10 – Resurrecting the Name

Snape couldn't believe what he'd heard. "Cyrus invented the Dark Tourist? A mudblood?"

"It's a good thing too because his ruse as Voldemort would have been up."

"Why is that?"

"When Cyrus finally caught one of the original Berat vandals, something went terribly wrong. He accidentally killed one of Zagros's sons and when Philip found out, he was going to tell the Chief Protector."

Snape couldn't hide his disbelief and even shook his head a little.

"Go on, read the next article." Riddle's slender fingers pointed to the next page.

The Berat Inquirer – Volume 295

Voldemort Attacks Chief Protector's Son

From the Glass House on the great hillside, Chief Protector Constantine Zagros gave the most impassioned speech of his career Friday. "Voldemort, the man with the secret identity, the man we have trusted, foolishly, to keep us safe, has killed my son."

Reporters tried to interrupt Zagros, but he raised a hand. "I will answer all questions at the end of my announcement, but I will say this. I will not speak of the circumstances of how my son died at this time, but on his chest I found this." He held a silver coin with scythes forming a V, the Voldemort name, and the motto, "Everything in its right place."

"This is clearly the mark of Voldemort's work. Voldemort is nothing but a dangerous vigilante we should all fear as an enemy. For the person who reveals his true identity, there is a one million Leke reward, paid immediately." Zagros slammed his fist on the podium in front of him, making the windows of the Glass House rattle. "I want to know who this man IS!"

"Philip would have turned in Cyrus if it hadn't been for the Dark Tourist." The fiery auburn color in Riddle's eyes had cooled some. "It was luck that he stumbled upon the doppelganger root. It was luck that he invented the curse—he was a mudblood after all—but it worked. Cyrus used the curse and his father suddenly believed in his heart that what his son was doing was just and right."

"Sir? I have another—"

"Do not call me sir anymore," sneered Riddle.

Snape was taken aback. "I'm sorry, s—"

"Don't be sorry. We have a unique opportunity. When I left Albania, Cyrus died."

He looked at Riddle curiously. "How? Was he sick or old?"

Riddle looked away from him and quickly surveyed the Hog's Head. "How he died, does not matter. What matters is that he trusted me with the name."

"But why would you want his name?"

Riddle looked disappointed, and Snape was slightly ashamed that he was asking questions so quickly before trying to understand the details in front of him. "The name," said Riddle, "might not be well known around here yet, but it is a strong name. And what it can become is what I'm interested in." Riddle handed one of the V coins to Snape.

Snape took it and turned it to the side with the hooded man sneaking up on the villain. Voldemort's motto, Everything in its right place, was glowing in soft green.

"I changed the Protean charm to make that standout more. This is our chance to build a legion of followers to put our kind in their right place."

Snape looked at the words again—Everything in its right place—and really let them sink in. He didn't say anything for awhile but finally looked at Riddle head on. "It makes sense. Real wizards should be making the decisions. We have abilities that no one else has."

"Muggles are useless."

"And so are wizards who focus more on Quidditch than magic. Wizards who pull pranks—"

"I couldn't agree with you more. This is why I have hand-picked someone like you, Severus, to help lead us to where we deserve to be."

"Sir—"

"I think it's time that you call me, Lord Voldemort."

Snape said it in his head a few times, and it seemed strange. He'd always thought of Tom Riddle as a sir, a sign of respect for one of the most talented wizards to ever walk through Hogwarts. But when he said, "Yes, Lord Voldemort," out loud, it did feel right. This was the wizard who understood people like himself, who wanted to lead them to their rightful place.

Riddle stood from their table, and as Snape said the name again, "Voldemort," it was as if the man before him had somehow grown taller in the past hour.

Outside of the Hog's Head, dusk had turned to night, and the shops and row homes of Hogsmeade had become eerily quiet. Snape watched the blood drip from the severed boar's head as the new Voldemort gave him instructions.

"I don't want anyone to know about this," said Lord Voldemort. "Anybody. Give me your word."

"Of course. I promise, Lord Voldemort."

"The doppelganger root could be our secret weapon. And I summoned you here tonight, instead of waiting for the Christmas Challenge, because I need you to get more."

"How much more?"

"As much as you can," said Voldemort coldly. "There might be use for it immediately. And we should be the only ones who know about the Dark Tourist."

Snape's face lit up as he experienced a taste of exclusivity. This was better than being anointed the head of the Slug Club or being Dumbledore's pet student. "I… I am honored, my Lord."

"Good. Is it correct that no one knows you're headed to the Forbidden Forest tomorrow?"

"My Lord?"

"All of our owls have been kept secret, have they not?"

"Of course. But I didn't know you wanted—"

"You told somebody?" Voldemort lowered his voice.

"No, no," said Snape. "I only asked Slughorn if he had it for potions. He told me it was too dangerous to retrieve in the Forbidden Forest. He doesn't suspect anything."

Voldemort looked into Snape's eyes, and suddenly he felt light-headed as if he were going to fall over. Voldemort pressed him further. "Are you sure Slughorn is the only one? I respect that you inquired about the root, so you could get it for the Christmas Challenge and impress me."

"How did you know that?" Snape wobbled on his feet a little and moved to sit on a large rock.

Voldemort didn't address his question. "And I now understand that perhaps I wasn't clear on how much of a secret the doppelganger root needed to be. Even if you did not mention my name in association with it." He took a few steps closer to him and looked directly in his eyes again. "But, I need to know. Is there anyone else aware of your plans to go to the Forbidden Forest?"

"Lily Evans."

"Who is Lily Evans?"

"Just a friend."

Voldemort didn't look convinced. "Just a friend? Has she told any of her friends?"

"No. I don't think she would do that."

"How can you be sure?

"Because we trust each other."

Voldemort laughed. Snape recoiled from the noise. It was something that he hadn't heard from him very often, maybe ever, and it was all but condemning his apparent lack of indiscretion.

"And," said Snape more forcefully, "because she's coming with me and wouldn't want to get into trouble. She's a favorite among the teachers, especially Slughorn."

Voldemort quieted. "Perhaps I have misjudged. Maybe I should meet this Lily Evans."

"Perhaps," said Snape. He lowered his eyes to the ground, his hand clenching his wand.

Voldemort noticed this protective reflex, and his expressionless demeanor broke. He looked almost surprised by Snape's reaction and studied his face curiously, searching for something more. "Perhaps she, too, could be a friend of Voldemort." His gaze intensified examining Snape's every movement.

"Perhaps." Snape continued clenching his wand. Whether this was intentional or he was unaware, Voldemort could not tell.

"But for now, I have one more request. Voldemort should stay between us. I should be known as Riddle in Hogwarts until I give further notice." He held the scrapbook in the air, and for the first time that night revealed his yew wand. Voldemort mumbled something and flames slithered out of the wand, slowly encircling the scrapbook and then biting into it, completely engulfing all of the articles, notes, and pictures in flames.

"Sir! What are you… ?"

The scrapbook turned to ash almost instantly. Years of Cyrus's work had become a secret that, now, only Snape and Voldemort would know.

"The only Voldemort people need to know is the one I create." Voldemort looked pleased at the little pile of ash resting at his feet.

Snape struggled to find meaning in this. A gust of wind ran through Hogsmeade and scattered the ash, and it was as if Cyrus's lifework had never existed at all. "Yes, my Lord."

"Tomorrow, in the Forbidden Forest, you can begin the work of the real Lord Voldemort."