Brief British Cultural Notes:

Carlisle has a silent 's', and rhymes with pile, style. The stress is on the second syllable, like car-lie-ul. The 'r' is also silent in our accent (at least, standard English of England/ British accent), as with how we (people with the Queen's/ BBC English/ South East of England accents, like most Harry Potter film actors) say 'are', 'car' and 'far', etc. (In England, pronounced, audible 'r's in words are probably confined to the South West, which we associate with farmers'/ pirates' accents. Like Hagrid has in the books and films! Arrrr me harties! The actor who played Hagrid in real life has a generic South of England accent like Voldemort or Severus/ their actors in the films.)

Carlisle's a county town/ cathedral city (capital of a county/ city by virtue of having a cathedral) in the far north of England near the Scottish border, but also a surname.

For those who don't know, who might be interested, counties in the UK are not like counties in the USA: they are amongst our largest geographical divisions, and are the equivalent of US states (e.g. New Hampshire is named after our county of Hampshire). E.g. we know it's canon that Harry is from the county of Surrey, Voldemort is from Yorkshire (originally one county but now divided into four, North, South, East (Riding of Yorkshire, it's just different because it is!) and West).

A cathedral city might have only a population of a few thousand, and might be considered a village or small town if it didn't have its cathedral giving it legal city status (e.g. Ripon, North Yorkshire, a cathedral city, population 16,700), whereas many places have huge (by our standards) populations that would mean they would be considered cities in most countries, but are only towns, due to having no cathedral (e.g. Bournemouth, town in the county of Dorset, on the coast of south central England: population 465,000). Such is the bizarre nature of the English legal system. I say English, not British, because... don't get me started on how English, Scots, and Northern Irish law are different, but Welsh law comes under and is called English law, and the Welsh don't really get a look in, or we'll be here all day... !

(I really should stop calling these brief but, you know, after spending a lot of time in the company of the Dark Lord, one starts to pick up a penchant for alliteration. See what I even did there?! Penchant… Arrogant arse! I 'spose there are worse habits of his that could have rubbed off on one!)

Onwards with the story!

Chapter Eight

The Devil's Delight

"Interesting. Very, very interesting. And you say he kept her for ten minutes? And she looked hurt, or offended, you say?"

"Yes, my Lord! And worried!"

"A full ten minutes, you say?"

Obviously the Dark Lord did not wish to draw attention to exactly which parts of the conversation were of most interest to him.

Hence he stressed its length.

Which was of no significance at all.

Unless one counted the fact that the man had risked drawing attention to himself with such a lengthy 'little chat'. Had thought it worth the risk.

"My my. Ten minutes. Such a lot of information to convey in such a short time. Interesting. Very, very interesting."

Well, the fact that the man had attempted to instruct her in how to fool him, Lord Voldemort, at all, was of interest.

Let alone the contents of that particularly instructive lesson-

"And he deducted as many as seventy House Points?"

Again. Not remotely of interest. At all.

"Good work, boy!"

The Dark Lord preferred to hear reports from recruits in full, early on. He could establish how reliable they were. How truthful, that way. His informants. If they did not know (from direct experience) that he could simply rip the knowledge from their minds-

"I overheard practically every word, my Lord. The charm worked like a treat, just the way you showed me! And I got a good look of her face, when the class came in!"

"Good boy!"

The Dark Lord patted the young man's head.

His hand rested in the thick dark curls. And remained. The fingers embedded.

The hand felt heavy. And. Weird...

"Congratulations! You're a keeper. How does it feel? To have informed on your teacher? Your favourite, isn't he?"

Miles Carlisle was suddenly somewhat less articulate than when he had delivered his report.

"Best to get any troublesome moral qualms out the way early on, I always say. But you have demonstrated loyalty! And proficiency! Admirable qualities, you'll go far, Edmund. Would you like some Turkish Delight?"

"Um, it's Miles, my-"

"Vulgar, common name, that."

He didn't say 'no offence'. As he had no wish to avoid giving any.

"I give all my favourites nicknames. Do you recognise the reference?"

"Ummm-"

"Dear oh dear, and we were doing so well, now you babble inanely! Mutter inarticulately! You've not read 'The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe', then?"

That vaguely rang a bell.

"Isn't that one of the ones on the List?"

The list of banned reading materials of filthy muggle provenance.

"Yes. But that doesn't answer my question!"

"No I've not, I- I mean, it's banned!"

"And you were never tempted to rebel? To break the rules?"

Voldemort stepped forward, standing right up close, whispering in the boy's ear.

"Aren't you... tempted, at all? By the prospect of it?"

Somehow his next whisper was even quieter.

"Forbidden knowledge?"

"No my Lord. I mean, it's banned for a reason, right? And just, like, all a load of mudblood-loving bollocks!"

"Such candour."

Such compliance.

"Charming. Refreshing. How old are you, boy?"

"14, my Lord."

"So talented. So young. But just how talented, one wonders- Would you like to become Minister for Magic, one day? I could mentor you!"

"Gosh, my Lord, I- really- That'd be incredible!"

"Gosh, quoth he. Charming. Little quaint old fashioned turns of phrase you have, my dear! I should say. My dear young man. You're very talented, Miles Carlisle."

"Really, my Lord? Thanks!"

And if he believes that, he'll believe anything.

"You have such... skills. Which I could put to such good use. You'll go far. Very far indeed. Very, very far. The Ministry is just the start. If your aspirations show no bounds- Just think what we could achieve. You and I." He whispered: "Together! Sside by ssside!"

"I- I dunno what to say. This is amazing! Thanks so-"

"Don't talk!" Voldemort snapped, abruptly.

Mile's face fell.

Voldemort's voice was honeyed and sweetness and light once more.

"Let me do all the talking."

He smiled.

Well. Bared his teeth…

Bit his lip.

"You know. I have often wished, regretted- I never had a son. An heir. Yet now I think I may have found... What are you doing at ten?"

"Erm... After Charms at nine, I've got Transfiguration, my Lord-"

"Tonight, not in the morning, boy!"

You dolt!

"Oh. Err... Well I mean like- that's after curfew-"

"I think you'll find, Miles Carlisle, that it's MY castle!"

What was he supposed to say in response to that?!

"Now I ask you again. What are you doing at ten?"

"Err I mean I was planning to go to bed, my Lord-"

"Oh I'll see you in bed around then."

This was in a very casual tone of voice. As if Severus had said: "We've run out of milk." And he had replied: "Oh I'll see if they've got any in the village."

"Errrrm... You mean you'll see to it that I get to bed? That I'm in bed? After I've made my last report of the day?"

"Yeeeees. Yes that is exactly what I must have meant. No doubt. 14, you say? With that voice of yours, you could pass for 12."

Miles shuffled his feet, awkwardly. Embarrassed.

"Oh that's no bad thing! Heavens, no! I should hate to offend you! I suspect you've a beautiful treble voice. I should like to hear you sing for me- and, perhaps, more besides."

He fondled his wand.

"Be seeing you. "Son". Obviously, it goes without saying: you're not to tell anyone. You're to tell no one. Of what has passed between us. And of that which follows. Swear me that!"

The urgent tone of voice was genuine.

Miles Carlisle's expression was easily readable.

As were his feelings.

Confused.

Concerned.

"We mustn't have the other Houses know that you work for me now."

The Dark Lord's tone was relaxed, once more.

"And it's not quite clear who can be trusted in our own House. As I say, not even your own Head of House can be completely trusted. Perhaps not at all. For all either of us knows."

There was a nod of understanding. At the (seemingly) logical explanation.

The restoration of trust?

"Well goodbye! My little spy!"

The young man smiled at that. With pride.

The Dark Lord patted the boy's head again. Ruffled his hair. And smiled.

This time, indulgently.

Of course, he wasn't remotely interested in any prospect of going into partnership with Miles Carlisle. Or in any of his qualities and attributes in particular. Beyond the obvious.

Compliant.

Honest.

Eager to please.

And young.

So young.

The Dark Lord smiled, well, more like, smirked, with the slight flicker of one side of his mouth.

What a voice!

As yet unbroken.

But how long would that remain the case?

In one sense of the expression?

Or perhaps both?

In service to the Dark Lord...

A/N:

Oooh. How darkly sinister! What on earth can the Dark Lord be playing at? And how on earth can he get away with such antics, after Severus's warnings? Or will he, even?!

Just to be sure my non-native English speaking readership follows: a boy's voice breaks, or becomes broken, when it deepens. But of course, a person, of any age, can break, become broken. Perhaps have a breakdown. Eg. I think Lucius tries to goad Wormtail by calling him a broken wreck of a man, at one point in another story.

On a less dark note: I love the fact that rebelling in pureblood supremacist society constitutes reading children's literary classics (it did then and still does now)! Ooh, the rotters! They'll all go wrong like Edmund, if they're not careful, and so sorely tempted! 'Come over to the Light side, my pretties!' and all that...

I may or may not get a bit of a bollocking and then some in the not too distant future from a certain greasy-haired git of a gentleman warlock for, seemingly by now, revealing that the wizarding world is a real place instead of my original 'let's pretend' and 'I'm writing as if it were real' premise, to protect those concerned. I never have been any good at keeping secrets. Or would someone good at keeping secrets say that?... I mean I think he'd rather you all thought this was all fictional, and he'd be mortified to know that this has become something of a biography, or historical account. Oh well. He can bugger off and all. Moving swiftly on! (But is this being written in the modern day or is someone transcribing notes now, whenever that is anyway, written years and years ago? No one can know who lives and survives before the proper time, after all!)

To return to the present: Many thanks to my four new followers and two new (and first) favouriters! Really, seeing people interact with the story like that really spurs me on, so all you favouriters and followers deserve credit for keeping the story going for all the rest of us, and my profuse thanks for getting me motivated! I used to get emails notifying me when I had new favourites and followers and I don't now, so sorry if the thanks wasn't at the exact time when added this, and is a bit belated, but it's really appreciated, all the same!

PS: next chapter is actually uploaded here and edited and ready to go. Don't buy cheap half price USB sticks. They break, and you lose all your chapters! But luckily a v techy friend just helped me out to recover stuff so I didn't have to rewrite everything (which was really daunting frankly!) Phew!

PSS: a certain person who wants to win the contest in my other story: please please pretty please don't refresh the chapter 50, 70 times. It gives me a heart attack as I think oooh yay I have nearly a hundred new readers! Oh no my writing must be crap as no one moved on the the next chapter! Then I realise it's you and laugh indulgently (I must have laughed solidly for about 20 minutes the first time. It was so funny! Initially...) Then it keeps happening and I keep getting a heart attack! :) And it really mucks up my chapter stats! ;) Aww I love that you're so massive a keen bean fan of course. But the idea is that the contest is to encourage people to share the story with their friends! Who will enjoy it like you too, the reader. But also up the readership and get myself out there a bit :)

Take care everyone, see you Saturday, promise! :) x
(PSSS: for those who read it, Love and War are Far From Fair, just editing the next five/ six chapters that are ready to go, one may go up tonight, might have to wait til Saturday if I don't finish work/ study tonight in time).

TTFN, Ta Ta For Now!

(PSSSS: Germany wins for fastest chapter open! Of course you did, and we love you for it! Right, I'd better get back to my Persian Zoom class... ;) )