November 1992

"Head Goblin," he greeted plainly in Gobbledygook. The little creature had been sitting in a chair appropriately shrunk down for its size but stood up with a bow to receive him. Bogrod had the unpleasant smile-smirk amalgam that Voldemort has come to expect from all goblins.

"Your Lordship. It is always a pleasure conducting business with you," he returned in English. Had it been anyone else, the Dark Lord would have dismissed those words as nothing more than simpering, but with the goblins… Exchanging pleasantries was almost worrying.

He eyed the creature with a tilt of his head but chose not to respond beyond that. Instead, he took a seat opposite the goblin. Regardless, Bogrod took it as his cue to continue. "I have some news that might… concern you."

He waved a hand impatiently, gesturing for the goblin to carry on though he had a suspicion he already knew exactly what had gotten Gringotts so uncharacteristically nervous.

"As in accordance with the autonomy terms agreed upon in the Galleons Treaty of 1982," Bogrod began slowly, "Gringotts has independently investigated the security breach that occurred on the 30th of October. We believe that two mages had casted the Imperius Curse upon one of our tellers, Ragnok, though they were thwarted by the Thief's Downfall enchantment. The perpetrators managed to escape, but we have determined the target of the thieves to have been Vault 1103, which, as you may know…" The steel in Bogrod's eyes glinted with the significance of his words. Voldemort flicked a mental finger through the Gringotts folder within his mindscape.

Ah.

"...Is the principal Lestrange vault."

Indeed.

He thought perhaps he ought to feel a little relief that he had had the foresight to retrieve Hufflepuff's cup from Bella's vault when he last visited Gringotts.

In the end, the only emotion he could muster up was the familiar soul-deep throb of sheer irritation at Dumbledore's Order, which he felt threaten to evolve into something a little closer to a rage that longed to seep into his very cells and turn the air septic with dark magic.

"Even with… the object of interest… removed from the vault in July, I thought it prudent to inform your Lordship." His attention was drawn back to the Head Goblin, his body still even as the monster within him thrashed in response to his mounting rage.

"Gringotts has my gratitude," he heard himself say. It sounded stilted and distant to his ears, but what finally grounded him was seeing that nasty grin, so oddly particular to goblins, appear once more on Bogrod's wrinkled face.

"Rest assured that Gringotts is working on a security overhaul. Rigorous and extensive audits will be taking place through to the next fiscal year. We will be most amiable to informing your Lordship of the outcomes,"

"If the goblins are agreeable to involving my Ministry in your overhaul, we would be happy to extend our assistance. The DMLE and the Goblin Liaison Office will be made aware of the impending changes to the financial sector." It was a little odd seeing the smile-smirk grow larger on Bogrod's face, but Voldemort knew it to be a good sign. The goblin extended his hand to Voldemort and he shook it, still seated down.

He summoned Coen back into his office and his private secretary dipped his head in a quick greeting to both the Dark Lord and the Head Goblin. Coen had his own assistant, a recent Academy graduate Voldemort had yet to bother learning the name of (he would if this one lasts more than a month), escort the goblin out of the room. When the doors closed behind them, Coen spoke up, "My Lord, the DMLE has finished running background checks on the eight Order members captured on 30th October," Coen passed Voldemort the folder he held, spelled with a magical lock for the Dark Lord's perusal only. "I was told the first page contains an overview of the folder's contents for your convenience. The prisoners are organised by the number of years spent as active combatants of the Order."

Coen then extracted a letter out of his inner robe pocket, adding, "And a letter from the snowy owl came this morning as well." Voldemort felt a hint of surprise at that announcement and he gestured for it to be placed on the desk.

The spell that bound the folder shut recognised his magical signature as he brushed his palm over the Dark Mark embossed on the cover and he took out the first piece of parchment. Voldemort recognised only two of the eight names listed - Dedalus Diggle and Mundungus Fletcher. Glancing at the accompanying mugshots of the other six detainees, Voldemort hid a grimaced at the terror plainly displayed on their young, twitching faces. He wondered if they would even be able to hold up under interrogation by an Initiate fresh out of training. He scoffed.

"Moody is prolonging his pointless rebellion with children,"

Coen blinked, and agreed quietly, "The enemy truly has no honour."

"Summon Bella. Have her assemble a team to prepare the prisoners for interrogation," he ordered as he summoned both the letter and a letter-opener from his desk with a little flick of wandless magic. "Tell Barty to be on standby. The press release regarding their impending remand has to be embargoed until tomorrow."

"Yes, my Lord."

"And has the DMLE finished processing the arrest of Wilfred Perkins?" he asked as he sliced the letter open neatly and pulled out the letter. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Coen nod once.

"He will be transferred to Cell A7 on Level 9 later today." Voldemort hummed in satisfaction.

"Good. That's all," he dismissed Coen with a distracted wave of his free hand, the last splinter of his attention directed to governmental affairs now taken in by Harry's letter.

Dear Mar My Lord

He huffed in amusement. There was a drop of ink at the end of those cancelled words as if Harry had spent so long thinking over how to address him appropriately that his quill had begun dripping ink. In the end, it seemed the boy completely gave up on figuring it out. Voldemort rolled his eyes. He seemed to be doing that much more often when it came to the boy.

Hello, I saw that meeting the Daily Prophet recorded. I think it just made everything more real, and then I couldn't concentrate on my work or even go to sleep, so I knew I had to write this to you. I hope you don't mind. You don't even have to send me a reply if you don't want to. It was kind of weird realising that the person in the newspaper is the same person I knew for an entire year. At the same time, some things just started making a whole lot more sense. My caretaker from Egladus told me to be careful and not make you mad once, and Ollivander (the wandmaker) wouldn't tell me who owned the brother to my wand. Really, he just said "we do not speak his name" and his meaning went completely over my head. Sharing a brother wand with you seems even more wicked now actually (Not that you weren't awesome before but For a while, I was really confused about why you didn't tell me who you actually were, and everything just felt so confusing and overwhelming, until I saw that article The Daily Prophet recorded. Everyone there kept telling you things you wanted to hear even if they weren't actually true. If my friends started lying to me so I wouldn't be upset, I think I would find that more upsetting than the truth. And while I don't really want to admit it, had I known you were the Dark Lord (that felt odd to write) from the beginning, I would probably also have done the same thing as those people. So, I think I understand why you didn't tell me now. Then I also wondered about why you would want to teach me magic, since I'm not some very important person with very important parents or anything. To be frank, I'm still not sure why you would spend your free time teaching me, but then I thought maybe it's because you like teaching? That day, I spoke to Barty and he called me 'the new me' (as in I'm the new Barty) and he said you taught him about magic too. If you did it once and you're doing it again, you must enjoy it at least a little, right? I hope I'll live up to expectations. Your student, Harry (I know you said I can call you Marvolo, but I wasn't sure if you would be alone when you read this/someone else might read it.)

For Morgana's sake, did the boy have any sense of decorum? He was lucky Voldemort had thought to allow letters from Hedwig be delivered to him without going through any of the intense filtering that mail to the Aurora Palace was normally subjected to. His Administrative staff would undoubtedly have lost their little minds and had this destroyed with Fiendfyre the moment they read the first line, cancelled though it may be.

He cut a portion of parchment from the roll always on his desk. The latent charm on the parchment activated to bloom out his insignia. Voldemort inspected the letterheaded parchment, wondering if he should dispel the enchantment.

Deciding he didn't actually have the patience to spell away the seal, he wrote out a short reply to Harry, working to smooth any remaining ruffled feathers and soothe any pricks of betrayal the boy undoubtedly felt.

As he tucked the letter into an envelope, his doors opened again, this time revealing Bella. He Vanished the letter to the mailing system for delivery with a wave of his hand.

"My Lord," greeted Bella, bowing. She always bowed deeply. Rather needlessly too, for that matter, because Voldemort saw her unshakeable faith demonstrated in more permanent ways than a bowing at the waist. He felt a pang of fondness for her, an emotion he knew he would have once tried to suppress. There weren't many, even within his Inner Circle, that he felt any affection for. "With your permission, my team is ready to proceed with the interrogations." He nodded in acknowledgement, but steered the conversation away from the interrogations momentarily.

"Bella," he returned, "I am certain Gringotts has notified you of the attempted break into the principal Lestrange vault?" Bella looked momentarily surprised, before she dipped her head.

"They have…" she took a breath, "My Lord, I apologise for my indiscretion-"

He interrupted her unnecessary apology, "I didn't ask you here for an apology. You know as well as I do that the item I had placed within the Lestrange vault for safekeeping has already been relocated." Bella's lips parted, but she nodded. "I simply need to know if you have told anyone about this arrangement," he said mildly, but the determined glint in her eyes told him that she had picked up the forbidding heaviness of his demand regardless.

"Never, my Lord. Not Rodolphus, not even a house-elf." And, as was her wont, Bella hadn't lied to him.

Which really only left the conclusion that Dumbledore had figured out more than Voldemort realised about his horcruxes and his Order was finally making a move.

"The Order is getting bolder; more desperate. I want you to obtain every piece of information you can from the eight prisoners captured last week to cripple this little insurgency. If they are an adept Occlumens, signal me - there is no need to waste anyone else's time when my skill far exceeds theirs. Otherwise, you may proceed as planned."

"Are we using Veritaserum, my Lord?"

"Use your discretion, Bella. It is likely that they were trained to resist traditional methods of interrogation. The responses under Veritaserum of those with Occlumency shields especially cannot be taken for granted."

Bella bowed again, a nearly feral grin lighting up her eyes as she murmured a reverent, "Of course, my Lord." Then, she threw the doors open exuberantly and strode out, head held high with purpose and pride.

"I heard that there's some big secret with our team this year," Harry heard one of the girls, Daphne Greengrass, say to Tracey Davis on the way to the Quidditch pitch for the first match of the season. Slytherin had been winning the Quidditch Cup every year for four years now and the excitement was nearly tangible for the opening Slytherin versus Gryffindor match.

Harry found Theo already seated in the Slytherin stands and took the empty space next to him. "Apparently there's some big secret with the Slytherin team this year," he said. Theo gave him a dubious look and Harry shrugged.

"Welcome to the first match of the 147th Inter-House Quidditch Cup — Slytherin-" the words were met with cheers and applause as green-clad players flew out in formation, "versus Gryffindor!" Scarlet-clad players flew out from the opposite entryway. The cheers, now joined by the Gryffindor supporters, grew ever more deafening. The two teams lapped the stadium before landing in the centre of the pitch. Harry squinted as he scrutinised the Slytherin lineup this year and—

"The big secret was Malfoy ?" he exclaimed incredulously. Theo snorted with laughter.

"That's one of the big secrets, and probably the lesser one too. Look at their brooms-" Harry did look, and noticed they were all the same sleek, black and silver model. They were so clearly brand new that some of the handles glinted when they caught the sun. "-Those are Nimbus 2001s. They were only released in August! No wonder Higgs is flying as a substitute now."

"You mean… Malfoy bought his way onto the team?" Harry wondered aloud.

Theo shrugged, "I wouldn't be surprised if he did. Of course, he is a good flier, but Higgs rarely lost any games for two years. Flint would've needed some serious incentive to replace him."

Slytherin won in the end, but just barely. And truth be told, Harry wasn't all that interested in getting caught up with Slytherin's Quidditch drama. Though Madam Hooch had noted his aptitude in flying after First-Year Flying classes had wrapped up, Harry was content to leave the adrenaline and politicking of the Quidditch team to the likes of Malfoy while engaging in leisurely flying himself when he had the chance. Getting pushed off a broom once was enough for a lifetime.

And Harry was grateful to his past-self for having the foresight to reduce all unnecessary stress from his life as he entered the Great Hall every morning feeling a tingle of anxiety. It was ridiculous, really, seeing as he had told Marvolo it was fine if he didn't reply to Harry's letter, but he hoped for a response nonetheless. It would, at the very least, reassure him that he hadn't irrevocably offended a very powerful man.

It had been about four days since Harry had sent out his letter. Three days of trying to remain inconspicuous as he squinted through the mass of owls to look for a spot of bright white. Three days of trying to convince himself that it didn't mean anything if Marvolo did not respond to his letter. He had told him it was fine…

On day four, Harry did not expect anything to change. Still, he looked up at the morning owl swarm, suppressing his mounting disappointment. No sign of Hedwig-

A letter dropped unceremoniously on his face as a small, black owl flew overhead. Huh.

Harry tucked the letter into his pocket, not wanting to draw attention to his receiving correspondence again, and went unassumingly back to finishing his breakfast.

When his plate was cleared, he turned casually to Theo and said, "I just realised I left my quills on my desk. I'll catch up with you later for Charms?"

"Oh yeah, sure," Theo responded distractedly, his attention more caught up by his own breakfast and book of the day. Harry grinned and slipped away from the Great Hall quickly. He took as many shortcuts as he could back to the Slytherin dungeons, partly excited and partly aware that he had only another twenty minutes before he would be late for class on the other end of the castle.

The Second-Year boys' dorm rooms were already empty by the time Harry climbed up the stairs. He placed his bag down on the chair facing his desk and pulled out the slightly crumpled letter from his pocket. He tore it open delicately, fumbling as he unfolded the smooth parchment.

(And while Harry was no parchment-connoisseur, he could say without a doubt that the half-a-foot of parchment in his hands costs more than the entire twelve-foot roll that has lasted him the semester thus far.)

AURORA PALACE From the desk of the Dark Lord Harry, I am pleased to hear that you have come to terms with my identity. It was never my intention to deceive you, it simply hadn't been necessary for me to flaunt my position. Having to filter our liars and sycophants is, as you have pointed out, an unfortunate reality I must contend with. In my view, our interactions have thus, rather ironically, been the most honest interactions I have had in a while. I had indeed taken Barty on as a student many years ago and you are right to say that I wished for another to teach after him. I am never wrong about those who have great potential. Family is, in my experience, rarely a reliable indicator of one's worth. I have much business to attend to over the Yule break and would thus be unavailable to host you over the holidays. We shall meet again some time during your next summer. Expect another letter in late-June. The spell to erase ink mistakes on parchment is Deleo. I encourage you to use it, if not for your own sake, then for mine. Our correspondence is also read by no one bar the two of us. You may address me as Marvolo to your heart's content.

Harry gawked a little at how official the piece of parchment was, running a thumb over the Dark Lord's seal as it shimmered lightly with magic. He couldn't help but feel lighter as he read the rest of the response, smiling at the first two paragraphs as he reread them, just to make sure he hadn't made it all up.

Reluctantly, he placed the letter within one of the drawers of his bedside table, grabbed his bag and finally began the long trek up to the South Tower classrooms. Harry sighed softly, his content mood lingering as he wondered briefly what Marvolo was doing.

"I'll… I'll never tell… you anything…" Diggle panted out in a strained whisper. Voldemort watched dispassionately as the man at his feet curled in on himself pitifully, the occasional moan of pain escaping him. Bella must have done quite a number on him.

He had Apparated to the main chamber of Level 9 earlier when he felt Bella's signal, the wards bending to his will to allow him onto the euphemistically-named floor. In reality, Level 9 was an underground labyrinth which, through a complicated series of runes, charms and transfiguration, changed its layout every few hours to trap trespassers and prisoners alike.

His bland silence must have unnerved Diggle, for the man began fidgeting away from him despite the movement likely causing him a world of pain. "We'll see," Voldemort said noncommittally. "Look at me, Dedalus." Diggle shook his head vehemently, his matted hair flopping around a little.

"Y-you won't get through… I know… Occlumency…" Voldemort crouched down in front of his prisoner.

"Mm, I am sure you do," he said softly, tugging Diggle up to face him anyway. The man's brown eyes refused to meet his, darting rapidly from left to right in desperation. Voldemort grasped his chin roughly, his nails digging into Diggle's cheeks and neck, freezing the man in place. It was clear that Diggle wasn't confident in the strength of his Occlumency shields.

Legilimens, he cast wordlessly, and the world around him warped smoothly to show him a brick wall reminiscent of the old passageway between Diagon Alley and the Leaky Cauldron. It shimmered under his scrutiny and he smiled. Bella's treatment of him had already weakened Diggle's strength and willpower. This was going to be easier than he thought, Diggle wouldn't even have to lose his sanity.

Reaching out, the brick wall rippled when his mental-hand made contact. There wasn't any specific spell to cast in that instance, but Voldemort had always possessed an intrinsic understanding of the mind arts, a talent only bolstered by his liberal use of the spell. When the brick wall rippled, he ripped it aside like a torn curtain. Distantly, he heard a tormented shout from Diggle's hoarse throat. He ignored the man in favour of the memories.

The recollections of the disorganised mind flashed past him, stopping only to bend to his will. Finally, a more deliberate series of images surrounded him as he immersed himself deeper into Diggle's mind.

"We'll need to create a distraction," said Moody gruffly. His paranoid false eye whizzed about unnervingly in the silence of the room.

"The goblins are autonomous now, Alastor. You-Know-Who's forces won't interfere if there's a break-in. You need only send in three people to retrieve whatever it is from Gringotts. Our energy would be far better spent trying to figure out how exactly we are going to be breaking in, then on creating a diversion," Diggle argued.

"I don't like it," Moody responded quickly, sharply. "It'll be better with a diversion. The goblins seek to protect their wealth. They will investigate if there's an accident in Gringotts' front yard-"

"Alastor!" yelled McGonagall, the door slamming open harshly. "What is this I hear about you sending children into Britain?"

"Calm down, Minerva. They agreed."

"Agreed?!" she exploded, "I don't care if they volunteered or begged you to let them go, they are still children! You'll be sending them on a death march!"

The memory warped away as another took its place.

"Are you alright, Molly?"

Molly Weasley looked up to him in surprise. The smile that stretched across her face lacked any of its old joy or authenticity. It was fatigued. The kind of tired that was bone-deep from years of fleeting sleep, incessant worry and absent security.

But what she said instead was, "Oh, quite alright, just fine, Dedalus." He smiled, because there was no other response to that. Pointing out how obvious her fatigue had become would only make everyone feel worse. There was no respite from this kind of tiredness, after all.

She surprised him when she continued, and he half-suspected that she wasn't completely aware that she had continued, "Oh, it's just… it's so hard for the children to live like this. And… and I just worry… I just worry that they'll disappear - or try to leave - one day… and it could have all been prevented. I-" She stopped herself. Molly met his eyes again as she wrung her hands nervously.

This time, he saw a little more of the worry she had been hiding. He saw that the comment about one of the seven Weasley children 'trying to leave' wasn't some offhand abstraction, but a reality that Molly lived with every day.

"Has something happened?" he asked cautiously.

Still, she waved it all off. "Oh, no, no no. I am sorry for being such a downer. We all have our fears and worries." He couldn't quite pinpoint how, but he knew she wasn't being entirely honest there.

Voldemort retreated from Diggle's mind with a laugh. Tutting, he asked innocently, "Trouble in paradise?" Diggle did not respond, the pain affecting his ability to remain conscious and coherent.

"Weasley, you say?" Voldemort muttered, more to himself than to the man slumped in front of him. "I will be back, Dedalus. Rest while you can." Incoherent murmurs were his only response and Voldemort smiled as he left the holding cell.

The layout of the cell of one Percy Ignatius Weasley was much different from Dedalus Diggle's. There was a table with an attached bench which the teenager was bound to with magical ropes. Voldemort did not enter the actual cell, instead entering the viewing chamber, which displayed every cell through the surveillance wards. Bella was already there, watching the interrogation of Mundungus Fletcher.

"My Lord," she greeted, "Did Diggle reveal anything?"

"Yes, something rather intriguing," he replied. With a wave of his wand, he brought Percy Weasley's interrogation into focus. Bella moved to stand next to him. "It is possible that this boy here is a prospective defector."

"A Weasley?" Bella muttered in surprise. "How many were there before they fled? Six? Nine? I thought they were all raised to be mindless supporters of Dumbledore."

"Rather challenging, all things considered." Bella grinned viciously at the reminder of Dumbledore's demise. Really, Voldemort would almost believe that Bella hated the old man more than he did, though the reason for that evaded him. It was entirely possible that her hatred of Dumbledore was amplified vicariously by him.

Bella laughed suddenly, and said, "I can respect Molly Weasley for being willing to send her children out for their cause. A misguided cause, but a cause all the same."

"She wasn't. Most reluctant, in fact."

"Huh." Bella responded nonchalantly, "Good. I feel less guilty for respecting a traitor to blood and country now. I would have done a much better job."

"Bella."

"Hmm?" she responded distractedly, still watching the proceedings of the interrogation.

"You should never have children," he said pensively. "I fear they will not live past their tenth birthday." Bella cackled, her eyes shining with glee.

"Are you sure, my Lord? I guarantee that any hypothetical child of mine will be raised to serve you most faithfully."

"Mm, of that I have no doubt, but let's keep it that way, shall we?" Voldemort said, vaguely amused, "Hypothetical?"

"As my Lord wishes," Bella agreed with an exaggerated bow.

Having watched enough of Percy Weasley's interrogation, Voldemort left for Cell B52, sending the Death Eater, whom he would struggle to name off the top of his head, away with a dismissive gesture. The man bowed and left hastily.

Percy Weasley followed the entire interaction with wary, terrified eyes. The boy swallowed when Voldemort turned to face him

"I would like to establish one rule before we begin," he said, breaking the oppressive silence. Percy Weasley flinched. "Percy?" he prompted, voice nearly cajoling. The boy forced himself to nod.

"I am glad that we can begin on a cordial note. Now, that rule," he pinned Percy Weasley with his eyes. Voldemort knew that the ominous aberrance of the red glare was deeply unnerving, even to his Death Eaters. Leaning in, he said, "Don't even try to lie to me." Predictably, the boy shrunk in on himself. He raised an eyebrow and Percy Weasley nodded frantically. This was going to be quick.

"Good. Now, tell me your full name."

"P-Percy… Ignatius… Weasley."

"Hold old are you, Percy?"

"Six- sixteen."

"Who did you live with?" Some hesitation, but the boy answered eventually.

"M-my parents... they... we... it was the Order- Order of the Phoenix..."

"The Order is based in Belgium. Why are you here, then?" That made the Weasley boy pause.

"I-" Another pause. Voldemort narrowed his eyes. Percy swallowed. "I-" Percy's eyes darted around nervously.

"The Order cannot hear our conversation." Adding in a harsh tone, he said, "Speak."

"I… I don't… I don't want to- to go back," Percy said at last. His shoulders, tense with guilt and fear, sagged a little when the words finally left his mouth.

Voldemort suppressed a grin. He could work with that.

hi people, sorry for the long wait... i'm also considering shifting to only posting on AO3 because this site is,, really not optimised anymore. I am Potato_Lady on AO3 so if you would like to continue following this story, meet me there! the link is in my profile