AN: Ok, here is another chapter; it might be the last one for a while. I am going on a 1-week vacation abroad, so there will be no more daily updates.
miss quirky bookworm, no, no more pressure.
Conflicting Lies, thank you. Here is the next update. )
Immortal Sailor Cosmos, well, I didn't try to make it truly original or detailed, but not very boring too. So interesting is good enough. And no, he has no scar, it healed when he assimilated the magic of Voldemort. As to the accounts… Harry Potter ceased to exist when he entered into Apprenticeship, and his vaults were transferred into the nameless account – pending. He was declared dead much later due to bureaucracy and refusal of the Ministry to believe in his death.
Chapter 7
The soft morning light shone at the pale face of the unfortunate Deatheater. Moony was currently sleeping in normal bed, and Flhoyer was left with pondering about his future. First of all, he had to take care of the barely alive intruder. His stunner turned out to be too strong for human physiques.
He finally decided to heal the guy. The mage touched the forehead of his patient and softly hissed a melodic litany that didn't make sense even in Parseltongue. He felt the heartbeat of the lying man increasing and stopped the healing flow abruptly.
The Deatheater's eyes snapped opened and he immediately reached for his wand which was missing. Flhoyer nodded to himself; that was a good reaction for a newbie.
The man gazed at the figure standing tall above him with trepidation and stayed silent.
"I wonder what to do with you, what's-your-name, to send back to your Master as a gesture of goodwill or dispose of? Hm-m, just to think of all the experiments I can perform on you…"
On the last phrase Flhoyer's face brightened. His desire for more information now rivaled not only that of Hermione Granger but also of Rowena Ravenclaw herself. Combined with his Slytherin tendency of reaching ends with any means, it was a dangerous combination.
"Please, sir," the Deatheater was easily cowered by the calm and pragmatic voice of the captor. "Forgive me for whatever I did. And my name is Joseph Reacher."
"Well, at least you are malleable. Very well, a gesture of goodwill, it is then. Stay here."
The young man carelessly turned his back to the Deatheater and walked out of the room. Joseph was tempted to make a run for it, but something told him it wouldn't be wise. His captor seemed to be in a good mood and he didn't want to chance his luck. Insane people are hard to predict, he knew it very well by the example of the Dark Lord.
The powerful youngster returned shortly with a letter in his hand.
"Give it to your Master with greetings."
Joseph meekly accepted the letter and looked once more at the man. He was not as tall as he firstly thought, even an inch or so shorter than himself, but his presence gave all the power of authority he needed. The features were somewhat dusted and indistinguishable. He looked as if he just crawled out of catacomb. Maybe, he did, who knows. The Deatheater thought about giving a parting advice to take a bath, but decided not to risk it.
"Well? What are you waiting for? Shooo!" Flhoyer imitated a sweeping motion towards a somewhat dazed man, and the latter hurriedly ran outside. Shortly he heard the crack of apparation as Joseph reached the wards border.
Hm-m. Speaking of the wards. He had to tweak them and see if they could be improved. Perhaps shift them a bit to another dimension. Very tiny and insignificant bit.
The mage groaned. Who knew that all the information he learned so far would be so outdated… And they say that wizards are stagnant! Not true. They just decided to evolve into worse rather than better magic wielders. After trying to decipher complicated and absolutely pointless knots and twists of the wards net, he simply stripped the weak wards down by removing an anchor – a small ruby in the ornament of the front door. Flashy but absolutely useless.
The next hour was spent measuring the size of the territory belonging to the cottage and a bit beyond. After all the preliminary work was done, Flhoyer reached for his knowledge of Ammadean and its magic and chanted all the time walking a route, that he defined, around the Janice Bridge Hall. Magic kept building until he reached the starting point and he let it snap. Immediately the chosen stripe of earth, that mimicked a border, shifted into another artificial dimension dome, while the cottage and the property remained in the real one.
Flhoyer grinned. How was that for wards! Now only the ones with specified blood and magical signature would be able to cross another dimension barrier. Though, he still had to plant a semi-automated program in the artificial dimension fabric for it to work. But that'll take only another fifteen minutes. All his studying wasn't for naught and he certainly loved experimenting.
The mage paused. He still didn't know how to construct anti-apparation wards as he was not familiar with the apparation concept itself. Guess it was time to wake the wolf. He should know how to do it. Ah, a new thing to learn. He was sure that by the end of the day he will be apparating across the place.
And then… Oh, he had so many things to do, visit Gringotts to check that the transfers had gone smoothly, and talk Dumbledore into letting his new identity into the seventh year of school, getting a fake wand... Flhoyer shuddered. Wands were such disgusting things. He wondered if he could burn the Ollivander's shop down.
Maybe, later.
Lord Voldemort was bored. He had nothing planned for the entirety of the evening and night. No Deatheater meetings, Revels or Raids. Perhaps he could use his time inventing another evil mastermind plot, but that usually centered on capturing or torturing his adversary Harry Potter. He would sooner wear a pink tutu than admit it aloud, but he missed the bugger. He was always looking forward to the purely Slytherin tactics boy used to escape him with the occasional Gryffindor bluntness. Amazingly, it always worked. And, of course, there was the luck factor.
The Dark Lord sighed. He had to stop reminiscing about good old times. Maybe, he can call in and torture Bella a bit. Both of them derived great pleasure from such interaction, the sick and twisted people that they were.
The wards on the mansion signaled to the arrival of one of his followers. A low rank Deatheater. Interesting. Few dared to disturb him on his day off work.
The man barged in the throne hall with a grace of a swine and enthusiastically sprawled on the floor, crawling steadily forwards to kiss the hem of his robes. It was a long way from the entrance to his throne, so he watched patiently over the progress of his minion, contemplating buying one of the WWW's portable swamps. All the crawling and groveling would be much more amusing with proper scenery… Unfortunately, dark lords didn't buy prank products. Sigh.
"My Lord and Master, I am here to deliver a message."
Should he tell the hyper guy that being a Dark Lord didn't mean he was into BDSM with his followers? Bella was a different matter entirely. Nah, let him suffer, no crucios for masochists.
"So, where is it?"
The man quickly handed over the envelope and returned to his groveling position.
The hand-writing was sharp and neat, he liked it.
Lord Voldemort,
I was very surprised to discover one of my dear friends Remus Lupin chained in his own basement. And not at that time of month too. I assume we both know about the man's period. While your faithful Deatheater could be a friend just lounging about and emptying the host's liquor cabinet, Remus proved my peaceful theory wrong.
In a gesture of goodwill, I am sending your minion back alive. I have no personal offence at the incident, but I caution you not to harm my close ones. I am still working out a list. As soon as it is ready, I'll send it to you. For now, there is only one person who you could have already guessed - Remus Lupin.
Best regards,
Flhoyer
Well, that was refreshing. This new character must be slightly insane to order the Dark Lord around or is looking forward to confrontation. Flhoyer didn't even threaten him, just cautioned him. Subtle and transparent at the same time.
"You were ordered to apprehend anybody who arrived at the cottage. Why didn't you capture Flhoyer?"
The body on the floor twitched.
"I was caught off guard."
"On your feet!" barked Voldemort, and the minion almost jumped in the air trying to follow the command - remarkable speed. He was impressed; maybe he would relocate this one to perform parlor tricks on the Revels.
Voldemort quickly caught the murky brown eyes with his crimson and looked through the recent memories.
Flhoyer, in his opinion looked the typical scientist. As insane and excitable as the rest of them. And without a care towards his appearance. It didn't surprise him that Dumbledore's pet werewolf was associated with such a person; after all, he was reported to be quite an academic prodigy himself.
Yes, for a scientist the Dark Lord would be a mild annoyance. He knew that intimately. He had to get used to the occasional disrespect from Severus too. Crucios just got the man more bitchy about the interference in his work and led to threats to leave for Dumbledore. Voldemort wasn't sure if the Potions Master himself knew which side of the war he was on. But his Potions were damn good. For instance, the one that returned him his human appearance. He just suggested it as a project for Severus, no deadline was even mentioned. The Dark Lord was quite content with the snakish outlook; it served its purposes… And what do you think? The man lit up at the challenge and the cure was ready in a matter of weeks.
He will be watching Flhoyer, maybe, even recruit him in the future. Or maybe not. One more scientist in his ranks could be one more scientist too many.