Chapter 1
A/N: Takes place around the time of Chapter 16 of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. And because I forgot to mention it last time, the world of Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling.
Thursday, October 3, 1995
Bulgaria
Two men stood in a well-lit but otherwise uninhabited warehouse full of shipping crates. Their attention was firmly focused on three crates sitting on a skid in the center of the floor.
The younger man pulled a rifle from a crate and examined it with an easy familiarity. "It's a grand gun."
"I trust you'll find the shipment to be equally satisfactory," said the second, a well-dressed middle-aged gentleman. His smile was too thin to be pleasant.
The first looked over the two open crates. They contained similar guns. "Everything looks fine. I'll have to do some testing when I get it home, but that will be an issue with the supplier, not you, Mr. Smith."
"Then might I ask why we needed to have this meeting in person? Usually we handle this sort of thing remotely. You're a long way from Ireland and the rest of the IRA. Were I a suspicious man, I would think you were police, here to connect me with the goods." His smile was dangerous.
"Nothing like that," said the first man, quickly allaying suspicion—he knew "Smith's" reputation. The man delivered what he was given as quickly as his shipping routes allowed. A supplier had once tried to send less than the agreed upon amount of munitions and accused Smith of skimming off the rest. No one was quite certain what happened to the man, but he made a full videotaped apology before vanishing completely. What happened to informers didn't bear thinking about. "I want to expand our deal." He placed the rifle back in the case and stepped away, careful not to move in any way that might be construed as a threat. He suspected that Smith was far more dangerous than the guards he had pointedly left behind.
"I was talking to an acquaintance in the Russian Mafia. He said you help with the immigration of certain people whose legal status is, shall we say, uncertain. I'd like to add similar travel arrangements to our deal."
"I'm always happy to take your money, Michael, but I was under the impression that your organization did not engage in trafficking."
"I thought you were happy to take our money without wondering overmuch where it came from."
"Oh, I am. But when people stop acting in accordance with what they've shown their character to be, I get suspicious. Then I start to wonder if they have another motive—one that is against my best interests. And your character, sir, is suspect. In the ten years that we've been doing business, I have transported guns, explosives, and assorted valuables for you, but never people. While I do not care if you plan to use these guns to mow down the entire British Parliament, I care very much if you plan to hand them over to Interpol." His hand moved towards the pocket of his fashionable overcoat as he spoke.
The younger man backed off swiftly. "You're right. We don't traffic in illegals, and we aren't starting now."
Smith relaxed minutely. "Continue."
Michael relaxed in response. "Certain members of my organization have been given an opportunity to study abroad, shall we say. But the bloody shades aren't likely to give them travel papers—they're more likely to get a one way trip to HM Prison Maze. The Russians suggested you might be able to help."
"You've been able to get your people out before."
"It's always been dangerous, but especially recently. The bastards caught one of our boys trying to get to America three months ago. You've never lost one of our shipments. You're expensive, but worth the price."
"When must he be there?"
"November."
"If it is simply a matter of false identity papers..."
"Unfortunately not. The government has circulated their pictures widely, and disguises are not always effective."
"My usual human cargo does without a certain level of creature comforts. This will take some time to arrange. He can meet my agent this month when you retrieve your regular shipment. I'll contact you later with the price."
"You have a bargain. Here's to a mutually beneficial arrangement."
With a final exchange of pleasantries, the younger man left, clearly relieved to be able to do so.
...
"Smith," relaxed once he was certain the puppy was gone. He pulled his wand from the pocket he had reached for earlier. With a quick wave, he replaced the lids on the crates and slotted them into place in the corner with the muggle repelling charms. He left the empty skid for the muggle workers to deal with. With another wave, the illusion disguising his features melted away, leaving a distinguished gentleman in his mid seventies, who the muggle, had he any political awareness, would have recognized as the international shipping magnate Elric Algar.
He sighed. Muggles were so easy to fool, doing so had long since become tedious. He would much prefer to torture the puppy, but he did so much more damage to the entire muggle infrastructure where he was.
He magically erased all sign of his presence and went to the vintage Rolls Royce his driver had waiting. This at least was a muggle luxury he could appreciate. They were much less drafty than brooms, couldn't be traced as easily as portkeys, and one didn't have to be certain one's arrival point was free of muggles as one did with Apparition. And while one had to worry about the charms on brooms and such wearing off, those keeping a car running without petrol were far simpler and easy to renew. While he did have to contend with traffic delays, he could let his driver deal with that tedium while he relaxed in the back with a drink from the fully stocked bar.
And besides, he did have the latest Nimbus, even if he didn't use it often.
Traffic was bad enough that it took an hour to get to his home outside Varna, and once he arrived, he handed his jacket to a maid and retired to his office with strict instructions not to be disturbed for anything less than a visit from the prime minister.
This was why he was understandably annoyed when the maid knocked on his door. "Were my instructions not clear?" he asked icily.
"Sir, there are men at the door, and they say it's important," the maid said nervously.
"The idiot this morning said it was important."
"Sir, when Asen said you weren't receiving visitors, one of them pulled out a stick and did... something. Asen screamed and passed out, and I came to tell you."
Algar leaned forward, all of his attention on the maid. "Describe them."
"Yes, sir. One is about your age, the other is in his mid twenties. Their clothes are new but inexpensive, and—"
"Which had the stick?"
"The younger one, sir."
He stood. "Have the staff prepare two guest rooms, then send all of the non-essential members on vacation until further notice, and have the rest leave my guests be. I do not know how long they will be staying, but the staff need not concern themselves with them."
"Yes, sir. Sir, Asen—"
"Asen will be fine. Just obey my guests' orders as you would mine and there will be no further problems." Algae left his office for the foyer at a pace slightly too fast to be dignified. When he saw the two men standing there, he fell to his knees. "My lord, it is good to see you restored."
The younger man, Tom Riddle, pulled him to his feet. "It is good to see you too, old friend, but your staff leaves something to be desired."
"They are diligent in protecting my interests. They just have not learned that your interests are mine as well. I would still rather have house elves, but they were one of the sacrifices I made when I chose to live as a muggle after your fall from power—I've had to move them to less visible positions. The Amduat Ritual worked as we hoped, I take it?"
"That's the one I used. Thank you for the help getting the artifacts," Lestrange said.
"Only doing my part. How was your trip here?"
"Interminable," Riddle said. "I despise muggle transport."
"I understand completely, my lord. I have been required to use it for business, though my wife and I prefer magical means when traveling for pleasure. I can provide a portkey to your next destination, if you would rather."
"No," Riddle said with a sigh. "Much though I would prefer it, it is not a secure method of travel, not when I do not own the authorities yet. Even if that means more time on aeroplanes. It would be a much better system if not for all the muggles."
"My lord," Lestrange broke in. "You put the entire cabin to sleep five minutes into the flight. "
"Do not forget the long line, only to get to a tedious muggle who demanded our travel papers."
"My lord, you sent most of the line to the toilets and a simple Confundus Charm let us pass the muggle with blank pieces of paper. The entire process took five minutes."
"We then had to wait an hour for the aeroplane."
"You Imperiused one of the muggles to serve us drinks and food."
"Which were terrible."
Lestrange paused. "I can't argue with that one."
"Then we landed in an aeroport that was a proud monument to muggle primitive methods and petty graft. One of the officials had the nerve to demand a bribe to permit our luggage to pass unmolested, despite the fact that we had none."
"You left him with a rather embarrassing problem of a personal nature."
"The taxicab here was absolutely horrid."
"I can't defend that one either. I believe that it a universal condition of taxis."
"I am anxious to regain my former glory if only so that I can use civilized transport once more.
Algar chuckled. "At least you made it to my home with none of the relevant authorities any the wiser. If you will not permit me to provide you with a portkey, I can at least make the next leg of your journey more pleasant. My company owns several airplanes, and it would only take a few spells to modify one to transport you."
"That sounds far better than what I have endured thus far."
"I apologize, my lord. Planning can wait. You both look exhausted." He snapped his fingers and a house elf appeared. "I have instructed the staff to leave you alone. My house elf can show you to guest rooms and provide anything else you desire, and we can discuss business when you're rested."
...
Hours later, they were ensconced in easy chairs in front of the fire in Algar's study with glasses of wine.
"It has been a long time since I've had so fine a vintage, Elric," Lestrange said.
"I know that we stuck you with the hardest part of our plan, but surely you were not deprived of all creature comforts. Even muggles have wine."
"Muggle currency is simple enough to transfigure, so I did not lack for comforts, but educated palates are far more difficult to find. I fear what my sons and daughter-in-law have done to my cellars."
"I'm afraid all three have been in Azkaban these last ten years. You should be afraid of what the Ministry did to your cellars."
"I put my best vintages in my Gringotts vault. They'll be safe there from the Ministry, but my progeny can still get access."
"We, however, are not safe from those fools in the Ministry," Riddle said. "We are rested and fed. It is time for planning."
"Of course, my lord," Algar said. "As you know, we of your inner circle would never presume to plan your return to power; we sought only to return you to life and to England and give you the resources you need to succeed once you're there."
"Lestrange explained this, yes. He did not, however, explain your role."
"Supplies and funds, My Lord. The destabilization of the magical government here following the muggle revolution not only allowed many of your supporters to flourish here, but also created unique markets that I was in an ideal position to take advantage of."
"Go on."
"The muggle government restricted what goods were available, which led to a booming black market for both muggle and magical goods. In addition, the revolution severed the traditional ties between the muggle and magical governments. The result was a booming black market and customs officials and border guards who were especially susceptible to magical influences. The recent collapse of the muggle government has only exacerbated this problem.
"I use my legitimate shipping business to smuggle magical contraband all over Europe. The muggle guards don't recognize magical contraband as such, and don't notice muggle contraband behind concealing spells. Magical guards don't care about muggle contraband and don't bother looking for magical among muggle shipping.
"I have contacts that can acquire anything you may need and I can move it anywhere in the world. I have also used these contacts to amass a large collection of dark artifacts and can get more.
"Furthermore, I have been shipping arms, drugs, and human cargo for every terrorist and criminal enterprise in this hemisphere. If you want mayhem, I have the contacts who can create it. In short, I have found it very profitable to help muggles kill each other."
"Many of your supporters settled here after your fall, and I have kept in touch with many of the more trustworthy ones. Now that you have returned, I'll start sending them back to England. In three months, you'll have an army waiting for you."
"What of my wand?" Riddle asked. "I can use this body's previous owner's wand for now, but I would very much like my own back."
"I am afraid I do not know what happened to it. None of us were present, and our attempts to locate it afterwards failed. If it is any consolation, by all reports, the Ministry does not have it either. Our best guess is that a loyal Death Eater we are not in contact with picked it up."
"At least the Ministry doesn't have it. Are any of your contacts wandmakers?"
"I'll make an appointment for you first thing tomorrow."
"What of my Death Eaters? You said that some followed you to Bulgaria. Did many remain in Britain?"
"My lord, may I ask a question?" For the first time that evening, Algar's voice was tentative. He knew the subject he was about to address was sensitive.
"You may ask." Riddle said levelly. That he would not guarantee an answer was implied.
"When you created the horcrux, you said that they preserved your soul as it was at that point in time. You created it almost three years before you died. Do you remember those three years?"
"I do not. Lestrange filled me in on those last few years, including the degree to which I alienated my faithful compainions. I assure you that I will not be repeating that mistake."
Algar's relief was well hidden, but plain to those who knew him well. "Thank you, my lord. Lestrange will have told you that your ranks swelled in those last few years, Dumbledore and the Aurors decimated our ranks after your fall. We five scattered to plan for your return. Your most loyal followers were mostly killed or imprisoned in Azkaban, including Lestrange's sons." Algar nodded at Lestrange in sympathy. "I do get regular reports from the prison. Your sons and Bellatrix are as well as can be expected."
"Young idiots," Lestrange muttered. "Why they couldn't just keep their heads down and bide their time..."
"Peace, Reginaldus," Riddle said. "They continued the fight in my name. If they were intemperate about it, that is the province of the young. They will be well rewarded for their loyalty." He turned back to Algar. "Go on."
"Others returned to their lives, claiming that they were under the Imperius Curse or that you threatened their families. While I approve of the strategy, especially considering that I used it myself, I do not know how many of them remained loyal."
Riddle nodded acknowledgment. "Those who let the Ministry seduce them into betrayal will be suitably dealt with when the time is right. What about intelligence? I got the London Times at the muggle aeroport, but Lestrange knows little of Wizarding Britain."
"Here I can be less helpful. I have not set foot there in fourteen years, and I dare not make contact with our man there lest someone suspect he was one of your followers. I receive the Prophet, but that is little better than a propaganda rag for the Ministry. I can give you the back copies if you would like, but to hear them tell it, every thing is normal."
"Something that might interest you is that Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter have fallen out of favor with the powers that be. Last spring, Potter was the favorite to win the Triwizard Tournament. One of the competitors died in the final task, and ever since, the Ministry has wanted nothing to do with either."
"Interesting, but not relevant at the moment. I am not going to make definite plans until I return, and the Ministry has shown itself to be fickle. What of my other old friends?"
"All three are are well. When you're rested, I'll send you on to advise them of your return personally."
"In that case, let us enjoy the wine and visit with old friends. Further plans can wait until tomorrow."
"Indeed," Lestrange said, leaning forward in his chair and putting aside his wine glass. "Tell us of your new wife. What woman could have the poor taste to marry you?" The other men laughed, and all three talked long into the night.
A/N: the Irish slang came from www dot irishslang dot co dot za slash irisha_ I apologize if I used it incorrectly.