INTERLUDE V

Slughorn's health was beginning to concern him.

Masters of the Mind Arts were known to resist his Imperius Curse, if given enough time. A disciplined mind was half of what was required to break the curse, after all. Slughorn had been under his control for over a month now, and while his mind remained in a constant battle with the curse, his body was suffering all of the repercussions.

Mana required energy, normally through food, drink and rest, or through the far more convenient rituals that any sensible wizard would place upon themselves. Slughorn was not sensible and there was no way for even him to eat the amount that was required for an around the clock attack on his mind. As such, his Mana was being drained from all the fat and muscles his body contained.

That was not good.

The entire point of bewitching his old Head of House was to have a scapegoat when all was said and done. If he stepped into the Great Hall like this, in front of Dumbledore like this, it would be obvious he was under another's control. And there was only one spell that could subjugate a Master of the Mind Arts, and only one sorcerer who could cast it.

He might as well put a front-page advertisement on the next edition of Wizarding World News:

THE DARK LORD HAS RETURNED!

Tom shook his head. Keeping Slughorn trapped in house was the only thing to do. Sending a note to McGonagall that he was feeling under the weather, and wished to go home for the holidays, was the only thing he could do.

The only thing.

Tom's arms, folded as he leaned against the wall while observing the work of his wayward servant, tightened and his fingernails dug into his upper arms. He hated having his options limited.

He had summoned Snape to come and restore Slughorn to his former incandescent glory. He had come immediately, afraid of earning the wrath of his master. Or at least, that was the facade he had put on.

Snape had always been a tricky one. Recruited while he was still in Hogwarts, he had come to him already proficient in the Mind Arts. Tom hadn't liked that, as he preferred to teach his servants Occlumency and learn who they were and what their darkest secret was in the process. It was always a risk to recruit users of the Mind Arts, as they might always be putting on a performance for the rest of the world. He hated surprises, especially from his servants. Snape had been too useful to turn away or kill, but he had always made Tom wary, and that made him angry as he was the one who was supposed to be in control, of both his servants and himself.

Tom resisted the urge to pinch his nose, not wanting to show any kind of vulnerability before those in the room. He might just be projecting. After all, he had studied the Mind Arts before graduating Hogwarts as well, and he had used it to play one role after another, whatever was required of him for any given situation.

Still, it was Snape's information that sent him after the Potters. Perhaps it had all been a ploy by Magister Dumbledore? An elaborate trap to finally destroy him?

Tom spoke now, knowing that if he didn't, he would spend hours examining every step that had led to his downfall, as he had a thousand times before. "Well? What is your prognosis?" He still found it a little disconcerting to speak with another man's voice.

Snape tensed at his voice but did not speak. Torrington approached from his place by the door, drawing his wand and jabbing it sharply into Snape's side. "Answer him when he speaks to you, filth!"

Tom repressed a smile. There was nothing quite like generational loyalty.

Snape looked briefly insulted at the fact that he was being threatened by a man over a decade his junior, before he remembered his place. "I will recommend a strict potion regimen for our Lord to give him, General." He spoke respectfully, clearly remembering their last meeting at Slughorn's party. "However, Slughorn is not a young man. The regimen will hide the effects of the curse, but it will take its toll on him. He might not live to see another Christmas."

Tom relaxed. That was fine as far as he was concerned. His plan would be onto a completely different stage by then. "You may return to the Magisterium."

Snape bid a hasty retreat out of the room, while Torrington watched him go with the air of a hungry man denied a delicious meal.

"Easy, Elijah." Tom warned, with Quirrell's smooth voice. "Our Lord will exact his punishment, not us."

Torrington still looked anxious for activity, so Tom gave him some. "I'll need you to help Agarwal in the Forbidden Forest." He did not look happy with this mission, and Tom could hardly blame him. "Oh, and I'll need one Hag. Unharmed." Torrington blinked at this request, but it was a sign of his loyalty that he did not even think to question it. Quirrell was the Dark Lord's newest lieutenant, after all, which meant that his very words were The Dark Lord's will. He watched him go, glad to have diverted his energy into something productive, instead of brutalising Snape as he wished.

As much as Tom would like to see the traitor suffer, he was much more useful to him undamaged. That was the problem with people like Snape; He couldn't seriously hurt him or use the Imperius Curse on him for long periods, as he only grew more and more useful with time.

Grow more useful with time.

He found his thoughts drifting, as they always did since that Halloween night, to Harry Potter. He must be more patient with him next term. After all, he was just a child, still growing and yearning desperately for a father figure. Like Snape, the young Potter would only grow more useful to him in time, so there was no reason to rush him, and every reason to try convert him.

Tom left the room and walked towards Slughorn's study. He really needed to stop thinking of time the way everyone else did, as though it were something finite. It wasn't. Not for him. He was an immortal now.

Time was meaningless to him.