A/N – I'm going to be introducing a concept regarding horcruxes in this story which addresses something I thought didn't make sense in the canon Harry Potter books. What bothered me was the each time Voldemort was reborn, he would have had as part of his rebirth, a reconnection with what was left of his soul. I always thought that each rebirth should have seen a summoning of part of his soul from one of the horcruxes which was created. He used the diary to try and resurrect himself in Chamber of Secrets, which was destroyed in the attempt. Surely that would have seen the soul shard reabsorbed? I think so anyway, so that's the way my story is going to progress. It also means that the horcrux hunt will be very different to canon, but then you had probably figured that out anyway!

Also, not a lot of dialogue in this chapter, that will change over the next few which will be very dialogue heavy.

Chapter 10 – Creeping Death

The body which had until recently contained the soul of Jacob Robinson was getting used to the new things it could do. The soul of Aleister Crowley which now inhabited the body had been given many gifts by Voldemort during the resurrection in exchange for Crowley now hosting a portion of Voldemort's soul.

Crowley had always been interested in the dark arts of Magicae Mundi despite being at best a less than average magician, with only one notable and exceptional talent. He could just about conjure a werelight, albeit a dull one but the higher feats of magic were beyond him. He turned therefore to the dark arts, where attitude mattered every bit as much as aptitude. Through sheer force of will and the power of his undoubted charisma, Crowley had become the poster boy for black magic during his ascent in the early 20th century. He had travelled through Europe, gone to Africa, built his cults, first the new religion of Thelema, then the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, the Ordo Templi Orientis and the apex of his cult-building, the Abbey of Thelema. He was in turns a sadist, a masochist, a dominant high priest, a submissive novice, a lifelong proponent of sex magic with both men and women, an occultist and a spy. He was also cruel and unfeeling, lacking any sort of compassion. Some of his exploits were well known and documented, others not so much.

Crowley was most of all careful. The trail of broken bodies which littered in his wake were somehow never attributed to him or his followers, something he put down to his interpretation of 'divine' intervention.

Now he found that he had skills he could never dream of, thanks to his new symbiotic relationship with Voldemort. Chief amongst them was his freshly discovered ability to apperate, or astrally project as he thought of it. All he had to do was focus his mind on where he wanted to go, concentrate to the exclusion of all other thoughts and he could appear where he wanted to be. This was how he found himself in a doorway in Chancery Lane, London. It was where he had lived in the 1890s and he wanted to recover some artefacts he had secreted in his old lodgings. He found the main door was unlocked and after a climb of some stairs stood before the door for number 67 which hadn't changed much in the years since his last visit.

Obviously, he didn't have a key so he simply knocked on the door. Part of Crowley's success was down to that one notable and exceptional talent he had. Whilst we struggled with almost all aspects of real magic, Crowley had found the secret magical and alchemical writings of Franz Anton Mesmer through some of his connections, and had become the leading mesmerist of his age. Whether it was an ability to supercharge his natural charisma or the only manifestation of his magical abilities or indeed some mixture of the two, Crowley could enchant and mesmerise someone with a certain look and some honeyed words. It was a skill which hadn't left him, if anything was magnified by the fact that the body of Jacob Robinson was a handsome one, in contrast to the heavy jowelled, bald and pock-marked visage of Crowley's original face and overweight body. Jacob had kept himself in good shape, being as he was a keen footballer, designer stubble and dark brown hair which framed his piercing blue eyes matched with a strong jaw meant that he was a good looking guy by anyone's standards.

The door opened and a young woman answered. Crowley flashed a smile and launched into a story about having just moved into the flat below and is trying to trace a problem with the electrics, saying that having checked the wiring scheme for the block he believed the communal consumer box was in the attic which, sadly, was only accessible from the flat. His eyes locked on hers and the young woman found herself unable to think of a reason not to let the charming and handsome stranger in to do his check.

Crowley felt a sensation he had not experienced in far too long. The stomach tensioning anticipation of what he knew he was going to do. The young woman was attractive, slightly overweight but to Crowley that just added to the allure. He had always been drawn to curvaceous women like the proverbial moth to the flame. Keeping his eyes locked on hers he unleashed the full power of his Mesmer like abilities and she was gone. Any free will that she once had dissolved under the power of his gaze.

Crowley loved the feeling of power. He loved knowing that she was now his to command, and he especially loved that she would know exactly what he was going to do to her, whilst being powerless to stop, no matter how much she wanted to. He felt the thrill of his rage powered lust building inside him for the first time in 70 years. It was time to consummate his rebirth. As he approached the woman, he could see the fear in his eyes, which only heightened his arousal. Reaching out he viciously ripped her blouse open, stopping to enjoy the sight before him. "Go into the bedroom" he commanded, following closely behind.

As soon as they entered he threw her onto the bed, and proceeded to unleash decades of pent up lust and fury on his unfortunate victim. She would be left battered and bleeding, not that it mattered to Crowley, after all by the time he left, she would be dead.

He finished raping his victim and with an animalistic roar, knocked her unconscious. All the easier to finish the job once he had came down from his euphoria. He loved the kill almost as much as the rape, and wanted to be back in control so he could fully enjoy every exquisite moment. He wanted to feel her last breath on his face and revel in the power he felt when he took a life. Even without Voldemort's soul shard, he would have killed the woman, but the taint which inhabited him made him even more desperate to kill.

Before that though, he had a task to complete. Going back into the hall, he located the access hatch for the attic, and using a pole designed for the task, pulled it open. There was a new ladder attached to the inside of the hatch which worried him slightly. It was reasonable to expect that people had been in and out of the attic in the time since he had last lived in this flat, if they had done too much work to it, there was a risk that they would have discovered his false wall and disturbed what lay beneath.

With some unexpected trepidation he climbed the ladder into the attic which, as he suspected, had been altered since his last visit. He approached the wall he had carefully installed all these years ago, and with a grunt, kicked it hard. The hollow sound it made along with the splintering noise of 19th century plywood bucking under the pressure of the kick pleased him. He climbed back down the ladder and searched the house for a suitable weapon with which to attack the structure. He found a hammer in a cupboard and returned to the attic to set to work.

It took next to no time to have battered a hole into the wall which he then tore at with his bare hands to expand to a sufficient size to get to what lay behind. Just as he left it over a century before, a small cedarwood box. He lifted it out and holding it tightly, descended back down into the main flat. It was time to complete his activities here and move on.

His victim was still stunned as he re-entered the bedroom, perfect for his final act. As he choked the life out of her, he lowered his face to hers, mouth open breathing in as she gasped for breath. When she finally stilled Crowley took one last deep breath and stood.

Job done.

- oOoOoOo - Prodigal Son - oOoOoOo -

He may have been hundreds of miles away, but the symbiotic connection Voldemort had with Crowley meant that he felt the spike of excitement which resulted in the latter's first killing since his return. It was another symbiotic relationship however which was the focus of the dark lord's mind. Since his return, Voldemort had felt the strange connection he had with his nemesis, Harry Potter. Indeed, he had exploited it to plant the false memories into the young wizard which resulted in an ill-fated trip to the Ministry of Magic. Voldemort had wanted to trick Harry into getting the prophecy which bound them so he could hear the whole thing, but the night went wrong for everyone involved. Potter got the prophecy right enough, but it was destroyed in the fight between Voldemort and his death eaters and the forces of the light. That one of his death eaters had managed to cause pain and anguish in Potter by both cursing him and killing his godfather was of scant comfort, especially as he had not had any further insight into his adversary's mind since that night. It was as if the grief the young wizard experienced in seeing his godfather die had caused something in his mind to shut down.

As he mused Voldemort felt the presence of another approach him and looked up at the man currently prostrate before him. "Lucius, rise. What news do you have for me?" Voldemort's voice was surprisingly soft, beguiling.

Lucius Malfoy rose before his master. "Since the change at the ministry it has been harder to get information. Scrimgeour has more of a backbone than Corneilus Fudge, not that it would be hard, and any subtle attempts to influence his opinion whether by flattery or gold have been rebuffed. Indeed, when I had Rookwood make a much less subtle attempt, Scrimgeour had him arrested. Rookwood's currently in a holding cell, waiting for an appointment with Bones."

"Fucking minister and his damnable ethics. How much does Rookwood know? Can we take the chance on him being interrogated by veritaserum?"

Malfoy shook his head. "When Fudge was in office I dealt with him directly, but I had Rookwood as my go-between with other officials we tried to keep in our pocket. He was present at your re-birth, he knows our plans for Thicknesse, if he was to be questioned before we put those plans in action, it would cause us problems."

Voldemort looked angry which caused Malfoy to take in involuntary step backwards. "Don't fear, Lucius. You won't feel my wrath today, I need that brain of yours in fine order to help me with planning. What would you suggest?"

Malfoy knew that despite his master's words a lot depended on the next few minutes. If Voldemort didn't like his proposals, pain would form a large part of his immediate future. "We stick to the plan but just change the timescales. Bones has 48 hours to hold Rookwood, of which 5 have already passed. That the aftermath of the death of Dumbledore has taken up so much of her time has been a boon, one we can't rely on having for much longer. Our options are we go after one of our two primary targets today."

Voldemort nodded. "We could get Rookwood out by force, but much easier to get things done by guile. Proceed with plan A. Discord begets discord, make it clear that it was I who ordered it. We need to make these bastards know that none of them are safe."

"As you wish, my lord." Lucius knew better than to just leave without being formally dismissed. Voldemort waved a hand to indicate just such a dismissal and his vassal left. His original plan was to take over the Ministry, keeping Fudge in line with a combination of threats and gold. Then the stupid bastard had gone and sparked an argument with The Boy Who Lived, which was only ever going to end one way. Despite the Prophet backing Fudge, it was clear that Dumbledore had been making waves behind the scenes and Fudge found himself on the wrong side of a motion of no confidence. This would force a change of plans. Voldemort found that he was having to change plans more and more frequently thanks to Potter. The destruction of the diary a few years ago saw the first big change, which had resulted in his return to a wraith form. That worked out however, being drawn to another wraith, even if it was a muggle gave Voldemort the opportunity to replace the diary with something else, something even harder to find due to it being sentient and mobile.

Voldemort thought if anything Potter did him a favour, although he wasn't sure there was enough soul left to make another horcrux, he had to try and it had worked. He had lost the biggest part of his soul when the diary was destroyed, he had felt the disturbance in his magic when the ring was destroyed, taking no comfort from the knowledge that its destruction had been what ultimately set Dumbledore on his path to death, and had needed to sacrifice his faithful Nagini for the ritual which saw him reborn. That was the driving force which saw him agree to the pact with the wraith of Crowley. The resurrection of the ancient black magician would give him a ready made replacement horcrux. The ritual however had taken more out of Voldemort than he had anticipated. He had noticed that each time he performed the ritual it was harder and harder to complete, and drained more of his power than he was happy with. That was the real reason Malfoy was spared his wrath.

Voldemort, the self-proclaimed greatest wizard of his time, wasn't sure he had enough magical strength left to cast the curse. He knew that it took time after each ritual for his power to return, but that time seemed to take longer and longer.

He summoned his pet potions master. Snape appeared in short order. "How can I be of assistance, master?" His rich but flat baritone cut across the otherwise still room.

"Two things, Severus. What news from Hogwarts?"

"As expected, McGonagall has been named interim head, the term has been cut short, many pureblood students have been withdrawn already and portkeyed home, the train will be less than half full when it leaves for Kings Cross."

"And next term?"

"I only know what the contingency plans would be following the death of any headmaster. The deputy assumes the position until either ratified by the board of governors and ministry or replaced by another. Tradition dictates that any deputy head not so ratified would leave the castle."

"As I expected. I presume McGonagall will have no issues being ratified?"

"Tradition dictates that the ministry simply rubber stamp the decision of the board, the board themselves all know her, many have been taught by her. There would have been a slight chance of being able to divide the board had Lucius been able to retain his position, as it is she is certain to be confirmed."

"Another reason to wreak vengeance on the idiot Fudge and progress our plans. The second reason Severus, I find myself fatigued and in need of some of your brews."

The sallow form of the potions master simply bowed. "At your command, master."