover several meters above the ground. Before long Tracey pointed sharply to their left, “Look at that.”
His eyes quickly followed the direction of her pointing and saw a disturbing sight. The carcass of a small hippogriff lay below, its once majestic feathers matted with dark, congealed blood, and one wing was bent at an unnatural angle. Harry swallowed hard, a metallic taste rising in his mouth, as he guided his broom towards the ground. The landing was soft, almost reverent, as if even the broom recognized the somber gravity of the scene.
The two teens dismounted, their movements slow and deliberate, their wands firmly grasped in hand, the familiar weight a small comfort against the unsettling silence of the clearing. They approached the fallen creature cautiously, each step taken with a mix of dread and morbid curiosity. Harry knelt beside it, his gaze sweeping over the mauled form. The gash across its chest was deep, revealing bone and torn muscle, and claw marks raked down its side, suggesting a powerful struggle. A low growl rumbled in the distance, but Harry seemed oblivious, his focus entirely on the tragic scene before him.
A disturbed expression creased his face, and he shook his head slowly, a grim realization dawning. "This poor bastard didn’t stand a chance," he murmured, his voice hoarse with a mixture of pity and a burgeoning sense of fury. The air hung heavy with the scent of pine and something else, something primal and unsettling, a scent that hinted at a predator far more formidable than the average beast in the forest.
“I wonder where its herd is?” Tracey asked leaning over the creature with a sad expression on her face, “Didn’t Professor Hagrid tell us they always wander in herds?"
Before Harry could answer, a sharp crack echoed through the dense undergrowth, the unmistakable sound of a branch snapping underfoot. Harry, his senses on high alert, reacted instantly. He shot to his feet, pulling Tracey protectively behind him, his eyes scanning the inky blackness that surrounded them. The silence that followed the snap was even more unsettling, a pregnant pause that seemed to hum with unseen tension.
With a swift, decisive flick of his wand, a brilliant burst of golden light erupted from its tip, banishing the oppressive darkness. The powerful lumos charm illuminated the ancient trees, their gnarled branches casting grotesque shadows, and revealed the creature they had been seeking. It was a massive, hulking beast, covered in shaggy, matted fur, its powerful body resting on four sturdy legs. Its face, eerily canine in its general structure, was contorted into a fearsome snarl, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth. But the sheer ferocity in its eyes, the unnatural glint within their depths, hinted at something far more sinister, something that transcended the natural world and delved into the realm of the supernatural. The air around it seemed to thrum with a primal energy, a silent testament to its raw power and dangerous nature.
Harry hissed behind him, “Throw your strongest severing charm at it. Its hide will protect it, but you have to draw blood with your own magic, or the ritual won’t work.”
“You can stop this thing right?” Tracey asked with worry in her voice.
“Never killed one before.” Harry said, eying the beast as it stalked towards them, “I guess it’s time to change that.”
The air vibrated with a roar as the hulking creature, a grotesque hybrid of beast and nightmare, challenged Harry. It rose on two powerful legs, a grotesque parody of human locomotion, and bounded forward with surprising speed. Its massive limbs, thick with knotted muscle and razor-sharp claws, reared back, poised to strike as it closed the distance between them at a terrifying speed. But Harry was ready. With a flick of his wrist, his wand became an extension of his will, a conduit for raw magical power. He unleashed a blasting charm, not merely powerful, but a force of nature that tore through the very ground beneath the beast feet. The earth erupted in a geyser of pulverized rock and dust, a testament to the charm's devastating force. The creature, caught in the unexpected maelstrom, was sent reeling backward, its initial bravado replaced by a flicker of bewildered surprise in its angry eyes.
Tracey for her part spurred into action, while the beast tried to stumble back its feet. Stepping to Harry’s side, Tracey yelled out, “Diffindo!”
A slicing red charm flew from her wand, and struck the beast, but barely left a scratch on it, causing the girl’s eyes to widen in fear. The werewolf, not remaining idle, barked angrily, and charged forward once again, with murder shining in its amber eyes. Harry stepped forward to meet the creature, and sent his own slashing spell at the beast, but was surprised to see it dodge the curse with relative ease. With no other choice, but to shield, Harry conjured a large metal slab that the beast ran right into with a gong-like sound.
Instead of waiting around to see what happened, Harry pulled Tracey into an embrace, and apparated immediately to put some distance between himself and the creature.
Re-appearing several meters away, Harry glanced at the monstrous beast, its multi-faceted eyes still locked onto their previous position, clearly disoriented by their sudden disappearance. A guttural snarl ripped from its throat, a sound that vibrated through the very ground beneath them, but Harry barely registered it. His attention was solely on Tracey, who was now trembling violently, her eyes wide and unfocused with terror. He could feel her fear, a cold dread that threatened to consume her.
With a small but firm amount of force, he shook her, not harshly, but enough to jostle her out of her catatonic state. "Hey, focus," he urged, his voice low and steady, cutting through the din of her panic. "Tracey, look at me." Slowly, her eyes, glazed with fright, began to register his presence. "You can do this. I know you can." He squeezed her arm reassuringly, though the tension in his own shoulders was palpable. "I can end this, I swear I can. But you have to do your part first. We’re in this together."
The girl glanced from Harry to the werewolf before nodding rapidly. Harry for his part just twirled his wand in his hand one time saying, “There are lots of ways to make a creature bleed. Play to your strengths. Treat it like a duel for your life, and you can do it.”
Before Tracey could utter a word in response to the tense revelation, the monstrous creature, a blur of dark fur and power, launched itself forward. Its roar ripped through the air, silencing any further conversation as Harry was forced to snap his full attention back to the imminent threat.
A flicker of grim determination crossed Harry’s face. He knew he couldn't afford to merely defend; he had to inflict damage, to show this beast that it wouldn't have an easy victory. Deciding on a tactic of disruption and pain, Harry’s lips twisted into a snarl, and he hissed a curse, its syllables sharp and sinister, a relic from the darker corners of Tom Riddle's formidable repertoire. With a violent thrust of his wand, an orange rope-like spell, crackling with raw magical energy, sizzled through the space between them.
It struck the beast with a sickening thud, not exploding or tearing, but seeming to melt into its tough hide. The creature recoiled, a shriek of pure agony erupting from its throat. Steam rose from where the spell had impacted, and the air filled with the acrid smell of burnt flesh. The beast staggered, momentarily thrown off balance, its eyes, now blazing with a mixture of rage and unexpected pain, fixed on Harry. The wound, though not immediately fatal, was clearly deep, a searing brand on its dark fur, and the creature’s movements became noticeably less fluid, a testament to the corrosive power of Harry’s dark magic.
Before Harry or the enraged creature could retaliate, a surge of magic erupted from Tracey. It wasn't a raw, unfocused burst, but a precise, controlled torrent that tore past Harry with a whistling sound. From the damp earth beneath the werewolf gnarled roots, thick as a man's arm, erupted from the ground snaking upwards, coiling around the beast's powerful limbs and torso, attempting to ensnare it in a verdant, living cage.
Harry's eyes, wide with a surprised, fixed on Tracey. Her usually calm demeanor was replaced by an intense focus as she swirled her wand in intricate, whip-like motions. Her lips moved silently, muttering a rapid-fire succession of incantations, spells she had undoubtedly absorbed during countless hours in Transfiguration lessons or duels with Harry. For the first time Harry could feel Tracey’s potential tangibly.
The roots and thorny vines from the surrounding brush seemed to obey her silent command, twisting and tightening their grip around the struggling werewolf. It thrashed and writhed, a guttural snarl ripping from its throat as it fought desperately against its botanical bonds. Its powerful muscles bunched and released, as it tore its way out..
But Tracey was not finished. Before the beast could break free, her gaze swept to a nearby fallen branch, thick and sturdy. With a fluid, almost imperceptible flick of her wrist, the branch levitated, hovering momentarily in the air. Then, with another swift, decisive motion of her wand, she configured it. The rough bark smoothed, the end sharpened into a sharp point, transforming it into a spear-like object as she spat out, “Opugno!”
With a final thrust of her wand, she launched the makeshift weapon. It whistled through the air, a blur of wood and magic, striking the werewolf with brutal force. It impaled the beast in the upper torso, just below the shoulder, and nearly knocked it entirely off its feet.
Not another second passed before the beast let out another guttural roar, a sound that vibrated through the trees as it ripped apart its confinements. Rage, raw and unbridled, was now feeding the creature's strength, indicating that it was far from defeated. Its eyes, previously dulled by pain, now burned with a malevolent amber glow, fixed on Tracey.
Regardless of the beast display, Harry could see the blood, pouring in a steady stream from its wound, where Tracey’s spear had impaled the beast. Her job was finished, a crucial strike that would complete her requirements from the ritual. It was his turn now.
To Tracey’s credit she continued her attempts to contain the beast, but it was unnecessary. Harry reared back with his wand, and thrusted forward a powerful gouging spell whistling across the area and striking the beast in the chest. The spell on impact did its damage, but it would take more than that to kill a werewolf. With another slash of his wand Harry sent a spell he had learned from Barty over the summer. Initially the creature froze as Harry lowered his wand, but kept his eyes on the beast as its hands scratched at its throat. The suffocation spell was brutal, but it was only part one, as Harry realized his spell was taking hold, and he snapped his wand forward one last time, snapping the creature's neck with a brutal crunch.
Tracey yelped at the aftermath of the spell, and watched as the werewolf crumbled to the ground lifelessly. Harry for his part continued to stare at the creature, half expecting it to get back up, or reverse its transformation, but instead it just laid motionless on the ground.
“You made it look so easy.” Tracey whispered.
“I have dueled with things much scarier than a werewolf,” Harry said ominously, his voice low. He approached the fallen creature, its form grotesque and twisted by the brutal magic they had unleashed. The damage they had inflicted was stomach-turning, a testament to the raw power of their assault. Harry’s face remained impassive, betraying none of the revulsion that might have been expected. His focus was solely on ensuring the beast was truly dead.
It should have been obvious, Harry thought morbidly, a cold, hard certainty settling in his gut. Nothing could survive that spell, not even a creature of such ferocity. The air around them still hummed with residual magic, a testament to the devastating force that had been unleashed. Still, a lifetime of dealing with impossible odds had instilled in him a cautious pragmatism. He nudged the werewolf’s foot with the toe of his shoe, a silent challenge, as if he half-expected it to twitch back to life. When it remained inert, a faint sigh escaped his lips, barely audible above the rustling leaves.
Reaching into the depths of his cloak, Harry’s fingers closed around a small, stoppered vial. Its glass was thick, designed to contain volatile substances, and it glinted faintly in the dim light. He bent over the grotesque form, the scent of blood and damp earth filling his nostrils. Without hesitation, he pressed his hand firmly onto the gaping wound Tracey had carved into the creature’s shoulder. With a sickening gurgle, a fresh torrent of dark blood welled up, pouring directly into the waiting vial. He worked swiftly, efficiently, the practiced movements of someone accustomed to the macabre. The liquid filled the vial with surprising speed, a dark, viscous trophy of their victory.
Nodding in satisfaction, Harry stood to his feet, a faint, almost imperceptible tremor running through his muscles – a residue of the magic he had just wielded. His eyes, usually intense and focused, softened as they landed on Tracey, who stood a few feet away, her expression a mix of trepidation and curiosity. She looked incredibly uncertain of what should happen next, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, her gaze darting between Harry and the dead werewolf beside him.
Offering her a reassuring smile Harry gestured for her to come closer with a gentle sweep of his hand, not a demand, but an invitation. Tracey did so tentatively, her steps small and hesitant, as if she were walking on fragile ground. Each footfall was light, almost soundless, and her eyes remained fixed on him, searching for reassurance. As she neared, he extended his clean hand, the one not currently stained with blood, a silent promise of support.
When her fingertips finally brushed against his, a spark, not of magic but of understanding, seemed to pass between them. He gently pulled her to his side, speaking with a soft murmur, “You don’t have to do this, but you did your part admirably. You should reap the benefits of it.” The weight of his words settled upon her, not as a burden, but as an acknowledgment of her contribution, a validation of her efforts.
“What do I have to do?” She whispered back, clearly still shaken from the encounter.
His gaze, intense and unyielding, fixed on Tracey's trembling form. The air was thick with the coppery scent of fresh blood, a grim testament to the battle they had just entered. With his left hand, still slick and crimson from the recent struggle, he delved into the depths of his cloak pocket. His fingers, practiced and swift, retrieved another small, glass vial and extended it towards her, his voice remaining soft, "Do as I did. Press down on the wound you created with your spear." He gestured subtly to the gash on the fallen creature, the source of the recent bloodshed. "Fill the vial." His voice hardened slightly, the urgency in his tone palpable. "And we can do the rest…away from here." The implication hung heavy in the air – the need for secrecy, for a swift departure from the ravaged battlefield. The forest, though quiet now, held countless unseen threats, and the lingering scent of blood was an invitation to other predators both mundane and monstrous. They had what they needed. The rest could be done in the Undercroft.
Nodding Tracey took the vial from his grasp, and repeated the same process he did, albeit, a little more shaky than his demonstration. When she came back to her feet, she seemed a little steadier, and pocketed the vial into her cloak, before asking, “What else do we need?”
Harry pondered the question as he surveyed the body of the beast, before saying, “A few finger nails, some teeth, and a little fur should do. It would’ve been different for every beast, but I think that will suffice for the sacrifice.”
Tracey nodded, but before she could begin retrieving her ingredients, Harry put a hand on her wrist, to stop her from doing it by hand, “I can do this part.”
With a few quick flicks of his wrist, Harry removed the parts they could need for Tracey’s ritual, and he stored it in a conjured container that he sealed with ease. Next he waved his wand around his dirty hands, and removed the drying blood from his skin, before doing the same for his shaken friend.
When it was done, Harry offered his hand to the girl, and guided her away from the fallen beast, “We can fly back, and do the ritual in the Undercroft. You did great, Trace.”
Offering a forced smile that barely masked her disturbed expression, Tracey followed Harry to a clearing, where the Nimbus 2000 awaited them. With a practiced grace, Harry mounted the broom, and Tracey settled in behind him, her arms wrapping tentatively around his waist. As they lifted off, the ground receded below, the towering trees shrinking into a verdant carpet.
The couple still had hours until sunrise, the first sliver of dawn a distant promise. To ease the girls' lingering nerves, Harry took the ride at a much slower, more leisurely pace than before. The rush of wind that had once been exhilarating was now a gentle caress, allowing Tracey to truly appreciate the silent, ethereal beauty of their ascent. They soared slowly, deliberately, over the dense canopy of trees, the leaves rustling softly below them as if whispering the secrets of their night together. The wind, no longer a forceful push, gently nudged them along, a subtle encouragement in the vast expanse of the night sky.
As they reached the far end of the sprawling Black Lake, its surface a mirror reflecting the nascent stars, Harry subtly detoured. With a practiced maneuver, he positioned the Nimbus 2000 directly above the water, its dark surface shimmering under the soft moonlight. The silence was profound, broken only by the faint lapping of the lake against its unseen banks. It was a moment suspended in time, a tranquil interlude that would precede their dive into ritualistic magic.
Tracey eased her embrace into him, and leaned her head against his shoulder. Harry wasn’t sure what he should say to the girl. If it were Tom, the man would scold him for being emotional, but congratulate him on a job well done. He had already praised her success, and did not feel his scolding would be a welcome one. Instead he just allowed the serene moment to ease the girl, and hoped she was not going to let their adventure be for nothing.
Arriving back at Hogwarts, the two snuck back onto the grounds in silence. Under the guise of the cloak the two made their way back to the Undercroft without words. Once they arrived in the Gaunts old sanctuary, Harry immediately went about setting up the rune work for Tracey’s ritual, and to her credit she watched with a silent attentive gaze.
Once he was complete he eyed the girl and spoke for the first time, “You handled yourself well out there, Trace. Where others would have run, you stood at my side, and fought. You trusted that I could keep you safe, and you drew the blood you needed. If you still want to do this, it’s your victory for the taking.”
The girl looked uncertain, and Harry once again thought of what Tom would do. In times of Harry’s doubts, the man pushed him with words. Maybe they were slightly manipulative in nature, but they always gave him the push. Perhaps it was time to pull a piece from the heir of Slytherin's book.
“You once said that you didn’t want to be overlooked anymore.” Harry said, suddenly causing the girl's eyes to shoot up to meet his own. He paused for a moment before continuing while holding her gaze, “You told me you didn’t want to just be the half blood from Slytherin, or plain old Davis. Tonight, you gave the world a reason to look at you differently. Where others would have cowered you fought. You earned this. You wanted to be more like me, Tracey, and this is your chance.”
Offering the vial of shimmering, crimson blood and the container that held the piece of the werewolf, Tracey stared at them, her eyes wide with uncertainty. This was it, Harry thought, observing her every subtle hesitation. The final, crucial push. His voice, a low, resonant whisper began. "You can be great. Greater than any of them." His gaze sharpened, piercing through her doubt. "Better than Draco, with his inherited arrogance and fragile ego. Better than Blaise, with his calculated indifference and hidden fears. Better than Daphne, with her icy control and stifling expectations of what a Pureblood is supposed to be."
At the mention of her best friend's name, her eyes narrowed slightly at him, and Harry leaned in slightly. "This is your moment, Tracey, to carve your own destiny. They will try to hold you back, to define you by their standards. But you are more than a shadow in their wake. His words were a carefully crafted intoxicant, designed to dismantle her inhibitions and fan the smoldering embers of her desires. "Seize your moment, Tracey. Take what is offered, and transcend the limitations they have imposed upon you. Embrace the power that awaits, and let it redefine who you truly are."
The air crackled with unspoken tension, the silence punctuated only by the rhythmic drip of water deeper within the cavern. Tracey's gaze shifted from the blood to the remains, then back to Harry's unwavering eyes. She saw not just the grotesque remnants of a beast, but the potential for transformation, for a strength that would make her better. The fear was still there, a cold knot in her stomach, but it was slowly, inexorably, being overshadowed by a burgeoning, intoxicating hunger.
Reaching out to take the ingredients, Tracey didn’t hesitate any longer. She uncorked the vial and began spreading the blood across the runes as she had been previously taught. With no hesitation she cut her own hand, and followed the creature's blood with some of her own, before throwing the ingredients all together. Breathlessly the girl drew her wand and pointed it at the basin. A brief moment of hesitation before she spoke the word, “Incendio.”
Unlike the last time, there were no screams of pain or anguish. Instead, a profound stillness descended, broken only by a low, guttural growl that seemed to vibrate from deep within her chest. A grimace contorted her features, a battle against an unseen force, her brow furrowed in clear discomfort. Then, a transformation began in her eyes. The familiar dark shade of brown deepened, swirling like ink in water, until they became pits of absolute jet black, reflecting no light, absorbing everything around them. It was as if the very essence of her being had been consumed, leaving behind only an unsettling void. A faint, acrid scent, like ozone after a lightning strike, permeated the air, hinting at the raw power that was now coursing through her. The shift was complete, and with it, a tangible chill settled in the room, a silent testament to the darkness that had taken root within.
Harry eyed the girl in anticipation, “How do you feel?”
Tracey’s eyes darted towards him, and an insidious smile crossed her face as her features began to return to normal, “Powerful.”
Harry returned the smile with a little uncertainty, but was glad to see the change in her mood. Tracey moved towards him, and for a moment he almost considered the need to defend himself, not knowing what the ritual might have done, but before he could make a decision the girl grabbed him by the front of the shirt, and kissed him soundly.
Her aggression surprised him, but he did nothing to stop her. When the two separated he offered her a questioning smile, “Duel tomorrow to see how it went?”
“Why wait?” Before Harry could utter a single word of protest, Tracey’s eyes, still shimmering with hints of that unsettling, inky blackness, blazed with a fierce intensity. Another rough kiss followed by a soft push from Tracey separated the two, and an unsettling feeling began to fall over him, as she moved across the room with her wand now in hand, prepared to duel.
A flicker of a smile, cold and predatory, touched her lips when she reached the proper distance away from him. It was so unlike the girl he had come to know, but he didn’t comment on it, as she pointed her wand at him, "Let’s see if I can make you work for a win."
Comments
Dave Hal
I wonder if Tracey will go crazy, by losing herself in those rituals.
