*hides from angry readers wanting more* Don't hurt me! I've been really busy with school and all. Mercy! But this chapter will have more humor, if slightly dark, and contemplative Voldemort.

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, the sky would be green and I'd be next in line to the Martian throne.

Voldemort POV

'Where is he? Bring him to me!"

At his vicious glare, his newest servant squeaked, terrified, and ran away.

All year Lord Voldemort had been trying to find the Potters' home, with no success. Fortunately, his awful, ugly rat of a servant, Pettigrew, had been made the Potters' secret keeper, as far as he knew. But where was the rat? The Dark Lord hadn't seen him in weeks.

Looking around his Great Hall, he winced at the cobwebs and snake skins littering the room. Sure, he appreciated a dark dungeon as much as the next guy, but still. Even Dark Lords have standards.

His wand began twitching by his side as the moronic Death Eater (that was what they were calling themselves these days…the idiots) literally tripped into the room.

"Master… he is nowhere to be found… please…," the young servant pleaded on his knees. Gazing at the kid with distaste, Voldemort wondered idly if he let this one go, would the others think he was going soft? Probably. Well, maybe he could mortally wound the cowering lump of self-pity on the floor in front of him, instead of murdering him. The Dark Lord raised his wand, and muttered the words in a harsh, rasping voice-his cold still hadn't gone away-

"Avada Kedavra!" Or not. He'd meant to give the Cruciatus, maybe with a couple of cutting curses thrown in somewhere (this kid was especially annoying) but he'd been so used to killing people lately, it just slipped out. Oh well. What was one more?

Voldemort whistled, a high, clear note, and watched as the Death Eater designated to remove dead bodies from the area scurried in and out like a rat. Speaking of rats, how was he supposed to find (and subsequently murder) the Potters now? Remembering something from his Hogwarts years, he stepped down from the dais for his throne, and walked across the room to his personal, password-protected book collection. Opening it with his password, *********, he searched until he found the book he'd been looking for. Pensieves 101, by Arthur Dinglbose, the inventor of Pensieves. Voldemort flipped through and found the passage he needed.

If one is extremely skilled with Legilimency, they might go back to a memory in the Pensieve and read the mind of anyone in the memory, even if they did not ever read their mind before.

Perfect. Now all Voldemort needed was a Pensieve.

"Accio Pensieve!"