Sorry for the delay. School actually started two weeks ago for me, and every moment of free time was spent on college apps. Priorities, you know.

"You can be anything you want - doctor, lawyer, or engineer."

An undisclosed location

"My lord…please!"

"You are late, Igor Karkaroff," Voldemort whispered. "You know I do not tolerate tardiness."

"My lord, I was afraid – "

Voldemort held up one bony hand to stop him. "Do not take me for an ignorant fool, Karkaroff. Yes, I know all about your little escapades…selling out your own comrades to escape prison, hmmm? And now you are afraid of repercussion."

"Of them, yes, but my loyalty is stronger! Please, my Lord, I did not come when the others did because I knew that they would try to kill me for revenge, and I knew I would be of no use to you dead! My lord, give me a second chance; I did what any rational human would have done – "

"I do not wish to hear your pathetic excuses," Voldemort hissed.

Karkaroff shivered and backed away. "Of course not, my Lord."

Voldemort eyed him contemplatively, watching in amusement as the man kneeling at his feet trembled in fear. For added effect, he slowly twirled his wand, and reveled in the waves of fear that rolled off his minion. "You have disappointed me greatly, Karkaroff. Now, humor me, and tell me why I should not murder you for your deceit right now." In reality, Voldemort was not about to kill the man, not when others had done similarly poorly in their test of faith for him. In fact, he actually commended the other somewhat, for his cunning – though, of course, he was still quite angry since that cunning did not work to his favor. Not like Lucius, who managed to retain his powerful position without jeopardizing the positions of anyone else.

"My lord, I can still be of use to you – I am the headmaster of Durmstrang; I can recruit – "

"Mere children, Igor?" Voldemort said sarcastically. "I applaud your desperation." Karkaroff flinched. It served him right, for being so cowardly. Lord Voldemort normally did not approve of Gryffindors, but there were certain standards that had to be passed, considering that they would eventually have to go into combat, after all. Certain standards that the man before him did not meet. It would not hurt, to torture him a little more.

"I – I – "

"What else have you got for me, Karkaroff? Surely you do not expect me to forgive you just for that?" he hissed.

"I have important news, my Lord! I promise you, you will want to hear this!"

"Would you like to wager your life, Igor? If it turns out that it was something I know already, then rest assured, you shall die. Are you willing to take the chances, or will this be a repeat of your trial? I heard that you had to exhaust several names before you finally found one that they hadn't known about yet," he smirked.

"My Lord – I have found another family – they can speak to snakes, too!"

At this, Voldemort sat up straight in his chair. Now that was something he had to admit was interesting. Not enough to forgive Karkaroff completely, but enough for him to stop playing games with the man's mind – for now. "Oh, really?" If Karkaroff was lying, simply making this up to escape punishment, he would get twice – no, three times – the intended Cruciatus.

"Yes – they live in the British Isles, too – "

"Stop stalling, Igor, and tell me who they are."

Igor swallowed, but visibly relaxed, probably comprehending the fact that he had escaped death by now. "They are the Fowls!"

Voldemort raised an eyebrow. "The Fowls? Not those Irish blood-traitors." Though, that last designation had only been out of habit. They were not like Dumbledore in that they championed rights for those of impure blood…they were a merchant family, through and through. Voldemort understood why they chose to extend their corporate claws into the Muggle world despite being wizards themselves. They were clever, and pureblood, yes, but not the ideal purebloods. They would never be as noble as the English families, like the Blacks or the Parkinsons, for example. There was only a limit to how far one could go if one channeled all of their efforts into merely making money.

Nonetheless, they were a dark family, and their bloodline was strong with powerful magic, though how much it had been diluted in two generations, Voldemort did not know. The last Fowl he had known was Coeus Fowl, who had been in his seventh year when he had been in his first. Completely unremarkable – even as an eleven-year-old child, he had noticed that the Fowls tended to be loners – antisocial and unassuming, preferring to think of their own comfort regardless of political regime, and only intervening when it was to their selfish benefit. They were famous in name only – no one ever really saw head or tail of any of the Fowls except in brief appearances at parties (all business-related).

They only came out of obscurity once every generation, when yet another member appeared at Hogwarts. And even then relatively most of their time was spent in the shadows – figuratively and literally; he wouldn't be surprised if they were part vampire somewhere down the line, since their greedy attitudes certainly seemed to point that way. The Fowls, generally, were intelligent enough; as far as he was concerned they all just breezed their way through their education, getting decent enough grades that they never used anyway, and, once the seven years were up, almost immediately hightailed their way back to their little fortress-manor in Ireland, where they remained hidden behind their money for another two and a half decades until the cycle repeated itself.

Honestly, they could have dropped out after first year, or better yet, even just not had any magic, and they would have been perfectly fine. All they ever did when they went to Hogwarts was learn not to let their magic explode out of control and kill people, anyway. That and a little bit of self-defense in case they ever came across a disgruntled Knockturn Alley businessman (during his time tracking down magical artifacts while employed under Borgin and Burkes he had often eavesdropped on private conversations – several of which involved plans to curse the opportunistic Fowl family). It wasn't as if their family-owned, self-propelled business dealings even required magical credentials anyway.

Coeus Fowl had been that way, following the tradition almost verbatim, and so had his son, Artemis, who had cleverly wormed out of joining the Death Eaters during his first rise to power. When pressured, he had made a few vague statements and promises, and once their backs had turned on him, he had fled back across the Irish Sea and disappeared behind a self-contained Fidelius Charm. Clever man, that one. Lord Voldemort never underestimated power or intelligence. Though he had been angry at the time, that his recruiting agents had allowed themselves to be duped so easily, he had been sufficiently impressed with Artemis Fowl's unorthodox (but infinitely more effective than Prince's – oh, that poor, poor, backwards, outdated old man; he would have been a valuable asset had he not been so foolishly proud – violently resistant) methods.

Other than that, though – nothing much of use in terms of magical power.

To think that these people were carried a trait unique to his ancestor, Slytherin himself. They couldn't possibly be related, could they? Though he had once shared a few physical traits with the Fowls – tall, slim body, dark hair, dark eyes –

Blue eyes, but dark like the color of the sea and not the sky…not natural, they had said…not natural, and they had avoided him, the foolish Muggles…like they had somehow foreseen this monster that he would have one day become…Now where had that stray thought come from?

– they had also been common among many aristocratic families…and besides, those disgusting features had come from his Muggle father anyway. Good riddance, that he had done away with them.

Karkaroff nodded vigorously. "The very same. They are direct descendants of Herpo the Foul himself."

Voldemort frowned. "Then why have we never heard of them?"

Karkaroff swallowed. "They have kept their ability a secret for centuries, my Lord – to stay out of the Light regime's persecution, and also, as security measures for their properties and bank accounts. A truly mundane way to use their power – you have always done far greater, my Lord; Slytherin's line was definitely more powerful and successful than that Greek's – "

"Igor, please refrain from your obsequious flattery."

Another gulp. "Of course."

"Now, what proof do you have of this?"

"I – I managed to kidnap one of them – Artemis Fowl, the first – "

"And where is he now?"

"He…he escaped."

Voldemort let out a high, shrill laugh. "Oh, Igor! Your incompetence never fails to amuse me!"

"It was not my fault, my Lord!" Karkaroff stuttered in anger. "I would have succeeded in – well – his son! His blasted son interrupted me!"

Succeeded in what? Voldemort thought to himself. Probably another harebrained, power-climbing scheme. He had no wish to hear about the man's foolish actions. Instead, he settled for another insult. "You were defeated by his son? And, tell me, how old was that boy? Artemis Fowl was around the same age as the rest of you, was he not? His son should barely be in Hogwarts by now. Imagine that, Karkaroff. A grown man like you, foiled by a little boy. How far you have fallen."

"The boy is not a normal boy!" Karkaroff growled. "My Lord, he is important, and extremely powerful – more powerful than anyone I've seen – " meeting Voldemort's murderous eyes, Karkaroff hastily added, " – except you, my Lord!"

"Are you simply making more excuses for your uselessness, Karkaroff?" Voldemort asked, tired of the conversation already.

"No, my Lord! He was capable of wandless magic! My underlings reported that he had cast a wandless fire spell!"

Well. That was news, at least. He would refrain from torturing the imbecile for a little while longer. "Continue."

"He escaped the Body-Bind wandlessly, too. Not the silly Petrifying spell – the Lestranges' Binding Curse – "

At this, Voldemort's eyes widened. If what Karkaroff said was true, then that boy could very well be a threat. He hadn't learned wandless magic until his later years at Hogwarts, and while he knew that he had enough power to break free of the Lestranges' Binding Curse, he had never done so because no one had ever managed to come close enough to successfully cast it on him. "How old was this boy?"

"He is the same age as Malfoy's and Nott's sons."

That meant that the boy was only fourteen now. He must have been even younger than that. In a wave of impatience, Lord Voldemort decided to Legilimize Karkaroff – as painfully as possible. What he saw astounded him. In the name of magic – the boy was only eleven – not even twelve yet – when he had successfully broken through Karkaroff's defenses. And – what were those things with him? Karkaroff's memory had been clouded; clearly, someone had modified it.

Tapping his fingers together, he realized that this boy was a threat to him. He had talent, but too much of it. And being a Fowl, he was unlikely to hold out his left arm and follow orders. In a best-case scenario, the boy would probably just end up being a businessman, like his predecessors. Still, Voldemort doubted that someone of such great power would be willing to be content with mere money-making. He would strive to push his magical power to its very limit – just like he.

And the world only had room for one Dark Lord.

The others must be eliminated.

With one last slash of his wand, he sent a burning curse at Karkaroff. Yelping, the pathetic man jumped up and fled the room.

Voldemort leaned back on his chair. Maybe he could finally have a little peace at last.

Alas, this was not to be, for soon he was interrupted with a tittering sound behind him. So that infuriating pixie had finally returned. On one hand, he was glad that she had finished her assigned task, but on the other hand, he really did not want to deal with her right now.

"Well?" Snake-face growled. "Where is it?"

Opal crossed her arms and rolled her eyes, dodging one of the curses that the man aimed at her. She knew that he would not kill her – at least, not yet. She was prepared for that time, even now; like him, she had pushed the bounds of magic to its limits. Unbeknownst to either the People or these Wizards, she had managed to combine the two powers, and the result was something more stunning and dangerous than anything she – or anyone – could have possibly seen before. She could do what both fairies and humans could do – without having to recharge her magic with the Ritual at all. This was the power to destroy utterly, and she lived for the day when she could finally use it against the monster sitting across from her.

And against the two stupid Mud Boys that ruined her plan the first time. She did not want to just kill them, no – she wanted to see them suffer first. In a poetically entertaining way. They deserved both physical and mental pain.

Ooh! What better way to kill his pride than to broadcast his humiliating demise on live television? When she took over the world, she could film them dying, and replay the video whenever she felt bored. Dying by…trolls! Yes, that was it! Trolls! An amusement park full of them! She grinned madly.

"Where is it?" Snake-face repeated.

Oh. Right. She was still stuck negotiating with this monster for now.

"Right here," she said, holding it up but refusing to hand it over. To his credit, the Mud Man sitting across from her did not make a fool out of himself by reaching out like some foolish baboon.

"I believed we agreed that after I gave you permission to enter and leave any human dwelling as you pleased, you would take this prophecy to me," he whispered softly.

Opal took a nice, long look at the man sitting across from her, wondering if it was worth it to continue provoking him. It would not be the smartest thing to do, but it certainly was the most satisfying. For all their similarities, she would come out superior. She understood enough about him to do so. She did not understand everything about him, of course, and she did not want to. She could not believe that a Mud Man – such an arrogant one at that, too – would want to disfigure himself, to literally cut off his nose to spite his face. Opal had heard Snake-face, Voldemort, Lord Thing, whatever he was called – rant about his "dirty Muggle father" when he thought no one was listening.

She honestly did not understand why he desired to look like a creature, just because he hated his father's face. Genetics was genetics, and honestly, for a Mud Man, he had been very lucky to get a face like that. She had seen it, just for a minute, the first time she had healed him and returned him to his own body – he had been aged at first, but then she decided to give him youth again, since she was smart enough to know that an old Mud Man would not be very useful to her. And, speaking from an entirely objective standpoint, he was extremely good looking. Not as beautiful as she was, but still. Had she been stupider she might have fallen for him, but as it was, she had no use for stupid men, no matter now nice their faces were.

The idiot had taken one look in the mirror and demanded that she give him the face of a monster instead.

Opal hated her own father, too – her sexist, oppressive, stupid old father, the same man she had bought out and locked in an insane asylum – but she still appreciated the nice things he had given her. It wasn't sensible to throw away something useful, simply because you hated the person who gave you the gift. A bribe, or a loan that would require payment to a rival later – that, she could understand. But a face, given by a father that was probably dead by now (how long were Mud Man lifespans again?) or if not, then completely powerless against him – it wouldn't hurt to accept it. Personally, she thought the beautifully evil were more fearsome than the ugly evil. Ugly people naturally seemed inferior, in the minds of humans and fairies alike. But beautiful people, like her? They could invoke both charisma and fear, as well as paranoia in their underlings – deception and distrust was the best way to hurt people, after all.

She decided to push him. Just a little more. Test his limits, and push him to the breaking point. Just to see where his supposedly infamous temper lay, and just exactly what effect losing his mind would have on his power. "It is blocked against wizards," she crooned, steepling her fingers, "but the People have magic that one cannot imagine. It is the ancient art of pure magic. A silly Mud Man like you would not understand. One must be born with it."

He narrowed his red eyes at her. She could tell that he absolutely detested her "superior" personality…how he wished that they could get over with their invasion already so he could just kill her, and obliterate the rest of her unworthy race as well. Elves…pixies…they were all the same thing, really. The anger came off him in waves. His mind was shielded – the fairy Mesmer would not be very effective against him, but combined with wizard magic, and she could read any emotion. Currently, his feelings carried something along the lines of: Their blood was impure. Like the mortals. They were only special because they had a different brand of magic that allowed them to live longer and heal immediately, which would be quite useful, but unnecessary to someone like him. It was quite convenient, then, that she was helping him expedite the process that would eventually be her end.

It was brilliant. Brilliant! He thought she was the inferior one! How she would love to prove him wrong!

"Does it look like I care?" he sneered, waving his fingers at her dismissively. "Now give it to me."

Smirking, she extended the glowing glass orb out towards him. This time, Snake-Face did hold out his hand, and Opal had a great deal of fun in snatching it away again. For good measure, she waved her little finger at him infuriatingly. He was extremely angry now, she could tell. So that was how it was, then! The impudent brat…

Impudent brat! Now Opal really wanted to laugh. She was centuries older than he was, and he was calling her the impudent brat? Foolish, foolish Mud Man!

"I've got it…Now what will you give me for it?" she asked, unable to help herself..

His blood boiling, Lord Voldemort stood, and towered over her small frame. "It is not a question of what I give you," he hissed, "but rather, what I do not give you." He drew his wand and sent a burning curse at her. Opal was unable to jerk her arm away in time – she shrieked in surprise and dropped the Prophecy, and he caught the glassy ball before it shattered upon the ground. A triumphant grin found its way onto his face.

"Thank you," he said. "You have been of utmost help in my operation – rest assured that I shall help you do the same – "

"You better," she said angrily, blue sparks dancing along her wrist. Her dark eyes flashed dangerously. "You may have more versatile magic…but we both know how dangerous I am. And if you betray me, I will destroy you and everything you have to live for. I will turn your enemies to you and your servants against you. And it is not impossible, for someone like me…I could control your people more strongly than a silly Imperius Curse…possess them with my powers…reveal your darkest fears and secrets."

It looked like Voldemort had won this round, but on the inside, Opal was relishing in her own victory. She had provoked Lord Voldemort, snake-face extraordinaire, and escaped with nothing more than a stinging hex. Voldemort definitely still needed her, and not only that, but he had proven himself to be more vulnerable to her powers than he initially realized.

"You may leave now," he said coldly, his red eyes glaring at her. And so she did.

But Opal Koboi stopped as soon as the door closed behind her. Using her magic to get past all of his worthless enchantments, she pressed one large, pointed ear against the door. She had, after all, helped Snake-Face Voldemort get that little glass ball that was supposedly so important to him. She deserved to listen, too. And if she didn't…well, they might be allies now, but they definitely would be enemies later. One more thing to hold over him.

THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD APPROACHES…CREATED BY HE WHO SHALL DEFY HIM, HE WHO IS BORN IN THE SEVENTH MONTH…AND THE DARK LORD WILL CONSIDER HIM HIS EQUAL, BUT HE WILL HAVE POWER THE DARK LORD KNOWS NOT…ONLY ONE SHALL DIE AT THE HAND OF THE OTHER, AND YET BOTH WILL DIE AT THE HANDS OF EACH OTHER, FOR HE MUST CHOOSE…AND THE ONE…WITH THE POWER…TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD…WILL BE CREATED…AND THEN THERE WILL BE SEVEN.

(White pawn to b3.)

Fowl Laboratories

Panting in exhilaration, Artemis landed embarrassingly ungracefully on the floor of his laboratory. He stared down at the diary in his hands. He could feel the waves of fury radiating from it – literally. Tom Riddle, cut off from Ginny Weasley through time and distance, could no longer drain her power, but he had managed to at least take some of it along with him, and the diary was barely enough to hold him in.

Was it Tom Riddle? Teenage Voldemort?

Artemis decided to stick to Tom Riddle for now. The locket could be Teenage Voldemort. He was not very keen on labeling them One and Two just yet, because he still did not know how many had come before them or in between.

Had Tom Riddle had finished draining Ginny Weasley, he could have become an independent, solid being, and then destroying the diary would have done them no good. As it was, however, there was still that minute thread – weakened as he sapped Ginny Weasley of her strength, but there nonetheless – anchoring Riddle to the diary. Wherever the diary went, Tom Riddle had to follow, and thus, when Artemis had taken the diary back to the present, Tom Riddle had also been ripped out of time.

Hence the reason why he seemed to disappear when they had "killed" the diary.

Now, what to do with it?

He needed a way to draw Riddle out. If Riddle was in the diary, he could still hide by refusing to write anything back (well, perhaps Artemis could threaten him with destruction, but without a face there would be no way to determine whether or not he was being truthful). With a physical body, however, Artemis could easily keep him bound, knowing many spells that would keep a human's muscles paralyzed and magic sealed.

Artemis certainly could not write in it himself. Riddle would have recognized him again, and refused to say anything. No, he needed a willing victim to make Riddle believe that he won, allow Riddle to sap their strength, and then, when he had completely cut off all ties from the diary and physically manifested himself, capture him.

Unfortunately, it was obvious that an actual person would not suffice. He could very well get into a great deal of trouble for willingly submitting another human being to psychological torture and possession by the cast-off soul piece of a future (or past?) sociopath.

…was it possible to create a fake one, then? One that could provide Tom Riddle with what he needed, a modified body with no personality? Well, Artemis supposed he would have to create at least some semblance of a personality, or else it would seem suspicious. No matter. Artemis had plenty of time. He could leave the diary, in that interlude, to stew in nervousness and anticipation, before finally a state of rest. That would be the best time to have another "person" accidentally stumble upon this curious, charming little book that could understand your feelings and write back.

Breathing carefully, Artemis slipped on a pair of gloves, and physically carried the diary over to another storage room, making sure that Tom Riddle's diary would not be able to sense any contact with another life or magical being whatsoever. This Horcrux had already been activated; certainly its strength, combined with some of Ginny's lost magic, would be monumentally more dangerous than the locket.

No, better to let it calm down first. Meanwhile, Artemis could get to work on analyzing the locket, which he judged to be a safer test subject.

A/N: From last chapter, I forgot to mention - Artemis' grandfather's name was never revealed in canon, so I named him Coeus after a Titan from Greek mythology. He was the god of intellect and the inquisitive mind.

I initially chose the name of Artemis' unnamed grandfather for this reason. Funny story: when I read further, I learned that he was also the father of Leto, who was, of course the mother of the twins Artemis and Apollo. So, conveniently, both Coeuses were grandfathers of Artemis. Neat, huh? It was like it was meant to be.