Lord Voldemort, even during his early days as Tom Marvolo Riddle, was never fond of profanities. They were, in his opinion, disgustingly plebeian and uncouth, and he didn't understand the need for them.

Marvolo did now, though.

"You mean to tell me," he said, taking very great care not to sound or look like he was talking of anything more consequential than the weather, "that it's Gamp's administration."

Ulick B. (for Burke, though he dearly wished right then that it stood for Bloody instead) Gamp: the first-ever Minister for Magic. A muggle-loving brainless figurehead who masqueraded as a pure-blood supremacist for monetary reasons, and the man indirectly responsible for the widely-known Witch Hunts.

"Yes."

Marvolo could practically feel the throbbing pulse in his temple. Not only was he being told that it was that Gamp's era - he was also expected to believe that-

"The Statute of Secrecy has only recently come into effect."

Almost palpable silence followed his statement as Illyrius peered past the top of his glasses, gaze steady. "Precisely," he answered, with a single word confirming the worst of Marvolo's situation.

At that unblinking stare, pain stirred in Marvolo's head - again. He experimentally averted his eyes, focusing on the table napkin and then proceeding to wipe his mouth with it. Not to his surprise, the pain subsided immediately.

'Legilimency,' he thought, putting the napkin back on the table and hiding his balled-up fists from view on his lap. 'This scrawny little boy could wandlessly and wordlessly cast a "Legilimens."'

Then Illyrius spoke again, seemingly intent on not giving Marvolo a moment of calm any time soon.

"You're from the Future, aren't you?"

This was getting more and more out of hand. Marvolo shouldn't – wouldn't be played at his own game. "Pardon?" he returned, brows furrowed.

"You're not from this time, that much is clear," Illyrius continued, disregarding Marvolo's attempt at playing clueless with a wave of his hand. "And seeing as you were unfazed by the piano - a fairly recent invention still veiled from the Public's prying eyes… One need not be of great deduction prowess to ascertain when you're from."

"Do you accuse everyone who doesn't fall in awe of your piano of advanced, unknown and maybe even impossible Magic?"

"Of course not," Illyrius laughed. He waved an arm at him. "Only those who are obviously guilty."

"So certain, dear Illyrius," Marvolo remarked, returning Illyrius' laugh with one of his own. "Have care, or your arrogance will be your undoing."

"Is that a threat?"

"Do I look like I'm in any place to make threats, child?"

"You speak as if you are much older than myself."

"You just speak too familiarly."

"I figured I should," Illyrius lightly said, lips slightly upturned, "with you being a part of the family.::

The last few words came out strangely - sibilant, though there was no reason for them to sound so - and if other people were in the room, they would have only heard a series of unintelligible hisses.

Alas, Marvolo wasn't one of those people. His eyes narrowed, but he kept his silence.

::You're a Time-Traveler. Why else would there suddenly be an unknown and unrecorded descendant of Slytherin?::Illyrius reasoned, undeterred. ::And there's no need to keep up this charade - I know for certain you speak Parseltongue. You slipped into the language for a moment earlier, when you had asked me about our location.::

Marvolo was slipping, and he was slipping hard. He was making mistakes he hadn't made since he was young. He should have expected this, knowing that the Gaunts descended from the Peverells. But this was the first time he had heard another human speak in Parseltongue in a very long time, and he couldn't help but be caught off-guard. He sometimes forgot that he wasn't the only wizard to have been blessed with Slytherin's gifts.

"I…" He coughed to cover his initial silence. Until he knew Illyrius' game, it would be safer to assume ignorance. He tilted his head and smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry?"

"Oh? Can't you hear me clearly from there?" Illyrius mockingly asked, eyebrows raised high. He stood up from his seat, and walked towards Marvolo. He stopped a mere arm's length away, close enough to condescendingly stare down at Marvolo's sitting form. The sudden proximity seemed to bring the room's temperature up, making Marvolo intensely aware of his clothing.

'Or lack thereof,' he thought, his hands fisting the blanket wrapped around his waist. 'Standard subjugation tactics. Of course.'

Everything had been orchestrated by this little boy. His missing clothes, the conversation, the food, the piano, the room he woke up in-

Maybe even his supposed time travel.

Marvolo had nothing.

"What do you want?" he asked in English, head bowed down in the perfect picture of surrender. Parseltongue had always been a magic-woven language, and he didn't want to worsen all this by unknowingly being taken into a magically-binding vow of any kind.

"All I want," Illyrius answered, tone smug, "is to know how you got here. Now, tell me, or else-"

But having nothing also meant having nothing to lose.

"Or else what?"

With speed he didn't know he could manage in his weakened state, Marvolo simultaneously stood up, wrapped his left hand around Illyrius' neck, and pressed the bread knife he had pilfered a while ago against Illyrius' throat with his right hand.

"What are you doing?" Illyrius asked slowly. He sounded calm, but Marvolo could feel the pulse in his fragile little neck beat faster.

"One reason," he snarled, tightening his grip. "Give me one reason I shouldn't kill you right now."

"I have a wand," Illyrius snarled back, clawing at the fingers locked around his windpipe to no avail. It would seem that Marvolo not only had the advantage in size, but in brute force as well. He savored the feeling of pressing his nails against Illyrius' skin, and Illyrius rewarded him by gasping like a fish out of water. "Don't make me- use it-"

"You don't have a wand."

"I do. Listen, I don't want to kill you-"

"-yet. See, you've been goading me into answering your questions the whole time, Illyrius, and you haven't exactly been subtle about it. Now, from what I gather, you need me to solve a very crucial… mystery, of sorts. Crucial enough to let a potential threat into your house, and to risk bending the law by not officially reporting the aforementioned threat to the Ministry."

"You would - probably be dead by now if I hadn't bent the law," Illyrius panted heavily. "You owe me a Life Debt."

"We can easily check if one is in place."

Illyrius' eyes widened. "You'll die if you kill me."

"And I won't if you're lying. I'm prepared to take the risk." Of course he wasn't, but Illyrius didn't need to know that.

"Marvolo - Marvolo, calm down. Let me get my wand instead to check. Nobody has to get hurt-"

Marvolo tightened his hold further still as he glared at Illyrius's bared neck.

"I'm Magic-sensitive, you little worm. I had known the whole time that you didn't have your wand with you," he hissed. "Tell me: why would you face me, an unknown variable, completely unarmed?"

The blue spidery veins under Illyrius' eyes started to bulge. "Core-' he gurgled out, scarcely coherent, "Your Magical Core's- fragmented-"

Marvolo slightly loosened his grip in a silent 'Go on.'

"You-" Illyrius gasped, taking large mouthfuls of air while he can. "You currently can't produce magic, or be around anything slightly magic-imbued, because your magical core is - is adjusting from the sudden repair of your soul. If you kill me now, the healing fissures in your soul would revert to their - to their initial state of shambles, and you would stay without magic longer."

Marvolo's other hand, the one holding the knife, jerked hard. Blood trickled down from where the knife had pierced Illyrius's skin.

"How do you know about the Horcruxes?" Marvolo whispered indignantly, unconsciously leaning closer to Illyrius to shield their exchange from listening ears, if ever there were some.

"What?" Illyrius rasped out, probably still too focused on breathing to notice he was bleeding. "Nothing." Marvolo raised him a few inches off the floor by the neck. "Nothing, I swear! This is the first time I've even encountered the word-"

"Then how do you know about the fissures?" Marvolo growled.

"Like how you knew I didn't have a wand. You feel magic, and I see-" Illyrius stared directly into Marvolo's eyes, "souls."

That's when it dawned on Marvolo that Illyrius might've been reading something much more personal than his surface thoughts earlier.

His fingers slackened completely, and Illyrius collapsed on his knees. Marvolo took a step back.

"You're a Necromancer."