"Harry." Tom tried, rubbing his temples to sooth the oncoming headache.

"NO!" She shouted again, making moves for a quick get-away. He lifted his gaze and she hit an invisible barrier before she even reached the door. She kicked it in anger but it easily held.

"Harry, sit down." He instructed in a tone that made it very clear how ridiculous he thought she was being. When she turned back her eyes easily gave away her feelings of betrayal even as she tried to glare, and he rested his hands graciously on his knee, the action appearing completely casual. It was actually a preventative measure – to stop himself reaching for his wand or directing his magic in any way. The child was infuriating! She had no right to feel betrayed. She didn't even know what he was suggesting yet, just assumed, and if he was to be perfectly honest with himself, which he was not, he would say he was actually offended or perhaps even hurt that she didn't trust him.

"I'm not going back there!"

"Sit down!" He ordered more forcefully. "I'll not say it again." After hesitating a moment more she obeyed, but refused to look at him, instead choosing to appreciate the intricate rug at her feet while she crossed her arms. She didn't know why she was even listening to him: if he was going to throw her away, back to the Dursleys after showing her this new world and all the possibilities it held now he had a body, why on earth should she still be his friend? She bit her lip hard to stop tears from forming. She knew this was going to happen.

Tom sighed, but didn't give her thoughts much attention. He was pretty confident she'd come round to his point of view. If she would allow him to finish explaining, that was. If she couldn't bear to lose him after the revelation that he'd murdered her parents in cold blood, he doubted she would give him up over something as trifling as this. Returning to the Dursleys wasn't even the worst thing he was asking her to do for him.

"Now," He began again, a fleeting thought that he shouldn't have started with the bad news easily batted away – she would have to learn no to jump to conclusions without all the facts some time... "You will need to return to Surrey temporarily," He stressed "And for the most part it will be for appearance sake only."

"I don't wa…" He held up a hand.

"Let me finish." He said in the nicest way he possibly could, telling himself over and over he could not gag her to make her listen, as then she really would have cause to look at him that way. God-damn those eyes, he thought, before giving her the basics: "Now, while this body is better than nothing, I would like to have my own once again – surely that's reasonable?" She didn't say anything, but he could see the intrigue starting to distract her petulant glare. "Once I regain my body, there is a risk certain enemies will become aware of my return and, being the fools they are, will want to make sure you are still safely tucked away at the Dursleys." And far from my reach, he neglected to add. He had to err on the side of caution when it came to Dumbledore. He didn't believe the old man would raise an alarm if he discovered signs of his return, at least not without proof, but he had to assume he would check on The-Girl-Who-Lived and if he found her to be missing, could easily manipulate the public into a high-profile search at best and all out hysteria at worst – celebrity worshiping morons.

He was at least glad to see Harry's face screw up at the mention of those wishing her to stay with the muggles. That was at least something that had been all too easy, though not for her, he supposed.

"Therefore, he continued, "On the off chance that they come snooping, you need to be seen living as normal with your so-called family. You will not be returning for long, but it would be foolish not to take this small precaution." He had only discovered one spy in the neighbourhood, a squib, easy to control, and would take care of the Dursleys after a short time. The wards around Privet Drive were all there for protection and would continue to function perfectly well if the house was abandoned. This was really all he could do for the moment. If someone was sent to check on Harriet after she'd been extracted then he'd just have to deal with it, but he'd seen no evidence of wizards coming by before and therefore hoped he could at least buy himself enough time to get organised before he was outed or had to defend against the ministry and Dumbledore to keep Harry safe.

Sometimes he still thought back to his original assessment of their friendship – utter insanity. He didn't need to go to any of this trouble in order for his plans to move forward. He could dump her back with the muggles and get on with his life, as sure as he could be that even after such a betrayal she still wouldn't try to warn anyone. Love was such a weakness.

"How long?" She ventured in a small voice.

"A month." Forcing himself not to react to her wince, he continued. "You do realise we were only supposed to be meeting up last week – I gave no indication that you wouldn't be returning to that place." He didn't have to explain any of this, but for inexplicable reasons, he needed her to know he wasn't betraying her.

Instead of conceding his point, she pushed forward, and he let her – at least she was moving on.

"You said there were two things? What's the other?"

"I require your assistance in the ritual to restore my body."

"And she agreed?" Lucius blurted out in shock before quickly remembering himself, "My Lord." He amended, relieved when Voldemort waved a dismissive hand to show there would be no punishment for his boldness.

"Of course she did." He returned in a manner that suggested he thought the man a fool to believe she wouldn't jump at the chance to assist the Dark Lord Voldemort. In truth, Tom thought she was crazy. Her priorities were all wrong if nothing else. She'd reacted badly when he ordered her to return home temporarily, but was almost eager to take part in a ritual that would be painful and required her to sacrifice her own blood. He was certainly glad for her willingness – it was a central ingredient in the ritual he'd chosen to use. The moment he thought about how grateful he was that she would make such a sacrifice he turned his attention back to Lucius. It wasn't the gratefulness that disturbed him, it was that he didn't begrudge her his gratefulness.

"Did you find somewhere suitable?" He asked, and his servant went on to describe a small village in Cornwall that was about to lose 42 residents. The ritual required a whole host of organs from these people, and Voldemort wouldn't be particularly bothered, except that to be acceptable they had to be harvested personally, so he was looking at a long repetitive night up to his elbows in various unpleasant bodily fluids. Maybe there was some cosmic balance to be kept, some divine justice, he thought with a wry grin – he certainly wouldn't he trying to kill any more 15month olds any time soon! Getting a body was altogether too much hassle.

"Hello muggle." Even in a borrowed body, Voldemort couldn't conceal the vindictive satisfaction he felt at finally being able to see Vernon Dursley with his own eyes. But he had to control himself – now was not the time for punishment.

"Muggle?" Vernon's face screwed up, and he was obtuse to the present danger as he reacted with disgust, glaring up into sinister red eyes. "You're one of those, aren't you? Are you the one the girl's been with all this time? Well you tell her she can't go missing for so long, or else keep her for good so we can tell people she's moved away!"

The wizard tsked in amusement. The muggle's fate was already sealed, why should he care what the man had to say? He was merely an insect that crossed his path.

Without another word, he grabbed the large man and apparated them to somewhere more private than the street outside his workplace. The man didn't handle the journey as well as his 8 year old niece and ended up losing his lunch all over the hard concrete floor, but it didn't take him long to get his bearings and soon enough he was back to that peculiar shade of purple that suggested he was about to explode, and so to prevent the oncoming rant, Voldemort quickly gagged the man with an unyielding piece of leather that pulled too tightly across the entire lower part of his face. He gave him a few moments to stop panicking, but when he looked like he was about to attack the Dark Lord promptly threw a nasty Cruciatus curse. He would take his time hurting this man later, but for now this would do. One of the reasons he so favoured this curse, beside the glorious pleasure it gave, was that it quickly made a point. To inflict that level of pain with so little time and effort was useful, and people were usually quick to do just about anything to avoid feeling it again.

He stopped thrashing about (in the puddle of his own vomit – Tom thought it suited him), but it took a while for him to bring his breathing under control, restricted as it was.

"Now, are you ready to listen?" Vernon lay on his side, shaking in the after effects of the curse and nodded, his eyes wide with fear. "That's better." This was the man's rightful place, cowering and afraid at his feet, begging for a mercy that would not be granted. "Harriet Potter will be returned to you for one month and you are going to treat that little girl with the respect she deserves. Surely you can do that? Just one short month of remembering your place and then she'll be out of your house forever." Vernon managed to push himself up, sitting back on his heels he nodded again – anything to be away from the man before him. "Are you capable of showing respect?" More nodding. "Then show some!" Voldemort spat out in a hiss. At Vernon's look of panicked confusion he continued: "Do you really believe a disgusting muggle has the right to look upon his masters?" The man quickly diverted his gaze to the floor. "And where do you think your place is before me?" Vernon desperately wanted to look at the man, to question what he meant, if only with his eyes, but stopped himself. The Dark Lord smirked – the man wasn't completely brain dead after all. "Let me give you a clue: you're half way there." Slowly, and unsurely, he leaned forward, placing his hands on the floor. "Keep going." Voldemort encouraged pleasantly. Soon enough the muggle had his forehead and palms on the dirty concrete, lying completely prostrate. "So much better."

Tom pushed the man's head to the side with his foot, before pressing down with his boot enough to hurt; pudgy cheek pushed viciously against the floor. Vernon was shaking again, knowing very well how utterly helpless he was, how vulnerable to the man's whims – he could crush his head at any moment and he couldn't do a thing about it.

"You can go ahead and call for help if you like. You will find the others share my views and they'll let me know, and if I have to take valuable time to come back here you'll be punished severely. I'll torture you son and wife for months, and I'll make you watch while I do." It was a promise.

With a wave of his hand, Vernon's gag disappeared, and the man immediately tried to talk.

"Ah-ah. The only thing I want to hear from you is 'yes, master." Do you understand your orders?"

"Ye-yes Master." Tom's smile was terrifying. He really couldn't wait to get this man in his grasp properly.