It's All Just Temporary with a Bit of Necromancy

Chapter 38: It's Your Bloody Dark Mark

"Where is Marvolo?" Harry asked tightly, pulling his softest hoodie over his head.

"Great Master is being in the Gathering Room. But Master Death Master—"

Harry didn't wait to hear more before storming out of his room. Anger fueled his shaky limbs, allowing him to arrive in front of the office door quickly and without stumbling too much. His magic, while stronger than normal after a Death meeting, was still a bit too raw and the journals had cautioned against casting too much the following day. Harry's anger flared too hot to care about caution though and without drawing his wand, he blasted the double doors open with enough force that they banged against the walls.

The screams cut off at the sound. Marvolo in full Voldemort regalia stood on the dais. The Death Eaters were in a variety of positions on the floor — none standing and most contorted. The Dark Magic hit him in full force but Harry pushed through the electrifying pain as his own rose up to combat it. The journals advised against casting but said nothing about letting it loose and wild.

His own magic rippling from him in waves as his anger grew, Harry strode through the mass of followers who all scurried and crawled from his path. He'd left in such a hurry he'd forgotten shoes so he had to jump over the puddles of blood, limbs, and bodies that couldn't move from his path quickly enough. But he did so without so much as a second glance, fully focused on Voldemort standing tall above everyone else.

"What the bloody hell!" Harry shouted before he even reached the dais.

Voldemort's magic flared painfully and Harry pushed his back just as viciously. A few Death Eaters whimpered weakly. "Watch your tongue," was the cold, hissed, reply bordering on Parseltongue.

Harry grew angrier as he stormed up the stairs to the stage. "No. You owe me an explanation." The red of Voldemort's eyes burned like a raging inferno but Harry met him head-on and refused to look away. Raaja tightened around his arm, the wild magic obviously upsetting him. "Was this before or after I got back last night?"

"I owe you nothing," Voldemort spat back and this time Harry did wince at the agonizingly painful wave of magic. Voldemort looked momentarily surprised at the wince and the feel of his magic receded marginally before adding in Parseltongue, his tone a bit softer but no less vicious, "This was not my doing."

"It's your bloody Dark Mark," Harry spat back, waving the papers in the Dark Lord's face. "Who else could have done it?"

"A question I am attempting to solve." Voldemort gestured to the Death Eaters, most still whimpering in pain but some, the stronger and more familiar with Voldemort's methods, were now struggling to their knees.

"Just tell me why you did it!"

"It was not me."

"Don't lie!"

"I was betrayed!"

The edge to Voldemort's tone stopped Harry more than the words themselves. Panting lightly, Harry took another look at Voldemort. Despite the skeletal body, his cheeks were flushed, shoulders tense, and he had a knuckle-white grip on his wand. Voldemort was borderline frantic, Harry realize d.

"Okay" Harry hissed softly. Running one hand through his hair, he dropped the other hand holding the papers to his side. Whether it was the gesture or the sudden loss of anger, Voldemort eyed Harry suspiciously while his magic retreated further but still clung to the air, warily cautious. But Harry wasn't angry anymore. Well, he was, but not at Marvolo or Voldemort. So instead, he tucked the heat of his anger awa y, allowing it to simmer in the pit of his gut to be unleashed at a later moment. Now he was concerned.