For the memory later in this chapter: I addressed the memory Severus Snape as "Snape" and the Severus Snape viewing the memory as "Severus".

Chapter Seven

"I told you, he was wearing a hood. I didn't see anything."

Kingsley sighed in agitation, bowing his head and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Behind him, one of his Aurors snickered at his misfortune. Ashley Locke, the twenty-five-year-old witch, proved to be as much as a dead-end as the whole case in general. He had allowed her two days at St. Mungos before asking her to come to the Ministry for some questions regarding the incident.

From what Auror Grey had reported earlier, Ashley had shown up at the Ministry the day of Erik Slore's murder, waving her stub-like arms. Reports say they had been cut off at the elbows by Slore, but luckily, Healers had been able to attach and grow a new set of arms, hands included.

Unfortunately, Kingsley was around too many men who had been injured in the field. There would be a noticeable distinction between her replacement arms and the rest of her body. She was currently wearing a leather jacket and wrapped bandages around her hands, successfully veiling the newly attached appendages.

Even if she had received new arms, the scars, both mental and physical, would always be there.

Still, she was a minx. The witch was sitting unhappily against her chair, her arms crossed protectively over her chest. Her dark, heavily applied makeup gave the impression that she hadn't outgrown her rebel days. The smoky eyes ogled him with an air of lazy boredom and stubborn defiance.

She even offered Minister Riddle an unabashed glower.

"Look, you're wasting your time," Ashley insisted. "On my way home from work, I was kidnapped by a man with a fetish for potions. I was held against my will as he cut off my arms. I watched as he stripped the skin apart to pull out the veins and arteries. After I served my purpose, he threw me in a refrigerator with a ridiculous amount of human body parts. I knew what that meant. He wasn't through with me."

As she recounted the days of her captivity, her crimson lips pursed and her tough-act shattered for just a moment.

Three nights ago, Kingsley arrived at the potions lab in Knockturn Alley. For the first time since he started his training as an Auror, Kingsley had nearly vomited across the floor. Though, he hadn't been the only one who had been sick after seeing Erik Slore's stockroom.

The stockroom aside, Custos hadn't been merciful with his kill and only added to the gore.

Like Estella Zabini, the kill had been messy, but this was far bloodier.

Blood had coated the floors, dripping down into the sewage drain. A large black cauldron sat in the center of the room, filled strategically with pieces of Slore's body. An Unspeakable had boldly reached in the cauldron and held up the Erik's severed head, revealing the eerie smile across his lips— Custos' signature.

And if the storage room hadn't been enough proof of Erik Slore's repulsive hobby, they had found heaps upon heaps of hand-written journals filled with potion recipes that incorporated particular parts of the human anatomy.

"Are you certain—"

She cut him off. "That night… the night Slore dragged me out of the refrigerated storage room…" Ashley paused, her voice straining. "I thought I was gonna die." She looked down to hide her vulnerability. "Slore dragged me toward the same table he had cut off my arms. He pulled me by the scalp and I tried to fight back, but it seemed pointless without any arms."

Kingsley frowned, knowing it was causing her a great amount of trauma to recollect her ordeal. But he needed to know anything he could about Custos. Ashley was their first witness.

"Then Custos came in." She sniffed, looking up, recovering. "He asked Slore if he planned on taking my heart or my liver."

"Custos asked that?" Kingsley inquired, bemused.

Ashley scoffed. "He was being sarcastic, obviously. But Slore answered anyway. He said he intended to take my uterus." The girl gave a humorless laugh. "And then Custos kicked his arse. Royally." She shrugged. "I didn't see much. Slore threw a vial of something dusty to defend himself. Custos then released me, asking me to wait twenty minutes before I went to the Ministry."

"Twenty minutes for what?" Kingsley pressed.

She blinked at him, a wry smile across her face. "He wanted twenty minutes alone with Slore. I heard you found his body cut in pieces inside his own bloody cauldron. I hope that's true, because I couldn't imagine any other death as satisfying."

"And did you?" Minister Riddle cut in, surprisingly staying silent until now. The man leaned against the far wall, near the open door that led to the Aurors at their desks. Riddle hadn't spoken much during the questions and his sour mood from a few days ago still seemed present. "Did you wait twenty minutes before reporting to the Ministry?"

Brunette curls bounced as Ashley shook her head. "No." She looked directly at Kingsley, challenging him. "I waited thirty minutes just to make sure he was finished before I went to the Ministry."

Kingsley stared, unable to find any fault in her attitude.

She had been held captive by a madman and had experienced things no person should ever experience. It was even hard for Kingsley to find fault in what Custos had done. And yet, here he was, still insistent on finding their serial killer. Custos could impress as many people as he liked with his 'good deeds'. But call it what you'd like, it was still murder and Kingsley would have Custos face the very system he believed was corrupt.

He wouldn't, he couldn't stop until the serial killer was in custody.

"He saved me," she said, speaking strongly. "At first, I thought maybe he would kill me. But he put a hand on my head and I immediately felt safe with him, like all my fears and horrors were washed away. He made me feel safe."

Riddle stiffened only marginally, but Kingsley was able to catch the movement because the man had been so motionless beforehand. He raised an eyebrow at the Minister, silently asking if he had something to add, but the man ignored him.

Kingsley turned his attention back on what Ashley had just said, trying to read between the lines and see what had caught Riddle's attention.

He came up empty-handed, only understanding that Ashley wouldn't be forthcoming. She viewed Custos as her hero, as did many citizens of the Wizarding World. Her feelings of security and idolization would make it difficult to find evidence to convict Custos.

"Will you let us view your memories of the night of Erik Slore's murder?" Kingsley inquired, already knowing the answer.

"No." Ashley's bandaged hands curled ever-so slightly. "I give you my word I didn't see anything identifiable on Custos. I already have to relive those memories of captivity with you, I will not produce a corporeal image of them and have everyone view them."

Kingsley nodded, standing up. "Then we have nothing more to discuss, Ms. Locke. I am thankful you were able to speak with us today."

She just smirked in response, declining offers to escort her out of the Department. Kingsley watched her go, slowly walking out of the solitary room and into the Auror Department. He placed his hands in his pockets, leaning against the wall to gather his bearings.

"Erik Slore was not tried or convicted of any crimes," Auror Grey suddenly spoke up from her desk. She tugged lightly on her loose ponytail before trudging up to the floating evidence board. She tapped a picture of Estella Zabini. "There weren't even speculations that Slore was doing anything illegal. With all Custos' other victims, they were at least brought to trial. With Zabini and Slore, we're beginning to see an unsettling realization."

The Aurors sat back in their chairs in order to give their full attention to the discussion. Kingsley gave Auror Grey a firm nod, encouraging her to continue. From the corner of his eye, he noted Minister Riddle lingering in the shadows of the room.

"Custos is able to pick criminals off from the street," Erin Grey summed up. "Somehow, he has the ability to pick his victims without any solid evidence of their wrongdoings."

"Not necessarily," Auror Rowan argued, standing from his chair. "Estella Zabini may not have been tried or convicted of her crimes of killing her husbands, but there was a large portion of the population who had an inkling to her crimes, you included, Auror Grey. As for Erik Slore, there may have been whispers of his doings in Knockturn Alley. We cannot automatically assume Custos has a knack for picking out his targets."

Auror Grey pressed her lips together. "And we cannot automatically eliminate that theory, Auror Rowan."

Sensing the tension in the room, Kingsley stepped forward to intervene before it grew out-of-hand. "We will most definitely keep that in mind, Auror Grey. As for the time being, we can review what we've learned so far." He motioned toward the results of the magical signature that was left behind at the crime scene. "Even if there was a muffler on the wand used at Lady Zabini's murder, the Unspeakables were able to pinpoint a very small portion of the magical signature. The results gave us two wands that fit the signature, Cormac McLaggen and Robert Whistleton.

"Considering Robert Whistleton is twice as old as the late Albus Dumbledore, we can eliminate him from our scope for now. Cormac McLaggen, on the other hand, is our prime suspect. He fits the profile of Custos. He's in a position of power during the day, and in particular, he's a lawyer that works closely with Hermione Granger. He's intelligent, overconfident, and he has Muggle connections from his Half-blood status. He's physically fit and could have learned hand-to-hand combating skills through his ties with the Muggle world."

Kingsley motioned toward Black and Rowan. "Did you find out anything about the dragon device Custos used on Estella Zabini?"

Black raised his eyebrows. "No, the Dragon Keepers gave vague answers as to where an average wizard could get his hands on one. They said it is possible someone could construct one on their own. Otherwise, they aren't closely guarded at their keep. Someone could have easily slipped in and stolen one. Those devices aren't in high demand… imagine that."

Looking toward Riddle's general direction, Kingsley frowned. If they didn't have other leads, Kingsley was afraid he wouldn't be able to snatch McLaggen due to the lack of evidence.

A weak magical signature at the crime scene wouldn't be nearly enough to hold up in front of the Wizengamot.

"And the wand muffler?" Kingsley asked, somewhat hesitant to hear the answer.

Grey perked up, a predatory smile stretching her lips. "I was able to locate a shop in Knockturn Alley that sold wand mufflers. The owner said wand mufflers are especially of interest to him. He told me he remembered selling one to a young man a day prior to the murder." Grey shuffled closer to Kingsley. "He said this young man came in twenty minutes past one o'clock, the same hour McLaggen leaves the Ministry to take his lunch. The owner's description of this customer resembles McLaggen, but we can't make any assumptions. So, I went to the small restaurant McLaggen takes his lunches at every day, and the young waitress verified that she remembers seeing Cormac leaving early the same day the wand muffler was purchased."

His pulse slowed before adrenaline sped it up. "It's not solid proof, but it is definitely enough to bring McLaggen in for questioning. If he has nothing to hide, perhaps he will yield to Truth Serum. Otherwise, he will need to give solid alibies to his whereabouts the nights of the murders."

He then looked back at Riddle, noticing the man was barely impressed. "Minister Riddle, would you like to be present for the interrogation?" Personally, Kingsley was looking forward to the eventual exchange between Riddle and Custos. "McLaggen is an alpha male; certainly he would become threatened around another male of his—

"McLaggen is not an alpha male," Riddle whispered darkly. "Custos is an alpha." The Minister then exited the Auror Department, obviously finding that his attention was needed elsewhere.

"What crawled up his arse and died?" Sirius muttered.

. . Dreams . .

Harry sat cross-legged on top the counter, flipping through the various documents.

He was currently situated in one of the abandoned houses in Crest Valley, the town that housed the infamous Tom Marvolo Riddle. In fact, Riddle's manor was only a three-minute walk away. He'd been watching Tom Riddle for the past few days now. Usually in his Animagus form, sitting on one of the branches of the pine trees, he would watch the traffic go in and out of Riddle's expansive manor.

And there was a lot of it, foot traffic.

The men and women he had identified were pure-bloods or very prominent figures in society. It hadn't really surprised him. No, the thing that surprised him the most was that the traffic going inside hardly ever came back out.

Riddle's house must have an unwarded room that guests could use to Floo or Disapparate. Either that, or there was something else that Harry had yet to put his finger on.

There was also a special ward outside Riddle's manor. It denied entrance to some visitors, while others walked right on through as if it were a mere inconvenience. Harry had never seen Riddle himself, but that could mean the man's wards allowed him to Apparate inside.

Still, even when there were guests outside the wards who wanted entry, Riddle was never one of the people to grant entrance. It was always a respected pure-blood or someone Harry couldn't identify. Lucius Malfoy, especially, seemed to be a regular at Riddle's manor.

No matter.

When Harry had seen a redheaded Frenchmen arrive at the manor with a bundle of rolled-up scrolls, he had been immediately interested. The Frenchman had met with Lucius Malfoy at the gates and was allowed access. This had transpired for the last two days, and today, Harry had acted.

Behind him, the redheaded Frenchman was tied up in a chair, his limbs weighed down by the heavy blocks Harry found around the abandoned house. The man stirred, groaning loudly and most likely feeling the effects of Harry's earlier attack.

"Good afternoon, Didier Blanc," Harry sang cheerfully, his back turned on the waking man. "I was beginning to wonder if you would ever wake up."

The man grunted, his emotions flickering between confusion, surprise, and fright. Really, the redhead was a frail little-thing. It had been easy to gain the upper hand in a physical attack and Didier hadn't even gone for his wand before falling unconscious to the ground.

Harry had taken the liberty of gathering the man's parchments, and more happily, he had discovered the pouch of gold coins. According to these documents, the French were the supplier. The money was for Lucius Malfoy, agent to Tom Riddle.

Harry thought it was only fair to dig into the Minister's business. After all, Riddle had attacked his Doppelgänger in an alleyway and had used Legilimency on it. Riddle must have then Obliviated the Doppelgänger, as Harry saw no recollection of the incident inside his copy's mind. It was a bold and obtrusive move on Riddle's part. Harry had every right to invade the Minister's personal life.

Besides Riddle appearing years younger than his Minister counterpart, Harry knew there was more to the wizard. He had always imagined Riddle being a dirty politician underneath all those sugary smiles and phony conversations; he just never knew he would discover something this incriminating.

Imagine what else he'd find if he investigated someone who was free to pass Riddle's wards freely. Didier Blanc was carrying this convicting information and he was still treated like an outsider, forced to wait until Lucius Bloody Malfoy came to fetch him from the front gates.

Tsk tsk, Riddle. Try to protect your assets more carefully.

"Come now, Mr. Blanc, don't be shy."

Harry closed the documents, twisting on his arse in order to face the man. The small redhead was sitting prim and proper against the high-backed chair and his silk tie was being used as a blindfold. Nonetheless, Harry still wore his deep hooded cloak, not taking any chances.

"You may call me Custos if you wish to address me." Didier stiffened and Harry laughed pleasantly, narrowing his eyes to study the man more carefully. "Do all Frenchmen know of Custos, Didier?" He hadn't thought Custos had gone past the ears of local Brits. They didn't like involving other Ministries with their problems unless absolutely necessary.

"No. I don't live in France anymore; I'm simply a representative between Britain and France." Didier then paled drastically when he replied more thoroughly than intended.

"Ah, yes. I hope you don't mind if I took the liberty of giving you something to drink while you were unconscious. Veritaserum to be exact." Harry looked down at the flask in his fist.

With a leather-clad thumb, he played with the lip, musing that he needed to brew some more. It was particularly useful.

"You- you…" Blanc reared against his restraints and began to whip his head back and forth in attempt to throw off his blindfold. When he realized it was impossible to worm his way out, he slouched against the chair in defeat. "Are you going to kill me?"

Harry traced his lips with the cool steel of the flask, watching the man in delight. He had never taken a hostage before, but he realized it was almost as fun as killing the scum that walked this world. "No I'm not going to kill you," he replied coolly. "Unless, of course, you have committed an immoral crime…" Harry teased.

Blanc had a relatively clean conscious. Harry didn't get ill around him; in fact, it was almost surprising how clean the man was considering what kind of deed he was developing with Malfoy and Riddle. Then again, the man had admitted that he was a simple representative between France and Britain.

A messenger didn't necessarily get his hands dirty.

Thinking of his victims, Harry wondered why he felt a small bit of uncertainty when it came to Slore. His other kills had been either charged with crimes or tried. They were then let go by the justice system or the charges had been dropped. His prey were always wizards or witches who had cheated the justice system and walked free, able to repeat their crimes repeatedly.

Erik Slore had never been brought to the attention of the Ministry, the Aurors especially. Yet Harry had killed him anyway. He had killed a man who might have been treated fairly by the Ministry and sentenced for his crimes.

Granted, if Erik hadn't been stopped, then he would have killed another innocent that night. Harry had started killing in the first place because he wanted to show the Ministry that they had done wrong in letting those men and women walk free. Just like they had let Remus Lupin walk away from his involvement with James' and Lily's death.

He was after men and women who committed brutal acts. Most importantly he was after men and women who walked free from the life-sentencing of Azkaban.

But… what if he came across another individual like Erik Slore? Whose soul was so dark and tainted that it made Harry vomit? Surely there were other monsters out there that were just as skilled at hiding their crimes as the Potions Master. The Aurors wouldn't have a clue about him and they wouldn't have the chance to bring the criminal to the courtroom.

Perhaps Harry didn't have to kill these individuals, but leave them incapacitated and hail the Aurors? It was an idea, but it was also risky. There were a lot of things that could go wrong with that plan.

"No! I swear I haven't killed anyone or—"

Harry dropped the flask on the ground, startling Blanc into silence. "I know that, fool. I told you I'm not going to kill you." He frowned, his earlier enjoyment now gone. "What I want to know is who came up with this plan." He tapped his fingers on the stack of parchments, knowing full well the man couldn't see him. "Who came up with the idea for Muggleborn children to be removed from their homes at a young age, Riddle or the French?"

"Riddle," Blanc muttered through tight lips. "It's a good plan."

"I didn't ask if it was a good plan or not." Harry swung his feet back and forth over the edge of the table. "Are the French funding the construction of new Wizarding orphanages?"

"Yes."

"The French were always pushovers." Harry snorted breathlessly through his nose. "They got a whiff of Riddle's power and decided to put their tail between their knees and go along with his ideals. I'm sure they'll follow in his footsteps and steal Muggleborn children from their homes and fake their deaths."

He pushed the documents away from him, disgusted.

He knew exactly what Riddle eventually aimed for. The Minister wanted complete separation between the Muggle world and the Wizarding world. The documents claimed that Riddle would use the Trace that they put on underage wizards and witches in order to track down Muggleborn children as soon as birth.

At that point, Harry had been unclear what the documents were hinting at.

"Why does Riddle want to fake the children's deaths? Why doesn't he just Oblivate the parents?"

Blanc groaned as he struggled to resist the Truth Serum. Eventually, he gave in. "The Obliviate leaves too many loose-ends. There are many networks of Muggles who know when a family is expecting a child. If we Obliviate only the parents, it will be suspicious to the others when the family claims they never had a child. Faking the death will give final closure."

"Smart answer, Mr. Blanc," Harry praised dryly.

"Riddle is a very intelligent man." Didier smiled smugly at Harry, even though he couldn't see him. "Why are you even pushing your nose into this business, boy?"

Harry scoffed. "Consider me a concerned investor. Besides the French, Riddle obviously plans to use our taxes to fund this. I have every right to know where my money is going." He reached over to pick up the heavy pouch of money. It was an outrageous amount. "Besides, I know many people would be interested in knowing this."

Hermione would be absolutely furious. She adored her Muggle parents.

Riddle may think he thought of everything, but there were also a great deal of loose-ends in his plans. At least, the documents weren't as detailed as they should have been. From reading, Harry learned the Minister also planned to lower the age of Hogwarts students to eight. His orphanages also seemed lavished with highly educated and experienced handlers and constant supervision.

Though, truthfully, Harry saw it as Riddle raising generations of readied soldiers, being brainwashed at a young age.

And to think, Riddle even planned on adding a few classes at Hogwarts, including the History of Pure-bloods and the most controversial topic— The Dark Arts. Obviously, he was also intending to drop Muggle Studies from the curriculum.

"You wouldn't dare tell the public," Didier warned. "This hasn't been executed yet. Minister Riddle will deny it and—"

"With his signature over everything?" Harry interrupted. "With my memories of your confessions? With a suspicious amount of currency withdrawn from the French Ministry, the same total that matches the amount in this very pouch? Oh, and let's not forget the plan to add Departments to the Ministry, including a Department that will be responsible for taking mere babies from their family and staging their deaths. Yes, Riddle can deny it all he wants, but I have the proof here. Even if he does walk away from this, his reputation will be tarnished completely."

That shut Didier up immediately. But it wasn't long before his trap opened again. "You still won't get away with it. My Lord has friends in powerful places."

Harry snickered, pleased with the man's stubborn defiance. "Is that an attempt to persuade me from leaking this to The Prophet? I have a whole Department of Aurors after me and they still haven't identified me. If Riddle somehow found out who I was, I would gladly sacrifice myself to bring this information public." Harry then paused, his grin fading completely. "Did you just address Riddle as My Lord?"

"Yes," Didier replied, either from the Veritaserum's influence or out of his own freewill.

It shouldn't have come to a surprise to Harry, and he hated to admit that it did.

There had been a handful of powerful wizards, all capable of being Lords. Albus Dumbledore had been a Lord-level wizard, and yet, he never requested that they call him 'Lord Dumbledore'. Riddle also had that power. But from what Harry had observed from Riddle's premises these past few days, he also had the followers.

This just became a lot more intricate than before.

Harry leaned back, bracing his arms behind him. If he decided to bring down Minister Riddle, not only was he dealing with a web of sticky politicians, but he was also dabbling in a bloody cult.

Before knowing Riddle was a Lord with followers, Harry hadn't known what he really wanted to do with this information. Turning in Minister Riddle had sounded appealing, but he hadn't decided completely on that course of action. But now… now he wondered what the hell he got himself into.

"It isn't exactly private knowledge," Blanc smiled, thinking Harry's silence was due to fright. "If anyone approached Lord Riddle and asked to be a part of his circle, he would gladly accept them and coax out their full potential. That's why he has so many followers who would gladly die to protect him. You screwed up royally, didn't you, Custos?"

"No," Harry whispered, suddenly grinning widely. "Actually, I think I just stumbled across a larger and more worthwhile prey."

And if he burned his hands playing with fire, then shame on him. It did occur to him that he should back away from all of this now and maybe he could still get away. A Lord could not be so easily underestimated. But Harry truly didn't underestimate Riddle, no, he was just thrilled at having such a powerful predator to challenge.

He leaped off the table, taking the pouch of money with him.

He had a very good idea of how to use this money. And he would even put the donation under the name of Tom Riddle and Lucius Malfoy.

"Wait!" Didier cried, hearing the coins clink together. "You can't—"

"Send Lord Riddle my regards," Harry requested, breathing warmly into Blanc's ear.

. . & Darkness . .

"…to express our outmost gratitude for your heavy sum. Minister Riddle, you and Lucius Malfoy have done a great service in helping the Muggles under our care at Sheltered Hope," Barty Crouch Junior read the letter aloud for the occupants of the room to hear.

Severus eyed the young man, displeased at the humorous grin stretching the boy's lips.

"What does the Sheltered Hope do for Muggles?" Barty wondered gleefully, looking up at a stiff and displeased Lucius Malfoy. "What great service have you done for them, Lucius?"

"I have no idea," Lucius hissed softly, his nostrils pinched with rage. His pale eyes turned slowly to their Lord. "Who—"

"Well I know," Barty continued, well-aware of the tense atmosphere in the room and doing nothing to halt his goading. "The Sheltered Hope is a charity group consisting of wizards, Lucius. These wizards and witches are located in the Muggle world. They raise money from our world and convert it to Muggle currency in order to give it freely to needy Muggles."

Lucius' face paled sourly and he deliberately rotated his body around to peer closely at Barty.

"They have an organization like this?" An offended sneer lifted his lips. He turned back to the Dark Lord, who had remained silent through Barty's provoking. "My Lord, certainly you can disband this organization. To think, Muggles taking our money and using it..."

"But Lucius, you and our Lord clearly donated a hefty sum to their organization. Wouldn't it be strange to suddenly terminate the organization after donating to them?" Barty laughed cruelly, waving the letter in Lucius' face, clearly not fazed at the man's rising temper.

Severus clicked his tongue, not impressed with the younger man's antics.

This was a serious matter. Their Lord had depended on France's incoming gold in order to put forth his plans of building substantial orphanages and creating a new Department within the Ministry. Lucius had alerted their Lord yesterday that Didier Blanc had not arrived to their meeting.

It wasn't until a newly initiated follower had taken notice of the gold trail that they found Didier Blanc.

Lucius had recounted the events to Severus this morning. The blond had accompanied his Lord and followed the trail of gold coins that were placed strategically outside the wards. The trail had ended at an abandoned house not far from the Riddle manor. Inside, they found Didier Blanc, alive and tied to a chair. His pants had been soaked in his own urine and the documents were scattered across a table. The majority of the gold had been stolen, save for what small amount was laid for the trail.

Apparently the Dark Lord had been furious. Severus could only imagine, as Lord Riddle hardly ever let his temper get the best of him.

And then Minister Riddle had received the letter from the charity.

Severus turned his attention on the Dark Lord. The man sat motionlessly behind his desk, his hands cupped against his mouth. His crimson eyes followed Barty's tactics with dark indifference.

"We'll get the gold back easily enough," Lord Riddle murmured quietly, effectively silencing Barty. "Custos was intentionally poking fun at us. He knew we could get the gold back and he knows Lucius' and my views on Muggles."

"You believe it's truly Custos, then?" Lucius inquired, leaning forward and bracing the tip of his cane against the ground. He was being especially reverent toward the Dark Lord today, as he felt Didier Blanc's safety had rested with him. "I assumed Custos was a serial killer, not a jester. What business does he have with politics?"

Riddle's eyelids lowered and a lazy smile stretched. "I have recently taken a personal interest in Custos. He wants to return the favor." The Dark Lord didn't look too furious. In fact, he looked downright pleased. "He has shown that he is capable of digging up information regarding my… intentions for the Wizarding world. He will not disclose this to the public."

Severus raised his eyebrows at the self-assured tone. "Can you be so certain?" he inquired doubtfully.

Crimson eyes sparked with enjoyment. "I can be certain, Severus. Despite the potential consequences, Custos and I are engaging in a challenge that will determine the bigger predator." He looked over their heads and into the distance. "Though, I grow displeased with the distance. It's time we close the gap and continue this behind closed doors."

"You mean reveal him?" Barty bounced at the prospect of getting to know the identity of his obsession.

"Possess him," the Dark Lord correct simply. "I will get him under my thumb before he does any more damage."

Severus leaned back against his chair, pondering the Dark Lord's intentions. There had never been anyone who had tested the Dark Lord before. Could it… could it be possible the man was obsessed with Custos just as much as Barty was? Though, their obsession originated for different reasons.

Barty simply idolized Custos. Tom Riddle, on the other hand, acknowledged Custos as a worthy ally, an equal in wits. An equal…

Severus wasn't following the Custos case very closely, but he did know the serial killer remained a good distance from the pursuing Aurors and the Dark Lord.

The Dark Lord found his match, it would seem. It had only taken the man decades to find it. And to imagine, the Dark Lord had enough anticipation over the prospect of having an equal that he could all but admit it out loud.

"You're considering letting him join your ranks?" Lucius inquired, outraged. "My Lord, with all due respect, he has belittled you and he has even killed a member of our own. In any case, there are many of us who follow you that he would outright refuse to accept. He hunts people like us."

"With the right amount of coaxing, he'll join, although the leash won't be as taunt as you'd find acceptable." The Dark Lord smiled cunningly. "I will protect you, Lucius. There is no need to fear him so much."

Barty snickered and even Severus had to smirk at Lucius' affronted expression.

"I do not fear him, My Lord. He kills like a Muggle. Surely even I could control him."

The Dark Lord straightened his shoulders and his teasing matter grew cold. "Now you are simply being foolish, Lucius. Underestimating an enemy does not suit you. Custos may prefer blades or fists over wands, but that makes him the more dangerous. He is skilled at an art we have no knowledge on." He raised a taunting eyebrow. "He is a master actor and a skilled manipulator. How do you think he was able to fool and bring down Estella Zabini?"

"Do you have any suspicion of his identity?" Barty inquired, butting in before Lucius could respond.

Tom looked over at Severus before offering Barty a dismissive wave of his hand. "I will not disclose his identity until I am absolutely certain."

Barty grabbed the back of Lucius' high-back chair and leaned over, intrigued.

"You haven't figured out his identity yet, My Lord?" At the tense expression crossing the Dark Lord's face, Barty straightened from his slouched position and gave a curt nod. "Not that I could find fault in that, My Lord. Custos relies on his secrecy and being anonymous. Of course he's going to protect it fiercely."

Lucius craned his neck around to offer Barty an exasperated stare. "Our Lord knows perfectly well who Custos is; he simply wants evidence to back up his accurate intuition." With a cool sniff, the blond turned back to the Dark Lord. "Do I have permission to take care of this Sheltered Hope charity as I see fit, My Lord?"

The Dark Lord took hold of the letter on his desk and set it aside, his head cocked. "I trust you to treat it clandestinely, Lucius. You may do whatever you think is warranted." He then looked up at the trio of wizards before him. "That is all, gentlemen."

Severus stayed seated, knowing he was called here today for something else entirely. A pensive sat on the bookcase behind the Dark Lord, reminding Severus what he would need to sacrifice.

He had been asked to share a memory with his Lord. It had been a peculiar request, but after much deliberation, Severus had reluctantly agreed to share it. Memories were such private things, after all, powerful enough to leave an individual feeling exposed. However, choice did he have in the situation?

Riddle could ask permission, but everyone within his ranks knew it was a false consideration.

As soon as the door closed behind Barty and Lucius, Tom turned his full attention on Severus. "I must confess to you, Severus, that I was played for a fool."

Severus pressed his hands into his lap, his shoulders stiff and his expression cool. He trusted the Dark Lord more than anyone else, and yet, he was also aware of the ulterior side of Tom Riddle.

The man liked to be diplomatic. He liked to be polite, tactful, and generous. As a politician and as a Lord, he liked to treat the people who followed him with as much reverence as a man of his caliber could. And in return, his followers idolized him for something other than his overwhelming magic.

They were loyal to a fault and they would do anything to impress and protect their Lord.

Yet, Severus knew there were more layers to Tom Riddle. The man was extremely dangerous and cruel. There had yet to be a situation where the Dark Lord's true side came out, but Severus knew it was there, brimming beneath the surface.

At times, he saw past the carefully crafted expression In its place, a lethal predator watched his loyal subjects with wicked delight.

Knowing what really lied beneath made Severus hesitant about Custos and the Dark Lord becoming closer. For the most part, Tom Riddle was given everything. Rarely, the Dark Lord would work hard to get what he wanted, but other times, most the time, he used his power and charm to get what he desired.

Tom Riddle intimated people, they were awed, and they were star-struck. They bent over backward to appease the man and the Dark Lord took it greedily.

But then there was Custos. The serial killer was directly challenging the Dark Lord; he was directly challenging the Minister and his Ministry. If Custos didn't give the Dark Lord what he wanted, then Riddle faced two choices. He could kill Custos, like a spoilt child who couldn't get his favorite toy, or he could pursue further and try to meet Custos halfway.

The end result would be intriguing. And Severus intended to see how the Dark Lord maneuvered when he was faced with a stubborn obstacle.

"I am chasing my tail with the identity of Custos, just how he intended it," Riddle continued, ignorant to Severus' inner-thinking. "I have constantly doubted my intuition to the point of beginning to look for other suspects. Only, I finally stumbled across something that may determine the outcome of this guessing game."

"Oh?" Severus murmured, interested, but knowing the Dark Lord didn't truly want him to offer his input.

Riddle's smile curled. "One of the only witnesses who interacted with Custos claimed she suddenly felt safe with him, as if all her fears were erased and replaced by trust. And then there is the predicament with Custos' signature. All but one of his victims died with a smile on their face, as if they enjoyed the kill." The Dark Lord peered at Severus. "What can possibly manipulate emotions so easily, Severus?"

It took a moment, but Severus stiffened as he pieced together the conundrum. This was why the Dark Lord wanted this particular memory.

"That is virtually impossible," Severus spat, his lip curling. "Harry Potter is not Custos."

Riddle tsked at the show of such naked disgust. "That wasn't what I asked you, Severus. I'll ask again. What, or who, can possibly manipulate emotions so easily?"

Onyx eyes glimmered unhappily. "A powerful Empath," he growled out, "One that has the mature power to manipulate one's emotions. There are but a few Empaths and the majority of them can only feel basic emotions. They would also be able to leak weak waves of manipulated sensations. For Custos to be able to penetrate past his victims' obvious agony and fool them to think they're enjoying it, he must be powerful."

"Exactly," the Dark Lord praised, a coy smile on his lips. "I asked you if Harry Potter was an Empath. You confirmed that he was."

"He is," Severus drawled in agreement. "But Harry Potter is… he is not capable of parading two lives with such feat. He is not—"

"Slytherin?" the Dark Lord finished, reaching behind him and gathering the pensive. "We can discuss Harry's intellect after we view the memory. From what you described, this was not only the point where you learned his Empathy had increased in potency, but this was also his breaking point." He stood up, pushing the pensive closer between the two.

Severus refused to move.

"Come now, Severus, don't be so dour. You will accompany me in this memory."

Severus stared at the pensive. It was an extremely potent memory for him. The idea of reviewing it brought back the conflicting emotions he had buried underneath his Occlumency barriers. He disliked Harry Potter, and yet, this memory was painful for Severus to relive.

It was a period of losses, of hopelessness. Dumbledore had just recently passed away and the Potters had been killed.

Most importantly, Lily had been…

And her proud son had been left in shambles.

His gaze turned to the side of the office, surveying the large portrait of Merope. The witch watched him back, her gaze soft and understanding. She was silent, as she always was in the company of wizards other than her son.

"I agreed to show you this memory," Severus began quietly, turning back to look at the patient Lord. "I trust that you will not violate it or use it against either Potter or myself."

Riddle studied him seriously, before his crimson eyes softened similar to his mother's, a rare act indeed. "I give you my word, Severus."

Severus grimaced, not believing his Lord's cunning act, before he leaned forward, pressing his face against the surface of the pensive. The Dark Lord followed a moment later.

"You've finally decided to show up," Black snipped as soon as he saw Snape approach down the corridor. Black stood outside the door to Potter's hospital room. Behind him, a few Weasleys slept on a conjured couch with a silent, but a conscious Granger sitting at the edge.

"Not everyone can drop their work for a Potter, Black," Snape hissed. "Stand aside, I don't need to waste anymore of my time here than necessary."

Severus and the Dark Lord appeared in the hallways of St. Mungos, next to the quarrelling figures of Black and Snape. It wouldn't be long before he was once again in that dark room, facing one of his past regrets.

"Potter asked for my presence here," Severus explained quietly to his Lord as Black began snarling in anger. "Black was being especially sour that day. It was the first time Potter was conscious since the ordeal with his parents. The boy refused to let anyone inside his room. Imagine Black's surprise when Potter declined to speak to anyone but me."

"I thought you and the boy were at odds," the Dark Lord murmured, finding little to appreciate in the memory as Snape and Black continued the cutting insults. "What could possibly fuel him to seek you out at a time like this?"

"We are, we were at odds," Severus confirmed, tilting his head in invitation as Snape finally bypassed Black and stepped in the room. "The rest will answer your questions."

He followed the Dark Lord as they entered the dark room, the door closing behind them.

The hospital room was usually magically altered to fit a current patient's mood and needs. Severus visited the hospital several times, but he couldn't remember a time when the staff allowed a room to be so dark, especially for a recovering patient who had gone through Potter's hell.

There was a small light at the bedside table and it omitted a warm glow. Yet, Severus still needed to adjust his eyes to the dark to grimly nod at the empty bed.

Snape came to a halt next to the empty bed, his sneer deepening. He gave a sniff, no doubt smelling the minty-scent of the monitoring spells the hospital staff placed on their patients. It was evident that Potter was still in the room. "Is the bed not quite to your tastes, Potter?" Snape searched the room when silence met his inquiry. "Normally a patient prefers the lights after an accident such as yours. I suppose you're always a special exception."

"You label it as an accident? I doubt even a smart man like yourself, Professor, knows the extent of what truly happened." The voice that answered was quiet, hoarse. "I prefer the darkness when I'm awake, but I require the lights on when I sleep. You're not so far off."

Snape whirled around, immediately spying the small figure crouched in the corner of the hospital room. Severus, however, was slower to turn. He reluctantly turned his attention on the broken figure in the corner of the room. The boy's appearance was still as startling as the first time he had seen it.

The first thing he had been aware of was the skin, startlingly pale and gaunt. There were healing abrasions across his face and there were deep and dark circles underneath his wide, glazed eyes. Without the glasses, without the arrogance, Snape and Severus looked into Lily. The boy's hair was long and it covered the majority of his face with limp and lifeless strands.

Snape, taken aback at the sight, did his best as he schooled his features into stern impassiveness. "I am sorry for your loss," he said, his tone practiced and controlled, yet trying to sound sincere.

"No you're not," Potter responded. "You may be sorry to hear of my mother's death, but you aren't sorry for me or my father. I didn't ask you here for false consolations, sir, that's Sirius' job."

"You do not wear pity well, Potter," Snape barked, upset at the mention of Lily. "Why did you ask me here then? Get to the point and save me the melodramatic croons."

Potter scoffed softly, placing his forehead against his drawn knees. For a moment, he was so still, so quiet, Snape believed he had fallen asleep. But Severus knew better. "You're a Master Legilimens. You're an endless void," the boy breathed. It was then when Snape noticed the slight wheezing in the boy's lungs when he took a breath. "You're comfortable to be around, I can't sense you like I can the others. They're even outside the room, but I can still feel them."

"Potter—

"My Empathy," Potter interjected, sensing Snape's impatience. "It's… grown. It's gotten stronger. I trust you, sir. I wanted to ask if you could take a blood sample and look for any discrepancies."

Snape stared at the folded figure in the corner. "It is reported that Empaths can advance their ability if they experience a particular potent event. The stronger the emotions they experience, the stronger they become. Your increase in sensing others—"

"No!" Potter interrupted fiercely. He suddenly reared his head up and stared unseeingly at Snape. "It's not just sensing. I can sense people more deeply now. I can almost taste them. I can taste how tainted they are, I can pinpoint every emotion I'm getting from them. And it's harder for me to control my own emotions as I transfer mine to them."

"I will take a sample of your blood then, Potter," Snape replied crisply. "Is that all?"

The atmosphere darkened and became heavy. Severus stiffened, knowing what was to come. From the corner of his eye, he was mindful of the watchful Dark Lord. The man had been incredibly shielded since they entered the room, his crimson eyes absorbing everything that transpired between the two.

"Teach me Occlumency," the boy whispered hoarsely.

Severus pressed his eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose as his counterpart sneered. "Is that a request or a demand, Potter? Either way, I am declining." He made his way toward the door to the hospital room. "I wish you a speedy recovery."

"Please," Potter choked out. It stopped Snape short.

Suddenly, Potter wheezed and began standing up. Standing, the boy looked no older than a Fifth Year at Hogwarts. He was frail, weak, and trembling. Both his hands were bandaged and his leg was in a support cast. He wore no shoes or socks and the fiery-red flesh alerted the occupants that new skin was growing on his feet.

The boy had been tortured. Judging from the wheezing in the boy's lungs, it was clear that the torture wasn't just superficial. And judging from the haunted and eerie look in those green eyes, the torture also extended mentally.

"I'm sorry for what happened last time you tried to teach me Occlumency. I had no right to look in your pensive. But I need this now," the boy pleaded.

"You intentionally invaded my privacy. You think I could trust you with such intimacy again?"

"I was fifteen," Potter argued, taking a shuffle closer to Snape. "Dumbledore forced me to work with you in order to shield my Empathy. At the time, I didn't think I needed it, I didn't understand what you sacrificed in agreeing to teach me."

Snape gave him a dark look. "The answer is still no, Potter."

"You don't know what it's like!" Potter cried as Snape reached for the doorknob. Severus forced himself to keep his eyes on Potter, watching as the fragile frame began to tremble more fiercely and the eyes begin to tear. "You loved her."

Snape turned quickly to stare at Potter through angry onyx eyes. "Don't," he ordered sharply.

Potter shook his head, his bony shoulders hunching forward. There was almost a desperate panic in his eyes as he leaned closer to Snape. "Could you possibly imagine watching the woman you loved being tortured? Could you imagine hearing her screams and pleading for days on end?" Potter began breathing heavily as his face contorted in turmoil. "But that's not even the worse of it. They raped her."

Snape and Severus both turned pale, the cruel words echoing in his head as fiercely as they had the first time.

"I felt every last minute of it," Potter wheezed, giving a choked sob as he clutched the roots of his hair. "They found out I was an Empath and they did it intentionally. I felt her humiliation, her fear, her boundless hate and devastation." He doubled over. "I can't get it out of my head! I can't wash them off me!"

Snape stumbled away from the boy, opening the door and refusing to turn around.

"Coward!" Potter screamed hoarsely after him, his breathless and strangled sobs echoing through the memory even as it began to dissolve.

Severus was thrown back in his chair, his stomach tight with anxiety and unease. He stared at the pensive, the memory winking at him mockingly before swimming away in the depths of the pensive, surrounded by other regrets, other mistakes. He refused to meet the eyes of the Dark Lord.

Finally, after a pregnant silence, the man spoke up. "The boy was at his breaking point, pleading to a Master Legilimens to teach him to construct a simple Occlumency barrier. And yet, you refused to teach him. Surely he wasn't that incompetent."

"Don't judge me," Severus replied harshly. "I live every day regretting walking away from him."

"I'm not judging you, Severus," the man replied. "I just want to know why." The Dark Lord took Severus' silence before continuing. "It's obvious your personal feelings for Harry got in your way of teaching him. You always held a remarkable hate for his father. And from what I just observed, you still harbored feelings of love for his mother."

Severus stiffened as he finally looked up at the Dark Lord. His protests about bringing up his love for Lily died on his tongue. Those crimson eyes pierced through him, rendering him vulnerable and bringing him back to those days before he learned Occlumency.

"Our subconscious hate for each other made it impossible to link our minds fully together. He claimed he trusted me, but his subconscious felt differently. My hate for his father and for his very existence made it impossible on my end."

"And yet, you couldn't have even pushed that hatred aside, even if his parents had died? He was reaching out to you, Severus. Surely you could have taken him in as your student."

His Lord was taunting him, mocking him. They both knew exactly why Severus refused to teach Potter.

"What do you want me to say, My Lord?" Severus asked bitterly, his lip curling. "That I was a coward? That I completely turned my back on a broken boy because I didn't want to have access to Lily's last days of torment?" Severus breathed deeply, unfazed and meeting the Dark Lord's impassive stare. "I didn't want to see her suffering. And I didn't want Potter to see my vulnerability. He is much like his father."

"Was," the Dark Lord corrected. "The Harry Potter you knew is no longer that broken boy, but a cold and determined man." Riddle ran a careful hand along his jaw in contemplation. "It's truly amazing," he breathed, "How one small event can change the course of the future, how one event can completely alter a man's soul." He considered Severus. "There are hardly any records regarding the deaths of Lily and James Potter. What do you know of it?"

Severus looked away. "All I know is that they were tortured, Harry included. The only man Potter was able to identify was Remus Lupin. They held the trail and Lupin walked away."

"You must have some idea who was after the Potters," the Dark Lord pressed, his tone cooling. "Do not lie to me, Severus. Torture in the Wizarding world is no random act."

He shook his head, meeting the Dark Lord's eyes squarely. "Truthfully, I have no idea who targeted the Potters. Don't you think that if I had known who was behind it, that they would be dead already?"

The Dark Lord suddenly leaned back in his chair, his eyes distant as he mulled something over. "Harry doesn't know who his attackers were," he murmured. A cruel smile lifted the corner of his mouth. "I may have just found the necessary bait to keep him at my side."

"If he truly is Custos," Severus intercepted. "Potter—"

"Has changed," Riddle hissed softly. "The boy you once knew is no longer, Severus." The Dark Lord tapped his fingers together, still piecing something together. "I have strong evidence that links Custos and Harry together as one entity, but I am also hesitant to be certain of that fact."

Severus remained silent, knowing when to intervene and when to let the Dark Lord mull.

Just minutes later, the Dark Lord straightened and a predatory glint lightened his eyes.

"I think I may have found a way to get Custos in our possession."