January 17th, 1998

Harry is seventeen

Lupin is thirty-seven

Snape is thirty-eight

"This isn't what you think, Harry--" Lupin attempted to begin to explain, before Severus Snape interrupted him quite rudely:

"I'd suggest you get moving, Potter," Snape said coldly.

Hate boiled up into Harry. He still would never forgive Snape—never...

"Of course Voldemort has me where he wants me! SNAPE IS HERE! Or did you forget that because of him, the Order's stronghold is DEAD!"

"Harry!" Lupin roared, "Go back NOW!"

"For all I know, the tip you gave me was nothing...there's probably nothing waiting for me in the Pyrenees other than mountains and snow is there?" Harry kept his voice cool and controlled, his brilliant, dark green eyes shooting daggers at Lupin, daring to question the werwolf's loyalty.

Hermione and Ron were startled out of submission and pulled Harry away urgently.

"Harry, they're right," Hermione pleaded, "Voldemort lured you out here for a reason. We have to go back...and you, Harry, you committed to the Order, and you should have NEVER returned here in the first place--"

"She's right man—

But Ron went white, his face collapsing.

"NO!" Hermione screamed, tears already streaming down her face.

"What? What happ—

Ron collapsed to the ground, without a trace of foul play on him.

"GET OUT OF HERE!" Lupin roared, "GET OUT! GET McGONAGALL!"

Snape was already screaming curses and spells at a group of Death Eaters that surrounded a lone figure in the middle—white face, red eyes...Snape? He wasn't on their side...why was he...Harry's mind grew hazy, but then he snapped back to reality: Ron was dead and his goal was to kill Voldemort...and Snape. He wanted to save Snape for last because it was Snape who had caused him the most pain...Voldemort may have taken his parents, but now he was about to give them back, but it was Snape who took everything else...Harry's last hopes...murdered, hatred...

Harry screamed with rage and hurtled himself at the Death Eaters.

"YOU—KILLED—RON!"

"HARRY!" Hermione sobbed, raising her wand, shaking, "Petrificus Totalus!"

Harry froze and collapsed.

"MOVE! I NEED TO APPARATE YOU THREE BACK—

"I'm afraid you're too late Lupin," a high, cold voice said.

Harry lay on the ground staring up the sky—the clouds were sparking with electricity...

"It starts...now."

A bolt of lightning laced down, diverging in three separate bolts. One struck Snape, who was at the highest ground, and was, very peculiarly, delivering killing curses at the Death Eaters, another at Lupin, and the last at—

Harry Potter.

Hermione Granger watched in horror, as Harry, still frozen from her hex, flickered and disappeared into thin air as if the lightning had sucked him through and transported him to a differnt place...and time. Voldemort was still cackling, his voice high and cold, but now laced with a glee that had been missing for a very long time. But then Hermione saw something that Voldemort missed. She was sure that some of his Death Eaters, the surviving ones anyway, saw too. Another lightning bolt had streaked towards the ground, from the sky, and it hit two more people.

Just two more.

Twenty-four Years Ago

January 12th, 1974

Lupin is thirteen

Snape, James, and Sirius are fourteen

They were all in the Room of Requirement again, but this time it was James who was doing most of the attempts at becoming an Animagus. Occasionally, he would sprout some heavy, dark fur, and then on the better days he would have a noticeably darker, moist nose and little horns growing out of his head. Remus Lupin had joked that perhaps James' Animagus form was a devil-creature.

It was the middle of their third year, but Sirius had not yet confronted James about what he had found in the Record Room. The result was Sirius' mood kept getting darker and darker, and he became more snappish towards Peter. Remus, with his uncanny ability to observe bestial relationships, had even grown so concerned with Sirius and James' treatment of Peter that Remus had confronted the two of them one late night, when dinner was long over.

"You have to be careful with Peter," Remus hissed, "We're all going to become men one day, and this will come back to haunt you."

James and Sirius simply stared at their friend, unsure how to react. Finally, James let out a huge snort, and Sirius stuffed his mouth with his fist, choking back hysterical laughter.

" 'We're all going to become men one day' ?" James chortled, "Remus, listen to yourself! You sound like my--

James suddenly broke off, and Sirius stiffened--Aaron Potter was still a touchy topic with the both of them although James hadn't realized Sirius knew so much about his father's backstory. Remus just scowled, angry at being laughed at, and slightly confused about the sudden pause in his two friends' hysterics.

"Take it however lightly you want," he said coolly, "But I don't understand how you can be willing to put through so much effort into this Animagus project for me and not even be nice to one of your friends even when I ask you to." And he left the two boys standing in the common room, to get some sleep. The food had been heavy and Remus' stomach was not accustomed to the switch so soon after the holiday break. His family lived on very little sustenance.

James and Sirius held back, a bit abashed from their behavior. A thought flickered through James' mind, just a glimmer of the impending maturity that would finally win its long tug-of-war with the tyrannical immaturity that presently governed James:

I'm only doing the Animagus thing for my own advantage.

James' face flushed with hot shame and he swiftly turned his back to his cohort, Sirius, and followed his friend, Remus, up to the third year dormitories to get some sleep.

"James, we need to talk."

It was ten at night, and James and Sirius were both in the common room, still studying the Animagi diagrams and psychology. Remus, unable to become an Animagus since he was a werewolf, had already gone to bed, and Peter, having just given up, followed, so they were left alone. Sirius' mood had gotten so bad, that the random impulse tojust confront James had finally burst to surface, and with a vengeance.

"About what?" James snapped, and instantly regretted it. "I'm sorry mate, but it's late; can this wait--

"No," Sirius let go of James' arm, "It's been waiting for a while."

...and Sirius told James the whole story of the Record Room and the files with all the certificates of achievements and such, and finally, he was asked by James:

"Why are you so interested in my father?" his tone was suddenly hot and defensive.

Sirius shrugged, "I don't know. It's so weird, man, I just can't get that huge trophy out of my mind from first year--just slipping like that and the first thing I see is this old silver thing, it was so brilliant, and...this is weird," he repeated, "but when I saw those two names, I didn't feel happy anymore."

"You didn't feel happy anymore?" James frowned, a bit unsure what to make of this.

"Yeah, it was like one of those dementors. You know, how Regulus keeps talking about them--just because he went to Azkaban with our father-" Sirius broke off, his face cold with the fury he felt towards his little brother, who he felt would be even more of a toerag when they were adults, like the rest of the Blacks.

"Did you even find out who Tom Riddle was?"

"No mate, I wanted to do that with you. But what did your father do for that special service thing?"

"You know," James said slowly, standing up from one of the armchairs they had been seated in, "He never told me. I knew he did something big when he was in Hogwarts because Dumbledore always mentioned it every time he came to visit--and that was only when he wanted something from Dad--but he would never tell me." James' eyes slowly slid over, locking onto Sirius'.

"Black, let's go raid Filch's office."

Fifteen minutes later, a silvery cloak fluttered onto a cold, uneven, cobbled floor, a slight breeze whispering as it settled, its folds resting on top of another. Two pairs of feet moved silently towards a display case, lit by a magical charm that a professor had probably placed several years ago, the light rebounding off the trophies inside, gleaming.

"Where is he anyway?" Sirius whispered, his voice so soft that it was almost trembling.

"No idea," James smirked, his voice just a bit louder, "So we'd better hurry, huh?"

"Whatever Jamie," Sirius traced his finger over the T in Tom on one of the larger silver trophies. "So what are we here for? This won't tell us what your Dad did for the school."

"Each trophy has a scroll inside stating the celebrated deed."

Sirius stared at James.

"It's a quote, jeez man," James hissed defensively, "McGonagall said so."

But Sirius wasn't listening at all. He was staring, eyes as wide as saucers, to the spot next to the special services award to Tom Riddle, the spot where Aaron Potter's trophy should have been

Should have been.

"It's gone," James stated, his voice despondent.

"Well fuck me," Sirius growled.

"Huh?" James blinked at his friend.

"Come on, mate, this night isn't going to end until we get to the bottom of this," Sirius pulled James roughly along by the wrist, grabbing the Invisibility Cloak on their way out.

Once they were outside, Sirius swept the cloak over the two of them, and he took the lead. When James attempted to ask where they were going, Sirius just shushed him, and kept on walking...towards the library.

"Madam Pince--

"Is asleep," Sirius finished, "And I know how to get in. Just trust me."

They arrived at the misleadingly tiny door of the enormous library, and Sirius took out a pocketknife from his pocket--

"Where did you get that?" James demanded, offended that Sirius had never shown it to him.

"Shut up, Jamie," Sirius said kindly, "It's too valuable to show just anyone."

Sure enough, the door popped open and Sirius muttered a silencing charm to disquiet any alarms or any other kind of auditorial security measures. Impressed and shamed into silence by his friend's remarkable breaking-in skills, James followed Sirius into the short hallway of books before they stepped into the open area that was in the center of the library. Tall shelves of books were bent oddly, to configure with the library's circular shape, and as a result, it was gloomy and very scary at night. At least it would be scary to some people, but as practiced marauders in all things nocturnal, James and Sirius' footing was confident and sure.

"This way," Sirius whispered, "Be sure to overstep the red beams. Silent alarms leading directly to Pince's chambers."

"This is too easy," James muttered, "Maybe somebody wants us to find...whatever it is you're looking for, but not anybody else."

"Who would do that?" Sirius dismissed it.

Dumbledore, James thought, grim. It was the sort of thing he knew the elderly man would do, having watched him manipulate his sometimes shady father into doing certain 'jobs' for him for the good of wizarding and mankind when James was younger.

Finally, they had arrived at an even smaller door. Above the door were tarnished brass letters, some crooked and some straight, labeling the room, 'The Hogwarts Record Room'.

"After you," James whispered.

"Fine," Sirius stood upright and swished the cloak off of the two boys. "Damned thing; it's getting harder to move around in it." James glared at Sirius and snatched the cloak from his friend's clutches and folded it gingerly, carefully. When he looked back up, Sirius had disappeared into the room, so James followed.

Behind him, the door shut--he stifled a yelp, but relaxed when he heard Sirius' chuckles.

"Don't do that," he said angrily.

"It's all right, Jamie," Sirius' voice was soothing but condescending all the same, "Now shall we have a look?" Sirius moved towards the filing cabinets that lined the wall to James' right, and opened a drawer--hebarely had time to make out agold, emblazoned P before Sirius pushed James to the floor.

"Duck!"

The drawer suddenly zoomed open, flying over their heads, the whole room rumbling with the magical force that propelled the forty-something-foot long drawer. Once the rumbling had ceased, the two boys climbed to their feet once they crawled out of range.

"Here we are," Sirius announced, "Potter, Aaron Quirinius." He pulled out a yellowing, but completely intact folder. "Damn this is heavy--oh man, I don't remember it being this heavy..." Sirius trailed off as he strained to set the folder to the floor without it clattering.

James smirked at the sweat that was now popping from Sirius' forehead, "It's a paper folder mate, what's so heavy--

Sirius thrust it into James' chest and James immediately fell over backwards, the folder's weight crushing his chest. Baffled, he sat up, the folder in his lap--how could something so thin and light be...heavy?

"Open it," Sirius urged, squatting himself onto the floor. When James didn't immediately tear it open, Sirius roughly opened the top flap, and the sight which they beheld was quite unexpected.

It was a silver trophy.

Correction: a silver trophy on top of the slim, modest stack of papers recording Potter, Aaron Quirinius' stay at Hogwarts.

"Holy shit," Sirius murmured. That was all that needed to be said.

James strained to lift the trophy onto the ground, in front of Sirius, and he studied his father's seventh year picture, his face grave.

"He looks like an older me," he said, "Only...only the way he looks now," James finished with a sigh. In the picture, Aaron Potter furrowed his brows, his neutral grey eyes turning gloomy. The portrait then rolled his eyes upwards and shook his shoulders, straightening his arms.

"Yup, that's him," James sighed. His father's shoulder-arm gesture was the equivalent to James' intentionally rumpling his hair to make it more wind-blown even if he was just coming from Quidditch.

"Hey," Sirius handed a nice-looking scroll, even if it was yellowed a bit around the corners, to James, "Look at this. Now we know what he did."

Special Services Commemoration at Discretion

The following award hereby presented to Aaron Quirinius Potter by hand of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore shall be utilized for decorative purposes only to commemorate the following special service to the sole wizarding educational institution, Hogwarts, in all of the United Kingdom, but with sole discretion for the sake of the privacy of the awarder and the awardee:

"What does that mean, the award was private?" James raised his head, his eyes questioning.

"Yeah, looks like it. Dumbledore probably gave the original certificate to your dad and then stashed the trophy in Filch's office before it was moved here--

A look of dawning comprehension appeared on James' face, "Sirius!" he crowed, "Sirius, Armando Dippet was Headmaster when my dad was at Hogwarts. He should've awarded this to my dad, but since it was Dumbledore who did and since it's private, maybe Dippet didn't want Dad to have it. So maybe Dippet put it in storage in Filch's office with the rest of the rejects from the trophy room, and since Dumbledore just became Headmaster a few years ago..." James trailed off.

"Maybe there was some kind of sticking charm?" Sirius offered, but his expression still was apprehensive.

"Yeah," James latched onto Sirius' suggestion, "Yeah, maybe there was a sticking charm or some really powerful magic, so Dumbledore only managed to move it here until two years after his succession."

"I don't know," Sirius mumbled, "It's pretty wild."

"Let's see what he did then," James announced confidently, returning his attention to the elaborate certificate, eyes straining to read the curlicue scripture.

...for the sake of the privacy of the awarder and the awardee:

On the date of theeighteenth of June of the year after the death of the Great Wizard of Nazareth, nineteen hundred and forty-three, the subject...Aaron Quirinius Potter...did hereby carry out the action of an attempt to cease the wrongdoings, ramfications, and any succeeding consequences of fellow student and House mate of the greatly renowned and cunning Salazar Slytherin. For this astounding feat, a Special Services Commemoration at Discretion is awarded.

Below that, there was a wax imprint of the same winking serpent and the Hogwarts Coat of Arms. Both James and Sirius were deeply impressed with James' father.

They had known a Special Services to the School award was a great achievement but the most prestigious was a Special Services to the School at Discretion award, simply because not only did the reciever perform a feat meriting a Special Services award, they had to keep it quiet--discrete.

"It doesn't tell us much though," Sirius noted, "I mean, your dad did something major when he was--how old was he in forty-three?"

"He was sixteen," James said quietly, "A fifth year."

"Oh." Sirius' respect for Aaron Potter increased a bit more. "Well it basically said that when he was a first year he took down another Slytherin, and not even Dippet felt that was good, so he had to get a private award from Dumbledore? But..." Sirius looked slyly at James, "That's to be expected. From a bunch of Slytherins and all."

James flew at Sirius.

"Hey--get--gerroff of me!" Sirius yelled, wrestling with James, "You know I didn't mean it like--YAH!"

James had thrown Sirius to the floor one last time and fell over backwards, panting.

"You great prat, James, I said I was sorry."

"No, you didn't."

"Yes I--anyways," Sirius not-so-subtly avoided the topic, "Your dad attacked another Slytherin, but Dumbledore thought it was in good sense, in fact he appreciated it so much that he gave your dad an award behind Dippet's back. I'm dying to find out what that other Slytherin did."

James was tracing his father's name that was engraved in the trophy over and over again, deep in thought. He furrowed his brows at the eighteen-year-old version of his father, who studied James curiously. The secretive but dangerous-looking figure was now tapping lightly on the photo, beckoning James' attention.

"Maybe he can tell us," James said abruptly.

"Who? Your dad? I thought you said he wouldn't tell you."

"Not my dad. Him," he pointed at the photo; the young man looked offended as if to say, "What? I'm not your father now?", but then the figure simply settled for slouching against the frame, arms folded and stared at James. Between two fingers, a slip of parchment casually unrolled, revealing spidery, harsh writing.

"What's that he's showing you?" Sirius asked curiously, adjusting the file so that both boys could clearly see the photo.

"It's some kind of--it's spare parchment!" James breathed eagerly, "There's writing on it too--look here Black, can you see what it says? My glasses are fogged up."

"Simple little fool. Impervio. How many times do I have to do that charm for you? Now let's look here..." Sirius and James, with his very clear glasses, both squinted at the parchment where the eighteen-year-old Aaron Potter was now discretely tilting at them, his eyes gazing at James intently.

"It looks--no, it can't be."

"Riddle," Sirius hissed, "I should've known."

"What do you mean? You couldn't have known that it could be the guy with the funny name."

"I don't know. Both trophies were in the reject display in Filch's office, and...I don't know, they were next to each other. There was just something funny about the both of them."

Now James' father was looking annoyed. He slammed the parchment against the photo, his eyes glaring at James, daring him to dig deeper, further, faster...until he solved this.

"This night won't end until we get to the bottom of this," James repeated, in a soft voice. He suddenly jerked forward, momentarily startling Sirius, and gathered his father's old file and crammed it back into the P drawer.

"Sirius, where's the R cabinet?"

"Over there," Sirius gestured, "Careful mate, the drawer's about to close." As soon as the words slipped from Sirius' mouth, James jumped backwards, narrowly avoiding the powerful burst of magic that slammed the immense drawer shut.

"These things are dangerous," James complained bitterly, under his breath.

"Yeah, well, we're not exactly meant to rifle through these at our heart's content either. Think of it as another security measure."

"I see it," James announced, "It's in the corner on the other wall. Sirius, stop fooling around and come on." James strode purposefully towards the cabinet with a gleaming, curlicue R on the middle drawer. Sirius followed him, muttering angrily.

"I'm getting cranky," Sirius announced, "It's too late for this kind of thing."

"We're almost there--I know if we just find out who this Riddle guy is, everything will be clear."

"Clear? Everything will be clear? Listen to yourself James, you sound like one of those ridiculous wizards that sell private investigation services in Knockturn Alley."

"Stand clear--" James paused, waiting for Sirius to stop yelping after the magically potent R drawer nearly impaled him, "Now, his name was Riddle?" This was rhetoric of course, so Sirius didn't respond; instead he pulled a stark, brand-new folder from a spot in the last quarter of the drawer, glaring at James.

"Looking for this?"

"All right mate, let's see it," James grinned, but his eyes showed that whatever he felt about this, it was anything but cheerful and light-hearted.

"Fine," Sirius muttered warily, "Let's have a look--" James ducked under the drawer and pulled Sirius down to the floor where they could more comfortably examine the files.

"It's definitley a lot thicker than my dad's," James observed.

"We'll see," Sirius muttered darkly, and he flipped the folder open.

Immediately, they were met with an eight by twelve, black-and-white graduation photo identical to James' father's. Only, instead of revealing a more sinister, older-looking James, a charismatic, good-looking young man blinked up at them slowly, bored. The man had straight, black hair slicked backwards in what was a stylish cut in the forties and dark eyes, bridged with heavy brows. His face was carefully structured, cheekbones prominent, but, like James' father, he had skin that was unnaturally pale. The words TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE were printed underneath the photo in block letters.

Sirius swore and then in a quiet voice, he said into James' ear, "I can see why your father didn't like this guy."

However good-looking and charismatic this Tom Riddle was, there was an innate darkness, an underlying evil to the young man that would make saying James' father was sinister prudent. Sirius quickly turned the photo over:

"Let's see what he got a Special Services award for then," Sirius suggested, jabbing James in the ribs.

James blinked, "Oh. Oh, yeah, okay. Well, it says here that he graduated in nineteen forty-five--same year Dumbledore defeated Grindenwald--with high honors." James added despondently, "Other than that, there's not much but a bunch of achievement certificates, article clippings, essays--" James frowned over a particular thick essay labeled A Discourse on Immortal Possibilities, "This guy was pretty serious, but I don't see anything that merits being hexed into oblivion by my dad."

"Wait," Sirius commanded, "I found something promising. It's an infirmary record from the time your dad got that Special Services award for Tom Riddle. Apparently he was recovering from some really nasty injuries that he got--that he sustained in the first week of June. It even says that he was assaulted--by another student. Three guesses who, James," Sirius looked up, smirking.

"Dad wouldn't have attacked him for no reason. Did it say how badly he was injured?"

Sirius glanced up at James warily, "It doesn't say in here...butwhen I wasin here a while back, I saw something on your dad's misconduct printout thatwouldprobably put away someone like Riddlefor at least a week."

"Yeah...?"

"Um, well, Jamie there's no easy way saying this, but your dad used a Sanguicurse."

James paled, but not considerably.

"Heuses--used...he used thatcurse a lot."

"No," Sirius mildly objected, "He only used it onceduring all of his Hogwartsyears, and it was when he was sixteen--about thesame time he attackedand hospitalized Riddle."

James didn't say anything. Sirius didn't bother toaskeven more questions...for example, "Did he use it after Hogwarts often?

"You know what mate?" Sirius finally broke in gently,"I think we need to look in the Hogwarts Significant Dates in its Illustrious History archive."

"Where's that?" James asked, glad to be relieved of the thoughts that were furiously running through his head.

"It's the blank filing cabinet next to the A cabinet. I'm thinking we should look up June of nineteen forty-three."

They left the Riddle file on the floor for the being; they didn't notice that compared to Aaron Quirinius Potter's already yellowing folder, it was suspiciously new-looking. Too clean, too white, too much of a coincidence.

By this time, they were becoming practiced at opening the potentially lethal, projectile-like cabinets. Sirius sorted through the files, muttering dates under his breath until he arrived at 'nineteen forty-three', and he pulled out a respectably yellow folder. They set it on top of the other files and opened it--

STUDENT DIES:

Is the Fabled Hogwarts to Close?

"Ah!" James jumped backwards.

Below the glaring headlines--from the Daily Prophet--there was a gruesome picture of a teenage girl's corpse lying on a stretcher, her eyes wide open, but unseeing, her limp arm hanging over the side. Her glasses were skewered, hanging off her ears, but otherwise she looked unharmed--it was as if she died by being Petrified or completely freeze-dried.

"James," Sirius hissed, "James, look. It's--who does that girl remind you of? James!" Sirius repeated, his eyes widening as he read the article, "Her body was found in that broken girl's bathroom. You know who this is? This is Moaning Myrtle!"

"No way," James breathed, "So she died in the first week of June, at the same time Tom got his injuries...from being attacked by another student? This is too convenient."

"Don't forget," Sirius pointed out, "Your dad attacked Riddle in defense of somebody...probably another student. Remember? 'an attempt to cease the wrongdoings, ramfications, and any succeeding consequences of fellow student...'" Sirius quoted.

"So Dad was probably defending another student from Riddle in the same week of the death, but he can't tell anyone about it so Dumbledore gives him a private award as compensation? Look at that guy," James gestured towards the upside-down portrait where he knew the young man would be staring up at them, an evil lurking in his dark, long-lashed eyes, "He probably tried to kill this girl."

"Then why wouldn't Dippet expose him? We should checkout his Special Services award."

"All right, all right," James relented, returning the folder to its slot--the drawer slammed back shut--and they returned to Riddle's file:

Special Services Commemoration

The following award hereby presented to Thomas Marvolo Riddle by hand of Armando Vincentio Taddeo Dippet shall be utilized for decorative purposes only to commemorate the following special service to the sole wizarding educational institution, Hogwarts, in all of the United Kingdom:

On the date of the twenty-ninth of June of the year after the death of the Great Wizard of Nazareth, nineteen hundred and forty-three, the subject...Thomas Marvolo Riddle did hereby carry out the action of an attempt to cease the wrongdoings, ramfications, and any succeeding consequences of fellow studentof the House of theoutstandingly courageous Godric Gryffindor. Special detail will be drawn to this Commemoration, the commemorative deed in name worthy of further extrapolation: that Thomas Marvolo Riddle did hereby capture and detain the offending heir of the Chamber of Secrets; as consequence, serving justice for the murders of Myrtle Joan Jenneson of the House of the endearing, loyal Helga Hufflepuff. For this astounding feat, a Special Services Commemoration is awarded.

"It says he saved Myrtle!"

"No," James said darkly, "It says he caught the person who did it, but I'm not so sure it's not a set-up. Let's look at the rest of the stuff."

Only moments later they found the piece that they felt incriminated Tom Riddle:

HOGWARTS BOY WONDER ON TRIAL

Isthe Esteemed Tom Riddle in fact the Slytherin Murderer?

Dumbledore had recommended Thomas Marvolo Riddle to be put on trial for the murder of Myrtle Jenneson. The prosecutor was an attorney famous at the time, but now dead, Abigail Kensington. Her client was asixteen year-old boy...Aaron Quirinius Potter.

Tom Riddle was acquitted.

But the true horror came at the very end of the folder, which contained a transcript from the courtly proceedings.

P.A. You have not any aspirations in the extreme for glory, power? To enforce said qualities?

Witn. T.R. No.

P.A. Avery testified; he himself confessed that you force the peers close to you to address you in a rather pedestaling manner. Did you feel exaltation, any kind of 'lording over' so to speak when your peers, supposedly equal to you, addressed you as their...lord?

Witn. T.R. No.

P.A. (frustrated) Tom Riddle, did you or did you not have your friends address you as--as... (momentary pause--tension relieving exercises)

...Tom Riddle, are you Lord Voldemort?

(silence)

P.A. Are you Lord Voldemort!

(silence)

Witn. T.R. Yes.