A/N: Sorry this is late. I was ready to post it two days ago, but at the last moment I decided to rewrite a good portion. I think it's much better now. Not a lot of action or dialogue in this part, but a lot of interesting stuff is happening for some of the characters. Let me know what you think!
Introspection
His experiences over the summer had shaken Draco. For the first time, he doubted his parents. As he was growing up, the few times he'd heard his father speak about the Dark Lord it was in reverent tones. His mother refused to speak about it at all. It was mysterious and exciting. Draco had pictured a powerful Slytherin, like his father but bigger and stronger.
After he started going to Hogwarts, he'd heard other views on the Dark Lord, but he'd thought Slytherins were special. They got to see the truth. Their views weren't tainted by stupid fear. His father became strange and intense at times, but mostly Draco gloated about the power of the Dark Lord and how favored the Malfoy's were. But now he'd met this same Dark Lord for himself.
A Dark Lord who'd nearly killed his father and had killed Aunt Bellatrix. A Dark Lord who'd tortured Severus. A Dark Lord who made his parents kneel like slaves in their own manor.
It was intolerable! The new edicts his mother had explained to him were even more distressing. The Dark Lord seemed to be obsessed with enlarging his numbers. He was forcing every Death Eater wife to have children. Those without wives were ordered to get married as soon as possible.
Snidely, he'd asked, "Will he pick out spouses if we don't choose quick enough to please him?" And his mother had slapped him.
He'd thought his mother would be on his side. She'd been subtly encouraging him away from the Dark Lord for two years. Now the man said she could have more children and all was forgiven! Draco didn't understand what was so great about it. He didn't want brothers or sisters. He was Heir! What did they want more kids for, anyway?
Draco spent the last week of summer raging in his mind until he about screamed with it. No one would tell him what to do! Not anymore. He was no longer a child to follow blindly. In the end, his parents would see Draco was right about the Dark Lord. He was going to be the perfect Slytherin and choose the winning side.
With this in mind, Draco went to the library the first night back to Hogwarts, knowing a certain someone had been seen studying in dark corners. "Potter. Can I talk to you?"
O
Voldemort played the reluctantly willing Boy Hero perfectly as he listened to Draco Malfoy plead his case. The boy wouldn't share specific information about his family, but a subtle sweep of Legilimency told him everything he needed to know.
He almost couldn't contain his laughter. Poor Lucius, victimized by a maddened Potter who was dominated by a horrible addiction. Bella's death pissed him off, but he soothed himself with the image of Potter suffering indescribable torment during detox. He couldn't believe the blasted boy had survived it. If he didn't know any better, he'd say Potter was as immortal as he himself was.
Still, it was interesting. Why would Potter order the Death Eaters to conceive? Voldemort felt amused. It wouldn't help the boy, whatever his feeble plan. The children would be worthless for another fifteen years at least. He planned to have control of the Wizarding world long before then.
"Okay, Malfoy. I'll give you a chance, but if you betray me…"
"You'll learn you can trust me," the Malfoy Heir responded with a relieved smile.
He felt a flush of sweet arousal as he gazed on that young expression. Draco was handsome and naïve; a glorious combination. He'd be easy to seduce. Smiling, Voldemort stuck out his hand. "Friends, then."
The boy took it readily. "Friends."
He held on a little longer than necessary, allowing his fingers to slide sensually against the blond's palm, and Draco shivered. Voldemort smiled innocently back. Ah, to be sixteen again. It's wonderful.
xXxXxXx
Harry sat on his throne, hands loosely clasping the end of the snake-head armrests. Lucius knelt on one knee, wand hand clasping the Dark Mark – a gesture that said his magic was Harry's to command. They'd been brewing potions for a week. Now they were ready to set their plans into motion.
The soft pops of Apparation filled the dimly lit ballroom as the Death Eaters answered the summons. The air vibrated with anticipation. No doubt when their wives were brought to him, they had feared they would never see the women again. The fact that they'd been returned evidently unharmed had amazed and baffled.
(Harry had asked the wives to keep secret the fact that the infertility curse had been lifted. He wanted it to be a surprise when the women told their husbands they were pregnant. They had gleefully agreed.)
The last Death Eater arrived, making the group number twenty-four.
He'd been surprised when he'd learned from Lucius' mind that the Death Eaters were such a small group. Twenty-six. The number of Voldemort's forces, the group of powerful wizards that struck terror into the hearts of many numbered only twenty-six. And twenty-four now knelt in submission before him: Severus had been excused; Karkaroff was in hiding.
Twenty-three men, one woman – who'd been allowed the Mark due to being incurably barren… It didn't seem like a lot, but well-trained power filled the room, as deep and resonating as the ocean. A single Death Eater could wreak as much destruction in the span of five minutes as seven civilian wizards combined. And possibly as much damage as a dozen Muggles outfitted with whatever weapon they could carry. Not to mention the family connections and social webs that extended from each individual. Voldemort tended to only mark one or two representatives of a family, but when that person was marked, they pledged the support of a good majority of that bloodline.
"I've been dissatisfied with the efficiency of my followers of late," Harry spoke into the tense silence. "You will each be tested. Those who fail will be corrected. Lucius, bring the first."
A slender man was guided forward, and Lucius quickly backed away.
Harry pulled a Dark curtain around the throne, shutting everyone but the two of them out. "Lower your mask and hood."
A tan, round face was revealed. Wavy dark locks falling to black robes shoulders held dark red highlights. Eyes wary and almost as dark as Severus' met his own briefly before glancing down submissively. Morgan Selwyn. In his late forties. Afraid, powerful, addicted. Harry could tell by the way the dark eyes flared with need when he flared his now Dark magic.
"Catch."
Selwyn caught the marble reflexively and was portkeyed into one of the cells Harry had prepared for those who would need to detox.
An hour later, Harry had sixteen of his followers locked in the dungeon, leaving seven free. Atticus Avery and Crispin Lestrange were the fathers of Ayden Avery and Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange. Both were in their early seventies, having gone to Hogwarts with Tom Riddle, and both were anxious for their sons who had seemingly disappeared after 'failing' the test.
Caiden Rosier, in his mid-sixties, stood more calmly. His only son, Evan Rosier, had been killed last year while working some Dark magic, made careless by his addiction. Caiden was broken and silent inside with his grief. Sebastian Nott was Caiden's peer. He stood tense and anxious. He'd had a son late in life, Theodore Nott, who was currently a sixth year Slytherin. He feared what would become of his son under the Dark Lord's hand.
Fenrir Greyback was not a wizard, only an insane Muggle werewolf, and thus could not be addicted.
Two others had escaped addiction: Amycus Carrow, whose older sister – the last remaining female Death Eater – was in a dungeon cell, and Peter Pettigrew. Both were weak and feared the Dark Arts at some level, which had saved them.
Lucius, of course, had already detoxed.
Harry met each of their eyes. He'd prepared this speech days ago, taking bits and pieces from remembered speeches given by Tom Riddle. He hoped it worked. "Weakness has pervaded those missing. I will see them strong enough to serve me again. I will no longer tolerate failure. We will remember who we are! We will remember the old ways! We are Death Eaters! We scoff at death because we will forever exist within our traditions! Traditions that will span all eternity!"
Avery and Lestrange – No, he should call them by their first names, the way Voldemort would. – Atticus and Crispin stared with a hungry hope burning in their eyes, while Sebastian clenched his fists, pale with shock. Those three understood. Harry offered them a small smirk to reward their intelligence.
"Crispin, Atticus, you may come and go freely to attend your sons. Amycus, you will tend your sister."
"Yes, my Lord," the three chorused.
"Fenrir, continue recruiting the werewolves, but do not attack any magical targets without my direct order. Peter, you will stay and tend those of your brothers recovering. Sebastian, Caiden, respect of the Dark must be spread again. I want you to begin reviving the glory and beauty of Wizarding tradition. None of the traditions will be forgotten. All bans on their teaching are henceforth removed. Speak to Lucius for details."
"Yes, my Lord!"
Harry gave Pettigrew a schedule of when the potions were to be given to those in the dungeon and instructions on what to do if they became difficult. Satisfaction warmed him as he observed Pettigrew's horrified expression. The rat would have a very difficult and messy few weeks.
Smiling, Harry settled down in the library to study the many Light and Dark rituals. He could only glean so much from the memories of others. The rest he'd have to learn for himself, and the meanings behind the varied symbols, gestures, and colors used in each could take months to understand.
The project also kept him away from the Death Eaters. He planned to spend as little time with them as he could get away with. He was terrified they'd discover he wasn't really Voldemort. Fortunately, studying wasn't an unpleasant task. He enjoyed the quiet and found himself honestly interested in the complicated traditions he was learning about. They were like living metaphors.
He laughed silently at himself. Hermione would be so proud of me.
xXxXxXx
"Ah, well done Mr. Potter. I recall your mother was equally skilled with potions, although her true talent was charms."
Voldemort blinked, laughing inside. Old Horace thought he was so clever, thought he knew all the best ways to manipulate others and ingrate himself, but none of his tricks would work. Not this time. This time Voldemort would be in control. "You knew my mother, Professor?"
"Oh, yes. A brilliant witch. Reminds me a bit of Miss Granger there." The fat man gave him a jolly smile, as if he were clueless how those words would impact an orphan like Potter. "But enough of that. Perhaps we can talk later." With another smile, Slughorn moved away to check on the others in the class.
Voldemort felt eyes on him and turned to see Hermione smiling happily. He read her thoughts easily. She was glad someone knew about Potter's mother. It seemed everyone was so eager to talk about James – although even that was just passing comments – that Potter hardly heard anything about Lily.
He wondered if Slughorn had known or if he'd gotten lucky. Glancing at the old man from the corner of his eyes, Voldemort saw him watching the exchange with Granger. Voldemort ducked his head with mock shyness, and Slughorn winked. He'd definitely known, the sly Slytherin. Of course, he'd been House Head for a reason. Voldemort felt an evil smile slide briefly across his mouth. This was going to be so much fun.
After class, he lingered, Hermione squeezing his shoulder before leaving him alone. Voldemort shuffled up to the Professor's desk. Slughorn faced away, manually erasing the chalk board, so he cleared his throat.
The old man turned and smiled with delighted surprise. "Mr. Potter, can I help you?"
"I was just wondering if you could tell me more about my mother?"
"Of course, of course. I'd love to." Slughorn beamed at him joyously. "I have to get ready for my next class right now, but you could come to my office and share lunch with me on Saturday."
Voldemort made his green eyes go wide. "That would be great, sir."
Slughorn chuckled. "Go on, go on. I'll see you later, Harry."
Voldemort left feeling greatly pleased. By his sixth year of Hogwarts, he'd already known who all the influential and powerful students were and had courted them to his side. He had no desire or the time to do the same ground work this time around, especially since he had the Potter persona to maintain. Instead, Slughorn would do it for him with his little club. The man was pretty worthless on his own, but he possessed an undeniable gift for recognizing those who would later become great in some form. No doubt he was already marking out the 'special' ones. Even better, he had the free access to every House and year that Voldemort did not. He'd do all the work while Voldemort regained new and powerful followers.
"You look happy," Ron muttered as Voldemort sat next to him in Transfiguration.
"I am. Slughorn knew my mother. He's going to tell me stories about her on Saturday."
"That's great, Harry!" Ron beamed happily at him just the way Hermione had.
Voldemort carefully softened his smirk into a smile. "Isn't it?"
xXxXxXx
Everything was going so perfectly that Voldemort was quite shocked when, a week later, he hit his first problem.
It was late, well past curfew, and Voldemort was sneaking back into the Tower. He and Draco had been secretly meeting since they couldn't afford to publically announce their alliance. Draco was afraid of his Housemates' reactions, and Voldemort found the information that Draco could gather on the Dark's movements, although vague, was valuable.
"Where do you keep sneaking off to?"
He jumped and spun, wand in hand. Hermione stared in his general direction from her place on a couch by the fire, text books open around her. With a grimace, he pulled off Potter's amazing cloak and offered her a sheepish smile. There was no escaping this time.
"Sometimes I can't sleep. Walking helps. What about you," he asked as he sat down next to her.
"I was waiting up for you," she admitted. "You've been so distant lately, and when Ron said he woke up the other night and you weren't in bed, I got worried."
Voldemort felt a flash of annoyance. He really didn't like the way these two kept such close tabs on him. How did Potter stand it? "I didn't know I had to report my every move to you two."
Hermione's face darkened. "Sorry for caring."
"No." He sighed, knowing he was messing things up. He offered a sweet smile and grabbed her hand gently. "I'm sorry. I just don't know what to tell you."
"Tell me whatever you want. I'm here for you, Harry. So is Ron. We love you."
Voldemort smiled sweetly, "Thanks, 'Mione."
She returned the smile. "Come on. Let's get some sleep."
"Yeah. Okay."
He moved to the stairs, deep in thought. As annoying as the Gryffindors were – they were as self-righteous and clingy as their stereotype portrayed them – they were also good at giving him opportunities to distance himself. Of course, it would only last a few days before they got over it and began bugging him again, but at least he didn't have to deal with them constantly. If he played it right, he'd only be their friend for what would amount to one and a half weeks of every month.
With this plan in mind, the next morning, he cornered Ron. "Thanks for telling on me," he whispered furiously.
The redhead blushed. "I told her to leave it alone."
"Yeah, whatever."
Breakfast was a long affair. Hermione tried to pull him into a conversation, Ron kept shooting him apologetic glances, and the rest of the House stared as they tried to figure out why they were fighting so much this year. He was feeling triumphant for having turned the situation in his favor when McGonagall stopped behind him.
"Potter. It's been decided that you will be captain of the Gryffindor team. You'll need to organize try-outs for next week."
"Yes, ma'am," he responded, blinking in surprise. He'd forgotten Potter played Quidditch.
"Way to go, mate!" Ron pounded him on the back.
He just barely resisted cursing the ignoramus. "Thanks," he said instead with a perfect smile.
"Let me know when try-outs start. I'm going to go for Keeper."
"That's great, Ron!" Hermione said supportively.
"Yeah, great," Voldemort repeated. "We'll get to play together!"
Inside he was panicking. He'd never been really good at Quidditch, but it was only a stupid game. How hard could it be, really? Besides, being Potter may be annoying, but it wasn't difficult. If Quidditch was the worst he faced, he should be grateful. Thus decided, he put a large smile on his face and joined the inane conversation going on around him.
xXxXxXx
Voldemort hated to admit it but he'd been wrong. Seriously wrong. There was no way he could pull this off. He didn't move like Potter, and he was nowhere near as skilled. Quidditch would expose him for sure. So after the try-outs, he made his way to McGonagall. She seemed shocked about his resignation. He glanced into her mind only to discover that last year Potter had been banned and had been desperately hurt over it. To willingly back away seemed very out of character.
He left her office sweating. As suspicious as his quitting made others, flying would've been worse. Now he had to do damage control. Potter's friends could be a problem. If they added their suspicions on top of McGonagall's, Dumbledore might start looking too closely at him. Sighing, he squared his shoulders. There would be no more holding back from the Gryffindors. He couldn't afford it. He'd just have to suffer through the aggravation they caused.
"What!"
Voldemort winced at the redhead's bellow and turned beseeching eyes to the Mudblood. "You understand, right, Hermione? I've fallen so far behind and exams have been cancelled a couple of years. I'm really worried about the NEWTs – " Ron's mouth fell even further open. " – and I want to be ready the next time Voldemort comes for me. I won't let anyone else die! I'm sick of being helpless!"
The girl nodded reluctantly. "That makes sense, but, Harry, it's not good to become too obsessed with work." Ron was actually spluttering now. "You have to have time to relax and have fun, too. You love Quidditch."
"Yeah, but I still have you guys to make sure I relax. Quidditch will take up so much time with practices and everything. Please? You have to understand," he begged her, very glad he was Potter now. This would have been impossible otherwise.
"Of course," Hermione exclaimed, teary-eyed as she flung her arms around him.
Ron was still shocked. He kept mumbling "but it's Quidditch" under his breath.
High with triumph, Voldemort quickly hugged them both. "Thanks. This means a lot to me, you not making me feel bad. I knew I could count on you." He gave them a large smile that calmed them both. "Let's play a game of Exploding Snap. We haven't had time to just hang out really, have we?"
Like mindless chicks, they trailed after him, all their worry and suspicions completely gone.
xXxXxXx
Severus' eyes followed the Potter pretender as he ate breakfast at the raucous Gryffindor table. His act was near perfect, but someone who knew how to look would realize something was different.
The pretender was too often quiet, too distant, too watchful. The Gryffindors were used to Potter being difficult and stupidly didn't realize this wasn't more of the same. The pretender was in complete control, in a way that Potter had never been capable of, and his old master was training them. Already the Gryffindors were learning to read subtle cues, either engaging the pretender in conversation or leaving him alone depending on what he wanted.
Another clue that something was wrong was the boy's grades. They'd gone up substantially this year, even though there was no evidence that the boy was actually studying more than normal. Albus was aware of these changes in Potter, but he insisted it was due to increasing maturity and the effects of the boy learning to cope with his more recent experiences.
From the corner of his eye, Severus noticed Minerva watching the innocent seeming boy with a frown and a wrinkle between her brows. He felt hope stir. "Something the matter," he asked blandly.
"You'll be pleased to know Potter quit the team," she answered with a half-hearted glare.
Severus smirked, amused that his old master was foiled by something as simple as Quidditch. Of course, he had a part to play so he told her smugly, "Looks like Slytherin will reign supreme once again."
She scoffed, but the pensive look didn't leave her eyes. "Has he seemed depressed to you?"
"Not particularly," he answered shortly, sneering. Why was everyone so blind? They expected to see a depressed teen, so they saw one despite there being absolutely no evidence of such a mental state.
Severus wasn't quite sure why it bothered him, but even though he agreed with Potter that they needed to keep the truth of the situation secret, he was growing more and more annoyed. Why was it that the people who professed to love the boy couldn't see that it wasn't Harry Potter they were dealing with? He'd hoped Voldemort would face some difficulty with taking over Potter's life, but he seemed to have done it effortlessly.
"No. I didn't think so, either."
Her soft remark drew his attention. Severus studied her expression again. Perhaps there was someone who'd noticed, after all.
"I am glad the boy is so at ease," she spoke hurriedly, feeling his evaluative gaze. "He deserves a break."
Severus sighed and looked away. Any suspicions she harbored were quickly being destroyed by her guilt. She obviously felt like she was acting dishonorably by doubting the boy over Quidditch, especially because it could be seen as bitterness over the potential loss to Slytherin. Severus had to give Voldemort credit. The man was a master manipulator.
He was startled out of his morose thoughts when a large black owl swooped down on him from among the others who had flown in with the morning post. Minerva and Albus' eyes settled on him curiously as he divested the bird of the scroll it carried. He ignored them and left the table. He didn't open the parchment until he was safe behind the wards in his office.
Snape, I've put a concealment spell on the parchment. Only someone with the Dark Mark can read it. Another hex insures it will self-combust if it's opened outside of Hogwarts, so I'm certain only you can read it. It's a bit out of character to mail you, but summoning you is just as conspicuous since I shouldn't be seen consulting you on such a matter. Greyback brought me a Muggle newspaper. I've attached it. Why isn't anything being done? I also have questions concerning rewards. I had to promise Greyback that he could lead the next raid. It bought me time, but I need a better way to reward my followers since I don't plan on making many raids.
It was unsigned. It didn't have to be.
Severus sighed. The letter was to the point, but Potter still didn't know how to guard his words, even his written ones. For one well versed in reading between the lines, the missive practically screamed distress. Even if it hadn't, he would have known Potter was panicking. Nothing less would have his new Lord writing to him. Potter was still uncomfortable with him. They had many years animosity to overcome, and Severus being his caretaker during his suffering over the summer hadn't made things easier. So he knew whatever had forced Potter to write had to be bad.
Bracing himself, he flicked open the attached envelope and pulled out a Muggle paper clipping dated a few days ago.
Child Abuse in Surrey, the headline read. He quickly scanned the information.
Apparently Muggle authorities had gone to Potter's residence to follow up on the case against Vernon Dursley and were not happy to find Potter missing. Petunia claimed Potter had run away, but the police were highly suspicious and were in the process of conducting a very thorough investigation. The article reported that there was a gaping chasm of missing records. The police had been unable to recover a birth certificate or medical records for their nephew. In fact, the only thing official they had was Potter's primary school records. Additionally, a vivid description of witnessed physical abuse was given by a police officer who made the arrest of Vernon Dursley. This was followed by many quotes from neighbors who'd always suspected something was wrong but apparently hadn't ever done anything about it.
Severus closed his eyes. He'd Legilimized the boy last year, but the images had been hazy through his own Occlumency shields, which he never let down. Now he wished he'd taken a better look.
As for the article, neither Potter's name nor his family's address was mentioned. The only thing that connected it to Harry Potter was the name Dursley. It wasn't well known, but Potter's peers, the Order, and the Death Eaters were aware of his family's name. Of course, the address was top secret and only Potter's closest friends and the Order knew it. Now it'd been narrowed down to Surrey. There were many Dursleys in Europe but not so many that this wasn't a significant clue.
Severus settled more comfortably in his chair as he slowly and carefully composed his response. The news could have been worse, but it certainly wasn't good. However, he was pleased that he now had a chance to mend the rift between him and his new Lord. Letters were a neutral and non-threatening medium. It was the perfect way to begin to purge some of the tension.
Chapter end. Please review.