Title: Masquerade

See first chapter for disclaimer and summary.

Author: ShaeLynn Teelle

Polite constructive criticism is welcome; FLAMES WILL BE FED TO THE DRAGON IN MY BED.

Chapter 7

-15 years old-

Vol de Mort,

Interesting choice of names. I do wonder why you chose that combination. The letters of your name were rearranged, yes, I know. What I wonder though is could not a different name have been chosen? Although, from the progression of your campaigns, both the current one and nearly 14 years ago, it stands to reason that you would wish for a form of 'death' to represent you.

Forgive me, introductions are late. I am called Vrai Noir. No, it is not a rearrangement of my name, nor did I choose it for myself. It was instead chosen by a good friend, at our first meeting in fact. So chosen because of the curious stone I held in what must have been an even more curious situation.

Speaking of the curiosity that seems to abound in my life, I am curious about one point of your campaign. Honestly, several points, but I shall see how you accept the first one.

Your wish to cleanse the blood of the Wizarding World is admirable, but foolish. I do not say that it is wrong or cannot be done, but that it is simply foolish. If you remove the Muggle blood, which includes several of your followers along with yourself, you are taking away new magic and new blood.

Study any of the old pure-blood tapestries for their family lines. Nearly everyone is crossed with each other at least once and many times they have several of the same family intermarried. Separated by several generations or not, that blood is still there. Now, take away all new blood, leaving the children, whom number fewer every year, to look closer and closer to their own bloodlines to find a spouse.

Perhaps it will take fifty or a hundred generations, but without new blood, the pure-bloods will be so inbred they will be marrying their first blood cousins. Do you fancy a world where the wizards and witches are missing their magic, or perhaps physical deformities, if they are even able to conceive?

Why not separate the Muggleborns from the Muggle world sooner? At the very beginning of their primary school education might be a good time. Old enough to understand that they are different, but young enough to adapt without severe repercussions. Just something to think about. You'll hear from me again.

Vrai Noir

\/ \/ \/ \/ \/

"Good morning, William," Harry said as he stepped through the door of the shop.

No other customers were there and William was standing at the counter, setting new bags onto the shelves behind it. It was only the start of the second week of summer hols, but Harry felt better than he had for some time. William's face carried surprised delight when he looked at Harry, despite the bruised and swollen eyes. His visitor stood up straight, no limps, both arms moving freely, and no hint of pain upon his face.

"Noir! I am surprised to see you this early and in such good condition. Your relatives are treating you better than usual I see."

"Yes, at least physically. They've increased their insults and such, but at least I feel better."

William was quiet for a moment as he watched Harry. The young man had gone to a bin of blue-green smithsonite, a healing stone specializing with healing emotional wounds. He wasn't even really looking through them, but simply running his left hand through the stones, letting them shift and settle between his fingers.

"You don't believe what they tell you, Noir, do you? You know that it is all lies."

"Don't worry, William. I'm not lazy, or good for nothing, I know that. But I am a freak."

"Noir—"

"And I use it to my advantage. No one wants to bother the freak in the Muggle world and in the Wizarding World many believe I can do no wrong."

"Perhaps you should read this," William said quietly and placed the morning's Daily Prophet onto the countertop.

Harry leaned over indifferently, glancing at the heading. Then, his eyes did a double take and he inched closer to the counter, his fingers slowly retreating from the stones as his eyes flew over the page. His eyes began to pinch and before William knew it, the newspaper was ripped off the top of the counter and thrown onto the floor. Harry's right hand was out and fire lit itself along his pointed fingers before streaking towards the mess of papers. The fire didn't last long, Harry's anger fueling it to burn hotter, and in moments only ash was left.

A trembling hand reached up to his forehead as the room tilted slightly. Then, gentle hands were guiding Harry to the door at the back of the shop despite his initial flinch. His knees bumped lightly against a chair and Harry sank onto it. Arms found purchase on the table and his head lowered as Harry tried to will the headache away that had blossomed intensely all throughout his mind.

He didn't notice William placing several yellow jasper and amethyst about him on the table in a grid like pattern, nor the arrival of a slight figure that made little sound. He could hear voices like a far distant humming, but couldn't distinguish what the words were and the harder he concentrated, the worse things got.

Then, he felt fingers settle into his hair and reaction took over. The touch was gentle and very light, but in his state of agony, Harry's actions were instinctive from years of pain. He jerked away from the perceived threat, tipping the chair as he overbalanced, sending both it and himself to the floor.

His eyes wouldn't focus, but he could sense movement getting nearer and he scrambled on hands and knees until he found himself against a wall, bumping a stand that tottered a bit before a wooden bowl on top of it filled with petalite tipped off directly over the terrified boy.

William motioned his daughter back even as he retreated to the far wall, his eyes on Harry the entire time. Miina turned to him in comfort, tears collected in her eyes. It had been one thing to know of what he had suffered in his life, but it hadn't truly prepared her for the blunt reality of its proof. William held her gently, refusing to acknowledge the moisture in his own eyes as his thoughts raged over the hypocrisy of the world.

They wanted those of the light, their saviors, to be whatever they wanted, to help them. When it was those on a pedestal that were left alone and terrified until they were needed with only the bleeding and scarred hearts for company.

After a while Harry's instincts retreated and his more rational mind took over. He could feel the stones fallen about him and could feel their energy surrounding him. The pain in his head had dimmed and he slit his eyes carefully. The light was bright, but didn't hurt as it might have.

He knew he wasn't at the Dursleys, but his thoughts were fuzzy on what had happened. He was in pain and someone had touched him. Then, he saw the stones as his fingers brushed against one and he remembered. With the pain continually fading, he could rationalize who had touched him and his voice was hoarse as he forced it to work.

"Miina, are you okay?"

Light steps came nearer to him, almost unheard, but without his ears echoing the thudding of his heart he could hear them easily and somehow he knew he would never mistake her again if he could hear her softly slippered feet touching the ground.

Then, she was in front of him, a hesitant hand resting gently on one knee. Harry forced his eyes open fully to look at her tearstained face. He reached out an arm and drew her to him in a careful embrace. Miina's shoulders began to shake again and he felt his shirt become slowly damp. His other arm wrapped about her and held tightly, an apology whispering past his lips with every tear she wept.

Neither of them noticed the stones surrounding them were glowing, nor did they see the grim nod William gave before taking a white bag from a closed cupboard and carefully levitating each glowing crystal within and burning a lightning bolt mark with a sunburst surrounding it onto the front.

\/ \/ \/ \/ \/

"I am tired of hearing excuses from you. I want results! I want someone to be able to tell me who this Vrai Noir is! I want Harry Potter's head on a platter!"

Voldemort stopped and took several deep breaths. None of his followers were aware of it, but with the new body he had unexpectedly obtained, he also now had to be careful what he did. The rituals on his soul were intact, but his angry temperament that had carried over put too great of a strain on him now. He waited until he could no longer hear his heart pounding before he continued.

"There will not be failure again, do I make myself clear? You will find out something about this person before I next call you. Now, onto something else. It has been brought to my attention that most of the pureblood families are blood related to a number of others. It will be the responsibility of any that are capable, to find your family tapestries and list the family names of any blood relations up to ten generations. Am I clear?

"Do not start with your children's generations. I want to know starting with each one of you and your wives. I expect these to be delivered to me before the end of the week. It leaves you with four days. Do not fail me this time in something so simple. If you cannot get to your tapestries, or your wives cannot, I expect a list from memory as far back as possible. I know who is unlikely to have access and I know who has the tapestry in their own homes. Dismissed!"

When the very last Death Eater was gone, Voldemort took out a folded piece of parchment that looked to have seen much better days. "Who are you to question my methods? What is your name, True Black."

\/ \/ \/ \/ \/

Vol de Mort,

Why do the purebloods abuse the squibs? They dismiss those that are weaker in magical abilities instead of seeing their potential. Too many families are unable to have more than one or two children. A squib child is no different from one that can't see or hear, though perhaps that example is invalid as I have never seen a person that held such disabilities in the Wizarding World.

To force such people to be ashamed of who they are and to hide what they are or how strong they are, is no different from the Muggles. They often shun or despise a wizard or witch child simply because of what they can do, but the purebloods act no differently towards weak magic or squibs.

In the ancient times a child that was born with a deformity they could see was killed or thrown to the wilds to be devoured by whatever animal found them. Unfortunately, magic leaves no physical mark and one cannot fully measure a witch or wizard's power until they have passed maturity.

By then it makes little sense to destroy an adult simply because they present a handicap to the world. What if a squib and a wizard marry? The genetics, the heritage is there for magic to be present, perhaps even more likely because the magic skipped a generation.

If a child is not brought up to believe that they are the freaks of their world, they are less likely to hide, to fear what they are, to be jealous of what they do not have. Wouldn't that find a better world. Perhaps they can learn to do what is tedious for wizards to do, the little things that do not require magic, but must be done. There is always a place in the world for those that are different, such a place simply needs to be found.

Vrai Noir

\/ \/ \/ \/ \/

Harry sat on a swing at the park he was often at. He had no fear of needing to be doing chores, he had finished what needed to be done, and he was not worried about Dudley finding him. His wand was within reach at all times and the Dursleys knew that. Harry sighed and stretched out his legs in front of him.

He was proud of his accomplishments since the beginning of the summer and was content with how things were progressing. His relatives still left him mostly alone and he rarely had any lingering pain, unlike every summer for longer than he could remember. So far, he could not complain.

\/ \/ \/ \/ \/

"What have you found?"

"No one in Knockturn Alley has ever seen his face, my Lord. There are few that have heard him speak. An old crone said that he should not be meddled with lightly, but was unable to say why. There is one thing all we spoke to agreed on!" the Death Eater's voice had risen in panic when Voldemort's grip on his wand tightened and it rose half-way. "Only once has he moved through the Alley uninjured. They all say that he is hunched in pain and carries himself stiffly."

"His age? His looks? Anything? Lucius!"

"He is young. My Lord. My contacts say his movements, whether injured or not, point to someone that has not yet completed growing. None could see what color his eyes are, but they held knowledge and pain within them that few ever do," Malfoy stated calmly, despite the half-raised wand that was trained in his direction.

"I see. I need to know more. I want to find him!"

The Dark Lord sat back in his chair, quiet, contemplating his followers before he suddenly called upon one of them.

"Your family produced a squib two generations back, did they not?"

The man looked about him in horror for a moment before he nodded, not speaking.

"What did they do with it?"

"They got rid of it, my Lord, as any of us would."

This time the answer wasn't hesitant, it was confident and proud. To one side Voldemort saw another of his followers twitch.

"How?"

"They killed the thing, drowned it I believe."

Definitely a twitch and hands clenched into fists. He wondered and called the other follower's name. "Was there something you wished to add? You seem a touch upset."

"No, my Lord. There is nothing I wish to add," though he tried to hide it, anger was still in his voice.

"I think there is. Tell us what is on your mind. You are one of my more powerful followers, share with us." No one in the room doubted the order behind the congenially spoken words.

"Squibs are not worthless to be thrown aside like garbage. They have their uses despite not having magic and some will grow into their magic, though it takes time."

"What ridiculous thoughts," the one that was proud of his ancestors murdering sneered.

A wand was pulled and all motion in the room stilled. The second one, the Death Eater that did not agree, jerked his mask off his face, a face that was contorted with hatred as he stared at the other.

"McCann, enough," Voldemort said quietly, gaining more attention by that than if he had shouted.

Every Death Easter in the room knew that McCann was powerful, only slightly weaker than Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange. The man slowly lowered his wand, the anger still twisting his face.

"What was the meaning of that? Drawing upon a fellow Death Eater in my presence and ignoring your place. I will have the reason one way or another, McCann."

The man bowed low to Voldemort before he spoke, "There is a squib within my family, my Lord. There is a history of squibs appearing once a century within my ancestry. And they have NEVER been gotten rid of in any fashion. My mother was a squib, only coming into her magic after my baby sister was born. They all came into their magic, no matter how weakly, before they died. Murdering those that deserve it is one thing. Squibs have never been a part of that and I will have words with any Death Eater that says otherwise."

Voldemort sat back in his chair in thought, "If your family has ever allowed a squib live within our world, step forward." Only three Death Eaters out of the fifty that were there stepped up. "If your family has banished or destroyed squibs in their line, step forward." Another five Death Eaters stepped forward, though they stood away from McCann's group.

He studied the men before him. Each of the three were more powerful magically than any of the five, even just marginally. Voldemort pulled a letter from his pocket and glanced over it again. His gaze returned to his Death Eaters, many of them squirming in apprehension under his red eyed stare.

All of his seasoned Death Eaters were assembled before him and sixteen percent held squibs in their line. He knew of only one in that group whose line was not as pure as many of those, having several half-bloods within his history, but McCann was by far the strongest of the group.

Vrai Noir's claims proved to be worth investigating. And he knew exactly which of his followers to set to the task as he stared at McCann, his eyes never wavering.

\/ \/ \/ \/ \/

Vol de Mort,

Have you ever presented an idea to a person in such a way that they agreed with it, even though they were against it originally without them realizing it? No, of course you haven't. You simply kill any that disagree with you. You've never, that I know of, sat down and asked an opposing party WHY they are opposed to whatever it is you are doing.

But then, it would take so much longer and so much more energy to come to an agreement upon why your actions or ideas are necessary for a better world. It is easier to simply go out and get rid of any opposition, striking fear and hatred into the populaces' hearts.

I am not saying that no one should die, but ideas are often misconstrued through rumors and misunderstandings in how things are presented. If an idea were truly necessary and worthwhile, why would people oppose it if they could see that?

Fear does not incite love, after all. Fear makes people angry. No one wants to fear things in their life. But love, love leads to agreement and happiness. Love leaves people open to new ideas and new concepts because they do not look at it as something to fear and distrust. Their minds are not clouded by negativity and they can view something new or different rationally and with open objectiveness.

You should understand what I'm saying. Tom Riddle grew up in fear and anger and that is how he has tried to shape the world, but being warped and twisted has had its fallbacks and perhaps even made the old fears worse.

I understand as well. Perhaps more than even you should as I was lucky to find the truth early enough to not become twisted and bitter. This world would have been a much darker place if that had happened.

Vrai Noir

\/ \/ \/ \/ \/

Harry stood with his wand in hand, clutching his trunk and Hedwig's cage. His anger was hidden behind fear and worry, the visage that would be expected of the Boy-Who-Lived.

He was not as uninformed as everyone thought, despite Dumbledore's attempts. He had visited William often that summer and had asked questions. Harry was well aware that the Ministry controlled the Dementors. He didn't know what would happen at the Ministry, but was determined to overcome whatever they threw at him, even if it meant escalating his plans.

\/ \/ \/ \/ \/

"My Lord, we have found someone that knows this Vrai Noir. William Daniels is a shopkeeper in Knockturn Alley, but he would give us no information on Vrai Noir. There was some force within the building itself that would not allow us to pry any information from him."

Voldemort nodded thoughtfully, "Do not pursue information from Daniels. It will be a waste of time and effort. I will contact him myself at a later date. Now there is another matter that needs to be discussed. Know that I will discover the truth one way or another from every one of you. Why did you wish to join me? And is that still what you want from being within my services."

\/ \/ \/ \/ \/

It was half twelve at night. The entire house was asleep, silent on the second floor. All except for one set of sliding feet that came from no visible force. One door opened and closed, not even a shadow slipping through. Within the dim library, the air shimmered and moved like water, revealing a slim young form, shorter than he should have been by only an inch or two.

A single candle was lit by a Muggle cigarette lighter and a book was chosen from among the dusty shelves. Harry sat in a cleaned armchair with the book entitled The Left Side of the Dark. He opened it to a small piece of brown parchment that was used as a bookmark and he began to read.

It made no sense with his current plans to ignore the darker books which Mrs. Weasley had forbidden them all from reading. It made no difference to Harry if he read the books in the light of day or the dark of night. Either way, he would read them and he had already sequestered a number of texts into the bottom of his trunk for the school year.

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