1: Clouded Minds

****************

'Gentlemen, the odds are against us, whatever way we choose to see the situation. We are outnumbered, we are outdone, but most of all, we are outwitted. Five years ago, we claimed that it could not be possible for one young fellow that dabbled in the Dark Arts, with little to no supporters, to be considered a threat to us. Today I look at you and I look at the world around us and I am starting to believe fear is everywhere. Why is that?'

Some of the counsellors sitting across the table exchanged small glances. The man on his right drank from his glass of water loudly.

'You're wasting your time John,' the man on his right told him. 'Fear was here from the start, we just ignored it until now.'

John smiled and took out a piece of paper.

'The Prime Minister writes to us informing us that "at this rate, the safety of the muggle world will be at stake". He has politely threatened us that if we do not solve this situation ourselves, they will use their own reinforcement, regardless of the Law of Secrecy,' he quoted putting the paper down.

'I don't know about you fellows, but I'd like to keep things as they are,' he continued. 'No goddamn gun or machine will kill the bastard. Only we can do it. And if he is an expert in the Dark Arts, we shall become experts in the Dark Arts as well. Whatever this wanker is doing, we need to do better; we need to be one step in front of him.'

A man wearing a blue tie with yellow brooms adorning it sank his cigar in the water glass. He was meaning to talk.

'My boys were killed like sheep last week, Flannigan. And they've all been heavily prepared. Only one was sent back alive, half-mutilated, to tell us how he, the Dark Lord would show no mercy on the opposition. Some of our best Aurors are dying at this moment for an unnamed cause and you want us to be one step in front of him?'

'I think I speak for all when I say that what happened last week was not only a tragedy, but also a great loss for us and we feel it as much as you do. We're not pointing the finger at you or anyone else, we're not expecting more. I am expecting something completely different from all of you here,' John replied softly.

'I don't know what that different could be, but if it could help us hold back Riddle's attacks…' the man on his right started.

'Riddle can withstand every attack because of his followers, so being one step in front of him would mean taking down all his soldiers, one by one,' another man added slightly piqued. 'The Blacks and the Malfoys are all putrid criminals, serving Riddle in broad daylight, but does anyone take charge of them or bothers to arrest them? No! Because they are filthy, rich and influent sons of a bitch.'

'Taking Malfoy and Black down would mean taking half the purebloods down. Do we really want that on our hands right now? What we need is to attack from the inside,' a younger one chimed in.

The door half-opened and a young, blonde girl stepped in quietly, trudging a trolley after her. She handed John some files and whispered something in his ear.

'Thank you Martha. Gentlemen, it seems that I've been called on emergency. We shall continue this afternoon,' he said getting up and bowing politely.

He went out of the room together with Martha.

'You don't look very well, Sir,' she commented glancing at his ashen face. 'Would you like me to make you some tea?'

'I'd rather have a screwdriver, if you don't mind Martha.'

'After office hours, Sir,' she said smiling sadly. 'No good news?'

'No news at all. My six year old daughter is more useful than that council. They think they're hired only for the informal chitchat. Nobody does anything in this place; it's a dead end, I tell you. I've told every young fellow I know: You come out of school as a young man, the Ministry will turn you into a self-proclaimed prissy boy.'

'Really, Sir! My brother wants to be an attorney in the Legal Department, what should I tell him?' Martha asked taking out her glasses and wiping them.

'That he's a fool, no offence Martha. Tell him to become a street singer. Whole lot more honourable.'

The hallway was barely lit, so the young woman took out her wand and flicked the floating light bulbs. When the new surge of light burst through, he could see her half-wiped lipstick and washed eyes smiling at him.

'He probably won't even get a spot, anyway. They're cutting down on personnel. Soon, there'll be just Betty and me in the office. I dread that, Sir. It can get awfully quiet in there and when Bill from the next room yells at us that there's been another attack we feel the ground shaking.'

'Don't you worry Martha. We're not through yet. We're just at the beginning.'

'That's what's worse, Sir,' she mumbled and fumbled with her tie.

'I hope you treated Mr. Dumbledore nicely, Martha. He's a mighty fellow, you know.'

'Of course I did. I knew he was coming to see you so I took care of him well and I served him tea and milk. He was very polite. I had never met him in the flesh, but he does look like the man who defeated Grindelwald.'

'He is a great man, Martha. If there's one wizard who can help us against Riddle it's Dumbledore.'

'Riddle is nothing like Grindelwald, is he, Sir?'

'Everyone around me seems to think he is worse,' he answered looking at the long corridor, full of open doors.

Martha pursed her lips and pushed the trolley harder, trying to compare the two.

three weeks later

He had returned from Albany sooner than expected and his quarters weren't ready. The seals were placed over the high walls, but the entrance wasn't as guarded.

He had noticed it. He had decided to go walk through the graveyard again. He did it daily, a very healthy sort of ritual.

Tom had split his soul again, had crumbled it in pieces and left the pieces in God's way, though he didn't know God existed.

His ancestral beauty foreshadowed a clean-cut disfiguration, but for the moment, he looked very young, strolling through the graves. He didn't look older than his father when he had met his mother. Tom Riddle was the result of a Love Potion. In fact he owned everything he was to a potion that produced artificial feelings. Maybe that is why he was taking revenge on the world.

Inside the manor, Avery was having drinks with Pucey.

Pucey looked sickly pale. He had eaten too much. He belched loudly and scratched his head.

'How are we feeding those mongrels? How are we keeping them alive?'

'We're not. They are only game,' Avery replied, referring to the muggleborn prisoners trapped in the lower dungeons.

'When do we feast on the game, eh?'

'When he comes back. If he ever comes back,' Avery said looking lazily at a pocket watch. 'I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't return at all.'

'How's that?!' Pucey exclaimed putting his feet on the stool in front of the fire.

'Think about it. He's in a tricky mess, that he is and he's got a good chance of getting away now. Then he'd be leaving us fools take the blame for him,' he said grudgingly.

'You're an idiot Avery,' Pucey replied. 'You're a stupid idiot who talks like an idiot.'

Avery punched him in the ribs with his boot.

'You're a bigger idiot. You got the family name by sleeping with your cousin, you dung,' Avery responded.

'I got a woman…' Pucey started singing, biting his nails.

The door banged loudly and Riddle trod into the room, flinging his robe in the small hands of a house elf.

'Pucey and Avery both fell on the floor and tried hard to get themselves up very fast and cower at the same time.

'Get out,' he ordered them.

'Had a good trip, my Lord?' Pucey asked grinning.

'An interesting one, I can say,' he answered and tapped his wand at them. Both Avery and Pucey were thrown out of the room, down the stairs by what had seemed an awful draught.

He opened the door to his study and found someone else sitting in a corner, waiting patiently.

'Hornblow,' he muttered. 'You came.'

'As beckoned, I did. It wasn't easy, Sir. I shall probably not be able to come next month. Wouldn't want them to keep an eye on me,' he said wiping the sweat from his forehead. He was a stodgy man with an unshaved beard and brown leather gloves. He was the brother of one of the council members at the Ministry. It was enough for Tom, at least from that quarter.

They talked for more than an hour, Riddle questioning him and Hornblow answering steadily, his knees shaking almost visibly. His yellow moustache was full of wine stains.

Tom listened to him absently, staring at one point in space vacantly, only nodding from time to time. He way leaning in his armchair, hands strapped over his chest, looking at the black stoned ring. From time to time, he would look out the open window and catch sight of a bird. He would try to shoot it using his wand and sometimes he'd strike.

'I would like to see the borders breaking under my bend,' he suddenly spoke after a long span of silence.

'Pardon?' Hornblow inquired.

'I never agreed to this lowering, distasteful divide between people. Men are all men, built in the same fashion, weakened by the same instruments and in front of death they all act the same, muggles or wizards,' he contemplated. 'I shall enjoy the chaos that shall break out after one turns against the other. It shall serve as a distraction beneficial for me.'

Before Hornblow left, Riddle wiped his memory of the afternoon and let him go.

He had been saddened to hear that two of his best men had been killed in combat in Surrey. It had happened in a very peculiar manner since the alleged criminals were not Aurors. One of them was a Weasley, of that he was sure. The other remained a small mystery. Some of his sources weren't sure about his identity.

Rosier Senior had been dispatched to find out and kill him, but Tom had later found out that the young man in question had fled the country in a desperate attempt to escape punishment from his servants. It was more difficult for one of his followers to Apparate across the continent. Rosier was heavily punished, but Riddle knew it was not worth the bother.

Two months after this event, he received reports from Karkaroff Senior that the young man was currently in Denmark, pursuing some legal studies. He had gathered more students in a small riot against Nordstrom, one of the Dark Lord's followers. He was also allegedly leaking out dangerous information he had acquired from his two previous victims in England.

Tom was naturally furious to hear that he had still escaped his grasp. His power was not yet dominant throughout the countries.

But Rosier proved to be useful in the end. He managed to intercept secret letters written by the young offender. They were addressed to a girl called Martha. It was subtly hinted that she worked at the Ministry in London. They seemed very close, almost like brother and sister. Tom was happy that the man had been so neglectful. It was all the information he needed.