Chapter 2: Rebirth and Renewal
Four years ago
After the Norman Conquest, William the Conqueror gifted out parcels of lands to his chief commanders as a reward for their loyalty and support during the campaign against the Anglo-Saxons. One such commander was Septimus Moreau, who received the land upon which Malfoy Manor would later be constructed. His chief lieutenant was one Domenicus Malfoy, the eldest in a family of seven.
As the first and only wizard in his family, Domenicus was disqualified from inheriting the family lands since the practice of primogeniture had a hidden complement: magicians could not own land. Feudal lords had carefully devised that law so as to force magicians to become their serfs, soldiers, or priests; since landholding was the ultimate status symbol in those days and the few skilled/well-trained magicians that rose every so often generally tended to go on bloody rampages against mundanes, feudal lords were desperate to keep magicians and their dangerous powers under their thumbs. The only exceptions were the Potter, Longbottom, and Moreau families, who had all been gifted many titles and estates from Charles Martel (ancestor of the esteemed Charlemagne) for their support against the Moors' invasion of France.
So, Domenicus had elected to serve in Moreau's armies and had distinguished himself thoroughly as a ruthless strategic genius in the Normans' campaign; many widely recognized his brilliance and expected Moreau to appoint him as his chief advisor and proxy as a reward for his efforts. Unfortunately, the rank-and-file hated the man for being a martinet and a haughty aristocrat who expected them to bow and grovel slavishly whenever he passed by.
Furthermore, the Potter and Longbottom family heads, who were Moreau's fellow commanders and peers in William's Inner Circle, protested against Domenicus' appointment due to his status as a muggle-born; they reasoned that he was bound to be less experienced than a pure-blooded magician, who would have grown up with magic and therefore wouldn't have any conflicting ties to the mundanes.
Consequently, to Domenicus' immense shock and consternation, Moreau appointed Aramis Wesley, a pure-blood from a vassal family to the Potters, to the chief-advisor post.
Contrary to expectations, Domenicus bore the insult with surprising grace and equanimity in public; he congratulated Wesley on his success in obtaining the post and renewed his pledges of loyalty to Moreau. Behind closed doors though, he and his wife conspired to usurp the fiefdom and claim their due.
Their chance came when Moreau and Guinevere Wesley, Aramis' younger sister and a Squib, fell in love; the Wesleys immediately accepted Moreau's offer for their daughter's hand since this was a unique opportunity to wed their way into a higher social status, specifically one of the core magical noble lines itself. However, things took a tragic turn when Guinevere's dead body was found in the woods near Moreau Manor just a few days before the wedding.
Magical investigators sponsored by the Potters quickly identified the cause-of-death as an Avada-Kevadra but weren't able to pinpoint the casting wand, even after a thorough examination of Moreau Manor and the nearby barracks' inhabitants. Domenicus used what little coin he had to entice the local drunks to start a rumor about how Aramis was committing incest with his own sister and was jealous about losing her to Moreau. To stir the pot further, he also "misplaced" a letter from Aramis that begged him to convince Moreau to cancel the marriage.
Moreau fell for the rumors, hook-line-and-sinker, and performed a search on Aramis' quarters himself; he discovered the spare wand underneath the young Wesley's mattress, and a quick Priori Incantatem confirmed that it was indeed the murder weapon. Aramis was dragged into the dungeons, vehemently protesting his innocence, and somehow word got back to the Wesleys about the latest developments in Guinevere's murder case. The Wesleys protested Aramis' innocence, and when Morea remained unmoved, declared war against his forces.
As Moreau's chief strategist, Domenicus quickly routed the Wesley forces within a year, winning a good deal of approbation from William the Conqueror's Inner Circle for restoring stability within the young Empire. Sadly, in the final battle of the campaign, Moreau and Aramis, who had somehow escaped from Moreau Manor, had slain each other; this left the nominal third-in-command, Domenicus Malfoy, in charge of the Moreau fiefdom, especially since Septimus Moreau was the last living Moreau.
How convenient.
To commemorate his victory, Domenicus demolished Moreau Manor and relocated to the land that would one day house Malfoy Manor; there, he put the conquered Wesley forces to work on the foundations of a veritable fortress, a symbol of his power and might. As for the Wesleys themselves, Domenicus stripped them of all of their vassal titles and noble privileges, effectively reducing them to serfs; he consigned them to a poor patch of land, and in a fit of spite, renamed them "Weasleys." Unlike regular serfs, the Weasleys had to surrender their entire earnings or crops to Domenicus, which trapped them in a cycle of poverty.
The loyal allies that they were, the Potters and Longbottoms protested vehemently against Domenicus' ruthlessness, but Domenicus persuaded William the Conqueror that a harsh example needed to be set so as to dissuade future dissension within the ranks, especially when the Normans were just settling into a newly conquered land.
In short, the Noble and Ancient House of Malfoy and subsequently Malfoy Manor were both born from deceit and murder.
But to the Malfoys, Malfoy Manor was the very embodiment of power. It was used to host foreign dignitaries, Ministry officials, Salazar Slytherin himself, and key figures in the wizarding underworld. The Manor's dungeons were also the wizarding world's only other high-security prison besides Azkaban. Furthermore, successive generations of Malfoys had made their own additions to the Manor's wards, essentially transforming it into an impregnable fortress over the centuries. You would have to be mad to rob Gringotts, but you would have to be suicidal to even approach the Manor with ill-intent.
Or at least that was the consensus until nine-year-old Harry Potter came along.
It all began with Dobby the house-elf.
Dobby was punishing himself yet again by ironing his fingers when he heard his Master suddenly spew off several epithets. This perked Dobby's curiosity as his Master strove to remain as cool and composed as a cucumber even if it cost him his life; so, Dobby silently watched his Master as he stomped off to his study with a black notebook.
Later on, after the entire family had gone to bed, Dobby snuck into the study and looked at the diary and all nearby documents. Fortunately, Dobby decided to ready the adjacent documents first rather than writing into the diary; Dobby-mort would have been terrifying to say the least. What Dobby read, though, horrified him.
Apparently, Lord Voldemort had bequeathed the diary to Lucius Malfoy at the height of his Death-Eating days as a sign of his trust and the high value that he placed on his "friendship" with the Malfoy family. Lucius still wasn't sure exactly what the diary was but had managed to glean from the Dark Lord (prior to his fall) that it could be used to open the Chamber of Secrets and unleash the Monster within on unsuspecting Muggle-borns in Hogwarts. At the moment, Lucius was attempting to develop a ritual that could point the diary's wrath at an enemy of his choosing but to no avail.
Being a good house-elf (or is it a bad one since he was technically stealing his Master's property?), Dobby created a duplicate of the diary and stashed the original away in Hogwarts' Room of Requirement, specifically the Room of Hidden Things. Poor Dobby had to stick his ears in the oven for that one.
A few months later, Dobby heard his Master break off into a rant once again but about Harry Potter this time. He heard his Master tell Draco and Mistress Narcissa about how he had seen the Dark Lord, how they had conspired to kill the boy off by sending in a pack of trolls, and how the boy had utterly routed both the trolls and the Dark Lord himself.
Now, to the house-elves, Harry Potter was a hero for bringing down the Dark Lord all those years ago; to Dobby especially, the boy was a legend, and Lucius' rants only served to cement the hero-worship. When Lucius mentioned that the Dark Lord had told him that the diary could be used to fuel a resurrection ritual, Dobby was horrified and decided to hand it over to Harry Potter; his hero would know what to do.
Of course, Harry was bemused when a deformed elf (his basis for elves was Holly and Root after all) popped into the library within his backpack, threw a diary onto the floor, and began babbling about his bad Master's plans. But then he took a closer look at the diary.
Images of a cup, a locket, a diary, and a crown all flew through his head.
The word 'Horcrux' reverberated in his mind.
A dead girl lay in front of him, her sightless eyes staring upwards.
He felt gut-wrenching pain, makeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstop...
Then, the pain disappeared, and a rapidly darkening blob was on his wand. He thrust his wand downwards and 'pushed' the blob into the diary on the ground. Now that the pain was gone and the deed was done, He only felt...
Elation. He had taken his first step to immortality. Nothing could stop him now.
Harry wrenched himself away from the memory and back into reality with a grasp. He had stolen the memory from Voldemort's mind while they were battling in Fowl Manor, and he now recognized the seemingly innocent book in front of him as the diary Horcrux.
"Dobby, this...this...is fantastic! Thank you!"
"No need to thank Dobby, Harry Potter sir. Just destroy it so that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named will never return!"
Harry nodded solemnly. "I will. Is there any way that I can repay you?"
Dobby shuffled shyly. "Dobby did not do this for thanks, Harry Potter sir. Dobby did this to prevent evil from returning, and he knows that Harry Potter sir can stop it! But Dobby would be very happy if Harry Potter sir could give bad Master a kick-in-the-arse."
Harry laughed at Dobby's candidness. Then, a thought struck him.
'Wait a minute, Lucius Malfoy - that's the guy who sent those trolls and Quirrell-mort after me at Fowl Manor! Dumbles also said that he was trying to gain custody of me after I escaped with Holly. Hmmm...'
"So, Dobby, what will you do now?"
At that, Dobby's ears drooped, and the house-elf began bashing his head against a nearby bookcase. Harry instantly cast a Stunner at the elf.
He muttered, "Ok, no idea what's going on there. Time to check out some information on house-elves." A few minutes of perusing the library's central grimoire revealed that house-elves were effectively wizards' slaves. Judging by the burns and scars littered throughout Dobby's body, Harry could confidently say that the Malfoys were abusive masters.
Most wizards, or even mundanes for that matter, would not have made the latter observation, but Harry, having been abused severely by the Dursleys and having weathered a harsh life on the streets prior to the Fowl Manor incident, was far more observant in that regard. These experiences also meant that he was extremely sympathetic to Dobby's plight and was determined to get the elf freed; hopefully, his raid on Malfoy Manor would also afford an opportunity for some good old-fashioned revenge.
'I need a place in which I can practice my Fiendfyre and destroy this diary anyway. Might as well be Malfoy Manor.'
So, Harry lifted the stunning spell from the elf and said winningly, "Dobby, what say you about introducing me to Malfoy Manor?"
There was one glaring hole in Malfoy Manor's (or any other wizarding building's) wards - it did not account for "guests" brought in by the Malfoy house-elves. After all, house-elves were far beneath an average pureblood's notice and were generally treated worse than dirt; even the Weasleys, a poor and admittedly liberal pureblood family, only saw the house-elves as servants at best.
This meant that Dobby was able to teleport Harry from his backpack-library to Malfoy Manor without the Malfoys being any wiser. The only house-elf related defense that the Malfoys had in place was a verbal order to not allow enemies onto the premises.
Harry was simultaneously disgusted and thrilled by the palatial milieu.
Disgusted because he could not understand how people could bear to live in such an extravagant and opulent place, especially while so many others struggled to just make ends meet. Having struggled with severe hunger pangs in the dark, dank cupboard at the Dursleys' and later on the streets, Harry could not justify living in the lap of luxury like this within his own mind. Even if he was a thief, he only stole to survive or exact revenge, no more, no less.
The sheer dark aura emanating from many of the priceless artifacts around the manor only exacerbated Harry's rising nausea.
But Harry was thrilled because the Malfoys had all the more to lose. And he wouldn't lose a wink of sleep over depriving them of these 'treasures' given how horribly they treated their 'inferiors.' Furthermore, the Manor seemed to contain a bulk of their wealth, which meant that stealing/destroying these items would leave them with fewer resources to string along the Ministry and support Lord Voldemort.
So, Harry took a deep breath and spread his magic outwards into a thousand questing threads, studying the various objects and tagging those that had a light or gray aura. With a wrench, he then tugged on the strings and directed the incoming tagged objects into the library within his space-expanded bag.
'There, that should bring me enough money for the base necessities at the very least. Heavens knows that I was running out of supplies in the library and that I can't step foot in Britain without being captured on sight, which means I can't access my vaults at Gringotts.'
(As one of the oldest and wealthiest British magical families, Gringotts' British branch required the family Head to show up in person and claim the family ring before granting access to his vaults, a stipulation that the Ministry of Magic had fully backed after Harry had become the Boy-Who-Lived all those years ago.)
Dobby was hitting his head with a stone bust when Harry interrupted with a sly wink, "Dobby, I'm not an enemy of the Malfoys. As far as you're concerned, I'm just a tourist and art collector."
Dobby paused and brightened. "Of course, sneaky Harry Potter sir! Dobby will play tour guide and show you Master's finest collections."
As the pair frolicked through the mansion, they gathered a growing pile of dark artifacts on the living room floor. Occasionally, Harry would sneak a tome or moving picture (those were totally rad!) into his backpack.
"Well, that's that. Time to burn this dung-heap up," Harry said cheerfully once the "tour" was complete.
Recalling his research into Fiendfyre, he focused on his most intense memories and emotions - hatred for the Dursleys, Achilles, Voldemort, and the Death Eaters; sadness at finding out that his parents had sacrificed their lives to save him from Voldemort; love for his parents and for his surrogate mother/sister, Holly; respect and warmth for Foaly, who he was becoming fast friends with; and determination to see Voldemort fall and to ensure that others wouldn't suffer like he had.
He felt a flame spark up in his stomach, and breathing in and out deeply, he carefully drew upon it and directed it upwards, towards his arms. Concurrently, he moved his arms, which started off akimbo, in a circle and thrust them outwards at the end, just as the energy reached his hands.
Green fire burst out of his hands and enveloped the pile of dark artifacts. Harry smiled as the diary shrieked, and black smoke poured out of it.
'One Horcrux down.'
Repeating the same process as before but in reverse, Harry focused on nothingness - the Void - in order to dispel the flame in his stomach; slowly, the fire-energy pathway from his stomach to his hands died out, and his hands no longer emitted any fire.
But the fire around the dark artifacts did not burn out; instead, it expanded, forming chimeras, phoenixes, house-elves, and many other shapes. Panicking, Harry reached out with his aura and attempted to tag these flaming creatures with threads so as to broadcast his will, but Dobby interrupted him.
"Oooh, Harry Potter sir, let the flames continue. Bad Master said he would burn this place before letting any supporter of the Light inside. Dobby is a good house-elf and follows his order by letting Harry Potter sir burn this place to the ground."
Choking back a laugh, Harry relaxed and pulled back the threads. "All right, Dobby," he said cheerfully, "we'll let it burn, hehe."
Sobering up quickly, he added, "Now, about getting you some clothes..."
The Malfoys had been attending the annual Christmas gala at the Ministry, which was usually a prime time for doling out bribes and pushing forth pureblood agendas. This year's gala had been especially important since Fudge had just been kicked out of office last year for his mismanagement of the Fowl Incident, so Lucius had to ingratiate himself with the new Minister, Rufus Scrimegour, and secure his good graces. Unlike Fudge, Scrimegour was at least partially competent, as evinced by his stint as the Head of the Auror office, so this process was much harder. Fortunately, the gala had proven that the Malfoys still had the golden touch when it came to managing politicians.
As the party died down, Lucius was satisfied that Narcissa could handle the few remaining Ministry officials and reinforce their message one final time, so he decided to get back to the Manor; some of his fellow (former) Death Eaters had surreptitiously passed along "gifts," knowing that Malfoy Manor was an impregnable fortress, and he wanted to move them to safety as quickly as possible.
As he stepped into the Ministry fireplace, he noticed that Draco appeared to be enjoying himself; hopefully, the boy had gleaned a few lessons from his parents' interactions tonight. After all, someday he would be the one who was securing Malfoy interests at the Ministry.
All of these thoughts came to an abrupt halt as the Floo deposited Lucius at the Manor's fireplace.
"What the blazes is going on here?!" he roared, stunned by the sight of the roaring flames that were eating away at his beloved Manor and precious possessions.
"Hi, Lucy! Here, catch!"
Lucius sputtered as a black-haired boy - Merlin, that looked like a young James Potter! - tossed a cozy sweater at him; still shocked by the Fiendfyre around him, he did not get out of the way in time, and the Geminio rune on the sweater activated upon contact, creating ten duplicates.
"We is free!"
Spluttering, Lucius stumbled away from the sweaters, all of which had been caught by one of the many abused Malfoy house-elves. Unfortunately, Harry took this time to banish a laundry-basket's worth of clothes at the man, each of which had duplication-upon-contact rune; Lucius quickly collapsed under the strain, and under the pretense of helping the Master get back onto his feet, the remaining Malfoy house-elves swarmed around the body and collected the clothes.
'We is free! We is free!'
Lucius hated those squealing voices. Those creatures...how dare they stand there wrenching clothes off his person with their filthy little hands while their master's house was burning?!
Casting off multiple deadly hexes, Lucius clambered back onto his feet with a snarl; he managed to hit two of the newly freed, fleeing house-elves with a strangulation curse but missed all other shots.
Harry gave the man a mocking bow before disappearing with a loud 'POP!', which was quickly echoed by that of the other elves.
"Bugger!" Lucius swore. The Apparition wards were down, which meant that the Fiendfyre had reached the Manor's ward matrix. This meant that they only had a few minutes left to get out.
Turning back to face the fireplace, Lucius braced himself for the arrival of an unsuspecting Narcissa and Draco. He might not be able to save his Manor, but he could save his wife and Heir.
As the two came tumbling out of the Floo, Lucius spun with them and apparated out. Just in time too - the Manor exploded, and the bricks and mortar were completely reduced to ash only a few seconds later.
For all their ambition and cunning, the Malfoys had only prepared for external attacks; Malfoy Manor had not been prepared for an attack from within. After all, it was preposterous to imagine that anyone with ill intent would be able to get inside in the first place, right?
Standing in the manor grounds, with his wife and son huddled behind him shivering in the cold of the night, Lucius stared at the ashes of his beloved manor, the pride and joy of the Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy.
He still had a considerable amount of financial resources; the Malfoy vaults at Gringotts were nothing to sneeze at. But it was neither enough to rebuild the Manor to its former glory, nor enough to support his intelligence and infiltration network at its current scale. Hell, he didn't even have any bloody house elves left.
Many former Death Eaters, much like himself before he had met Quirrell, were content with their current lot in life and had no wish to return to the days of groveling at the Dark Lord's feet; all it brought them was excruciating pain and humiliation at the hands of the Dark Lord. At least now, they were respected as noble lords and were creeping their way back into the top posts in the Ministry. Unfortunately, this had been mainly due to Malfoy funds, which would have to be curtailed to account for the recent loss.
In other words, Malfoy's benefactors and fellow Death Eaters would unflinchingly cut him loose in this time of need; they certainly supported the cause, but like any true Slytherin, personal wealth and power came first. Without the Dark Lord to unite them (at least in fear), this was truer than ever. If anything, Malfoy's fall gave them a chance to fill the power-broker vacuum. The loss of their valuables, which Malfoy had held in safekeeping within the Manor, would only exacerbate future relations.
'Mark my words, Potter,' Lucius thought, 'you will rue the day that you messed with the Malfoys. You will meet the same sticky end as your Mudblood-loving parents.'
"I can help you with that."
Lucius whipped around with his wand pointed straight at the heart of the speaker.
The speaker, who was half his height and covered in dark robes, was clearly amused by his reaction. "Excellent reflexes. But your wand won't be of any use against me, I'm afraid. You can put it away."
Lucius sneered. "And who are you to command me in such a manner? Do you realize who you are dealing with?"
"Who you are is of little consequence, especially since your - ahem - baby is currently burning in the background at the moment. Your power and influence have never been at a lower point. If the Dark Lord were to return now, he might well eliminate you for your loss of the diary, given that your fellow Death Eaters can serve as far more effective power-brokers at this point."
She paused to allow the man to absorb her words.
"Go on," Lucius said through gritted teeth.
"I can put you in touch with the Dark Lord - oh yes, he survives; he is a far more powerful wizard than you ever gave him credit for - and several like-minded individuals. Alone, you and the Dark Lord will not be able to touch Harry Potter, but with these individuals' help and my special skills, you can have your revenge."
"And what are your special skills?"
"Foreknowledge."
A shiver passed through Lucius' spine. "So it's true then? There is a prophecy about Potter and the Dark Lord."
The lady inclined her head slightly. "I'm sure that a smart man like you can guess what it says. For your edification though,"
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."
Lucius considered the words carefully. "I assume that you have already informed the Dark Lord?"
She nodded.
"In that case, what is your stake in all this? If you won't divulge your identity to us, we require some proof that you are invested in our success."
Lucius could not see the lady's face; her cloak's hood completely obscured it, and the lady herself seemed to be one with the darkness of the night. But he got the impression that she was snarling like a wolf.
Pulling back the sleeves of her cloak, the lady held up her hands, one of which showed intense scarring (almost as though she had been burned by the Fiendfyre currently raging behind him).
There was only a stump in place of the other one.
"I admit, I don't care about Potter himself, but one of his allies - or rather, someone who will ally herself with him in the future - was responsible for this. I want her to pay."
Lucius considered that piece of information carefully and shrugged.
"Very well. Take me to the Dark Lord, so that we may commence this alliance."
"Gladly."
Riddle Manor, 2 years ago
"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son."
Tom Riddle Senior's bones fell into the mess in the bubbling cauldron.
"Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive your master."
Peter Pettigrew lay on the floor, writhing in pain and holding the stump where his left arm used to be close to his chest.
"Heart of the daughter, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your father."
The lady in dark robes paused for a moment. Nodding briefly at Lucius, she plunged the dirk into her chest - straight into her heart. As she lay dying on the ground, she rasped to Lucius, "Take my heart out, and throw it into the cauldron, so that the Dark Lord will have full access to my memories and abilities."
Nodding, Lucius removed the dirk and began the process of carving out the woman's heart. Were it not for his desire to obtain revenge against Potter...well, he wouldn't have come a mile near this bloody, uncivilized affair.
Once he was done, he tossed the heart into the cauldron. He watched with mounting anticipation as the mix began to stew and bubble.
A bald, snake-like figure rose out of the mix smoothly and gracefully. As it took its first step out of the cauldron, it opened its red eyes and smiled.
Lord Voldemort had risen.
"My Lord, it is truly good to see you up and about again. I live to serve."
"Thank you, Luciussss. We are glad to see that you have remained loyal to ussss, unlike dear Peter. But Peter has paid sufficiently now, hm? What do you think Peter?"
The rat Animagus whimpered in fear.
Fortunately for Peter, Lucius intervened. "My lord, should we not summon the Death Eaters? Get the old group back together?"
"Patience, Lucius. I know that you want your revenge against Potter. Do remember that I spent years as something less than a shadow, less than even the meanest ghost, because of that boy. But I need some time to assimilate these abilities that my 'daughter' has bequeathed to me."
"Ah, her gift of foresight."
Lord Voldemort chuckled. "Yes, her 'divination.' Except I can see far more clearly than even the most advanced Seers. I can see a sea of lighthouses, each of which represents a possibility. All we need to do is to chain together the right sequence of possibilities to reach our desired outcome."
"My lord, if you don't mind my asking, who was her mother? I was not aware that you were married."
Or that the man was even capable of such emotion.
Even Pettigrew ceased his whimpers at that question.
Lord Voldemort raised an eyebrow. "Why, Luciussss, you seem very invested in matters above your station. Perhaps I should remind you of your place with a dose of reality for precious Narcissa. And I have yet to meet your heir, Draco - I'm sure that he and I will get along splendidly."
Lucius gulped.
"But I am generous and forgiving lord, Lucius. To answer your question - no, I have never been married, and I have never engaged in carnal relations. Ergo, our dead ally was not my physical daughter."
Lucius couldn't resist probing, "But if that is the case, then how did the ritual work?"
Lord Voldemort merely stared at Lucius, and his dark aura intensified nearly a hundred times over. Lucius couldn't breath, he felt like he was swimming underwater, Malfoy Manor was burning again, he had failed the Malfoy name, his father was sneering down at him and calling him an utter disgrace and a fool.
Then, suddenly, Lucius was staring at the cold, hard ground and was back in the cemetery at Riddle Manor again.
"Get up, Lucius," the Dark Lord hissed.
Lucius got up, limbs shaking from the ordeal and sweat pouring down his face. "What...what..was that?" he inquired shakily.
"Merely a taste of what awaits you if you push your luck. You are my humble servant, Lucius, and nothing more. I have humored your curiosity long enough, especially given the fact that you have lost my diary. Were it not for my daughter's contribution to my rebirth, I would have simply left you like that. Now come - introduce me to our allies. A face-to-face meeting is long overdue."
Riddle Manor, Present
Since then, Voldemort and Cudgeon had corresponded via a holo-communicator that had been altered to support magical inteference. They hammered out a plan to capture Harry Potter and seize control over the mundanes; Cudgeon and Koboi would rule over the People while Voldemort managed the wizards, and the triumvirate would oversee the mundanes.
"Madame Koboi, a pleasure to see you."
Opal giggled, "For a Mudman, you are so courteous, Voldie."
Lord Voldemort twitched at the nickname but gave no other outward sign of irritation or anger. "And for a pixie, you are less flighty than I had expected. Although from what I've heard, Foaly remains the chief technical consultant for the LEP? Such a shame, Opal..."
Opal gritted her teeth at the dig. "Just tell me whether your forces are ready, Mudman."
"They are, Mudblood. I hope that you will use them wisely..."
Opal scoffed. "Listen up, Mudman. I don't know why Briar puts up with so much of your -"
Lord Voldemort merely flicked a finger at Opal's projection and enunciated, "Crucio."
Immediately, Opal began screaming and writhing in pain, blood leaking profusely from her eyes and nose. A smile curved on Lord Voldemort's lips at the sight.
After a few minutes, he lifted the curse and smirked at the panting pixie. "That's why. I trust that you will either show me the proper amount of respect or will direct me to Briar in the future."
Looking at Voldemort hatefully, Opal nonetheless nodded.
"Good. We march at dawn."
FYI (8/5/16)
- Per a reviewer's advice, I have fixed the sequencing of events in the prequel, "A Tale of Two Thieves." This means that the various "Conversations" that appeared out-of-order in the later chapters should now show up in the appropriate locations in the story.
- I also revised some of the historical details; specifically, I clarified that the fairy races split into the People (who went underground) and the Surface-Dwellers (who stayed on the surface with the wizards). This split followed the fall of Camelot and is referred to as "The Great Schism." I will include a brief summary of this history at the beginning of the next chapter, where it shall be relevant to the proceedings.
