This chapter was the HARDEST chapter to write. It was, however, sadly necessary. A child can't not know his grandfather is a Dark Lord forever. :)

Please also note: This chapter is more from Voldemort's point of view than Revelin's.

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Voldemort had pondered long and hard how to tell Revelin of his role in the war, an issue which became more important and more important with each passing day. With every trip the two took to Europe, Voldemort could see the question of who, exactly, his shara was growing larger and larger in the child's mind. Voldemort knew he couldn't just tell Revelin outright, since he suspected the shock would be overwhelming, but nor could he obviously keep it from him much longer. The boy had to understand and accept his place in the world and in the war.

He would have to tell Revelin slowly, he had decided. Give the child bits and pieces of information for him to digest over time and get used to. Over the years Voldemort had greatly limited the child's exposure to the war, for the simple reason that the publicity concerning it was overwhelmingly biased against Voldemort, and he didn't want the child's mind twisted by the lies spread by those dunderheads at the Daily Prophet. Revelin may have been incredibly bright, but he was also four and impressionable. Voldemort didn't want him getting the wrong impression.

Voldemort knew he would have to have a discussion with Revelin about the proper place of muggles, but he also knew he would need the right opportunity to do so. This conversation about muggles would be important, so Voldemort wanted Revelin to remember it clearly. Thus it had to be distinct from other conversations the two had. This meant their discussion couldn't resemble an academic lecture. Voldemort would have to wait for the opportunity to broach the subject in casual conversation.

The opportunity came when they were in North America, in the mountains of Colorado. Voldemort had brought Revelin there so the two could hunt down Nogtails. From the research Voldemort had done, an unusually high number of the piglet-like creatures cursed the ranches in the area. When they went, it was a beautiful June morning. The sun was warm and pleasant without being too hot, and only a tiny breath of wind somehow made it through the mountain passes.

A Nogtail wasn't hard to find. After only an hour of passing by the ranches in the area, Voldemort stopped at the edge of a property and pointed. "Look, Revelin. A Nogtail must live here. Tell me why."

Revelin wasn't tall enough to see over the edge of the ranch's fence, so he stuck his arms out rather demandingly and Voldemort picked him up. It was strange how quickly Voldemort had become accustomed to doing that—holding the child. Now he did it without thought. Revelin wrapped his arms around Voldemort's neck and peered out at the ranch.

"Everything's dying," he said flatly, after a moment of observation. The boy's sharp eyes flicked from the grass, which had yellowed, to the cows in the distance, which were thin and stumbling.

"Exactly," said Voldemort in satisfaction. "The Nogtail's presence curses the land. Now tell me"—he flicked his wand, blasted a hole in the ranch's wards, and catapulted them both neatly over the fence—"where on the ranch would I find this Nogtail?"

"In the pig sty," answered Revelin firmly, as Voldemort carried him in long strides across the pasture and up to a collection of buildings on a small knoll. "It poses as a piglet and suckles an ordinary pig. As long as it does so, the farm or ranch is cursed."

They came up a grumpy-looking, old wizard in muggle overalls, and Revelin's legs tightened around Voldemort's waist nervously, but the wizard didn't notice them, as Voldemort had known he would. "Don't worry, child," he said in amusement, standing right next to the wizard, who continued to stare out at his fields with a worried look on his weathered face. "He can't see or hear us."

Revelin seemed to be examining the wizard, his eyes fixed on the man's face, so Voldemort swung him gently around and strode up to the pig sty in the distance.

"Can you tell which piglet it is?" Voldemort asked, once they were next to it. Revelin scrambled from his arms and propped himself up on the pig sty's fence, standing on a lower muddy board and bracing his hands on the uppermost board, leaning precariously over the fence to get a good look at the piglets. Voldemort grabbed the back of the child's legs to make sure he didn't fall face-first into the mud.

Revelin observed the animals for a moment, then glanced back at Voldemort, smiled mischievously, and mock-whispered, "I think it's the one staring up at me suspiciously."

Voldemort glanced over the side of the fence. Sure enough, one of the little piglets had tensed up on the sty floor, its beady black eyes fixed on Voldemort and Revelin. "I think you are right," said Voldemort mildly.

He leaned forward a little bit, to get a closer look, and the Nogtail squealed in alarm. In a flash it had leapt over one of the other piglets, its squeal panicky, and rocketed out of the sty, speeding like a bullet down the ranch's gravel road and around the side of the barn. Voldemort let it go, his eyes following it as disappeared from sight. When its squeals had finally faded, Voldemort glanced back at Revelin to see the child frowning.

"It's not very smart, is it?" he asked, his brow furrowed. "I mean, if it hadn't stared at me so obviously, I might not have been able to guess what it was, and it wouldn't have had to run."

"Few magical creatures, wizards included, are smart," said Voldemort dryly, picking Revelin back up and setting him on his hip.

He strode down the gravel path, past the wizard, and Revelin twisted in Voldemort's grip to get a better look at the man. "The Nogtail will come back," he pointed out, sounding a little confused. "We didn't get rid of it the proper way. Shouldn't we tell the man what's causing his problem, so he can get rid of it for good?"

Voldemort stopped walking and glanced down at the child, shifting him to look at him more directly. Revelin's expression was anxious, worried. He seemed honestly concerned for the man..

The child's concern irritated Voldemort, but he squashed his irritation so as not to alarm Revelin. This was exactly the type of wishy-washy thinking so prevalent in children and the members of the Light side. It was Voldemort's responsibility to crush it before it got out of hand.

"Child," he said, trying but not entirely succeeding to keep the exasperation out of his voice. "That man is an experienced magical rancher in an area where Nogtails are common. His ranch has all the prominent signs of a Nogtail infestation, and yet it hasn't occurred to him that he might have a Nogtail. Sometimes, Revelin, you deserve what you get."

Revelin's brow furrowed, as if he found the concept difficult to grasp. "So the Nogtail is…a punishment for the man's stupidity?"

That was an excellent way for Revelin to look at it. Voldemort grasped at the opportunity. "The stupid and the weak," he emphasized, "deserve what's coming to them. Do you understand, child?"

Revelin was silent for a long time. Voldemort shifted through the child's mind. The boy did understand, sort of, but he didn't seem really like it. However, Voldemort watched as the child considered the fact that this was what his shara was telling him, and his shara was always right, so this must be right…The boy nodded at last. Voldemort smiled and resumed walking down the drive. As they exited the ranchland and turned right on the road, heading towards a small town, Revelin, who had obviously been thinking a great deal on Voldemort's words, asked him suddenly, "What if someone is smart but weak?"

Voldemort glanced down at him in surprise. "What do you mean?"

Revelin's brow furrowed. "Well," he said slowly, "what if someone is a very weak wizard, but is also very smart? Where do they belong in the world, Shara?"

Voldemort's lips twisted into an amused smile. Sometimes, with Revelin being as intelligent as he was, he forgot how sheltered he had kept the child. "A wizard's power," he said, amusement coating his voice, "is very closely related to his intelligence. Smart wizards study hard and become powerful. The only time you see a weak wizard who is smart is if the wizard has some sort of illness."

"And what happens to them?" Revelin asked, suddenly anxious. Voldemort glanced down at him curiously. The child seemed rather concerned with the fate of such wizards.

"If they are intelligent," said Voldemort slowly, watching Revelin's face carefully, curiously—what thought was bothering the child?—"they find a way to make themselves indispensible to wizards who are both intelligent and powerful."

Revelin bit his lip. It was a sure sign the child was anxious about something, because it meant he had momentarily forgotten Voldemort's rule about him not biting his lip. Voldemort waited, sure something that had upset Revelin so much would be too much for the child to contain.

Sure enough, a second later the boy asked, in a small voice, "Am I i-i-nd-d-dispensible"—he had difficulties pronouncing the word—"to you?" He peered up at Voldemort anxiously.

Voldemort stilled, for once, completely flabbergasted. What on Earth had made the child think that he wasn't indispensible to Voldemort…?

Oh. Children.

This was obviously a topic of great distress for Revelin, but Voldemort couldn't prevent the amusement from lacing his voice as he said, "Child, you are completely indispensible to me."

If possible, Revelin looked both relieved and worried. "But what did I do to become indi—indi—indi—"

"Indispensible," Voldemort finished for him.

"That."

It was a good question. How had Revelin become completely indispensible, as Voldemort had claimed without a second's thought? The answer came to him from so many different directions that at last Voldemort simply said, "You exist."

Revelin's brow furrowed. "But—"

"You are my offspring," interrupted Voldemort sternly. "And though now you are weak in that you are vulnerable, because you're not old enough to cast spells yet, when you are older you will be both strong and powerful."

"But how do you know?" pressed Revelin anxiously.

"Because you are my child," said Voldemort firmly. Because Revelin was his blood. Because Revelin was given to him by Destiny. Because Revelin had discovered a second use for gillyweed.

Revelin appeared uncertain for a while, but eventually Voldemort felt acceptance slide across the child's mind. Satisfied, he resumed walking to the town in the distance.

"What about muggles?" Revelin asked, as the town grew larger and larger.

Voldemort's hand clenched at the new turn the conversation had taken. "What about them?" he bit out. The very thought of muggles revolted him.

"Where do they fit in the world?" Revelin asked curiously.

"At the bottom," said Voldemort flatly. "They are weak, because they have no magic at all, and they are too stupid to be indispensible."

"How do you know they're stupid?" asked Revelin curiously.

"I've met more muggles than I would prefer," said Voldemort darkly, his mind flicking back to the orphanage. His grip on Revelin's back tightened slightly.

"But all muggles?" Revelin asked skeptically. "How do you know every single one of them is stupid?"

Voldemort gave him a sharp glance. It wasn't like Revelin to doubt him. The earlier conversation must have deeply unsettled him, for him to think this way. Seeing Voldemort's disapproving expression, Revelin shrunk down a little, frightened.

Voldemort frowned. Now that the question had been asked, Voldemort knew he had to answer it, or it would grow and grow in Revelin's mind until it was a problem. Sighing in exasperation, he swung Revelin off his hip and plopped him on the ground, then kneeled down next to them so they were eye to eye.

"I know muggles are stupid," he said, "the way we both know that dogs are stupid. The smartest dog in the world isn't as smart as a human. Would you agree?"

Revelin nodded slowly, a frown on his face. His brow furrowed. "But—" he started. He glanced over his shoulder to where the muggle town rose from valley. "But muggles aren't like dogs, are they? They can build things!"

Voldemort's lip curled. To him, muggles were much worse than dogs. Ire rose in him, that Revelin was continuing this line of questioning, but he squashed it. It was imperative that Revelin understand this, and it wouldn't help if Voldemort got angry with him.

"Yes," Voldemort bit out, "muggles can build things, much like wizards can. There are things that wizards do that muggles can also do. Just like there are things that wizards can do that dogs can also do. Wizards and muggles can build buildings. Wizards, muggles, and dogs can eat and sleep and hunt. Just because we have something in common," Voldemort appeared distasteful, "with another type of creature, child, doesn't mean they are the same as us. Wizards can understand all muggle concepts, but there are some concepts that muggles can't comprehend and wizards can, no matter what—that is, namely, the higher arts of magic. Muggles can't understand and appreciate them. This makes them less than us. Wizards are superior because of this. "

Revelin seemed to find this idea curious, but as Voldemort brushed gently against his mind, he saw the boy begin to accept it, because if his shara, who knew everything, told him something, it had to be true. As Voldemort watched, the child's mind began to restructure itself, reorganizing the boy's understanding of the world into a hierarchy, with wizards on top and muggles on bottom. It was a rather fascinating change to watch, and it pleased Voldemort immensely.

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Dorcas Meadowes and Emmeline Vance had disappeared. This could have only happened because of one thing: someone had tipped them off that Voldemort wanted them. Voldemort knew there were only two possibilities as to how this could have happened: (1) Peter Pettigrew was actually a spy for the Order, and consequently the best actor and Occlumens the world had ever seen, or (2) Someone in his Inner Circle had betrayed him. Voldemort believed the first option was highly unlikely, to the point of being ludicrous, but the second option was also difficult to swallow.

It meant someone he had trusted had deceived him. Deceived him, Lord Voldemort, the most powerful wizard in the world! It made Voldemort blind with rage. Every time he thought about it, his hands clenched, his breathing quickened, red clouded his vision, and he had to fight down the urge to summon his Inner Circle Death Eaters one by one and break their minds till he found the bastard that had betrayed him. But no, he couldn't do that, as much as he wanted to.

For one, his Inner Circle was useful and he shouldn't destroy it needlessly. For another, he had to be rational about this. He could use this. That there was a spy in his Inner Circle in whom Dumbledore was placing his trust could be used to Voldemort's advantage, now that Voldemort knew about it. It was just a matter of narrowing it down to who the spy could be.

To deceive Voldemort, the spy had to be both an excellent actor and incredibly intelligent. That eliminated Crabbe, Goyle, and Bellatrix, Crabbe and Goyle because they were as dumb as rocks, and Bellatrix because she didn't have the subtlety and acting skills necessary to be a spy if her life depended on it. The spy would also have to have very little to lose, since he would know that upon discovery Voldemort would hunt him and his family down.

Voldemort thought it unlikely the spy had children—or, indeed, any close family. That still left an uncomfortably large number of suspects: Rookwood, Travers, Snape, Gibbon, Macnair, Rowle, Selwyn. Not to mention Barty Crouch Jr., who came from a predominantly Light family, and the younger Mulciber, who would have the incentive—maybe he had found out Voldemort had sacrificed his father…? Voldemort resolved to watch each of them closely, and indeed, feed them false information to see what happened.

He also started planning the spy's demise, for when he found out who it was and no longer needed to leak false information. The dementors, after all, were always hungry.

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Voldemort was able to bring up the topic of the war with Revelin later that summer.

They were in Hong Kong. It was late August, and Voldemort had brought Revelin there to experience Ghost Festival.

"What can you tell me about the Festival?" Voldemort had asked him, early that afternoon.

Revelin's arms and legs were wrapped tightly around Voldemort's neck and waist, respectively, and he gazed around with big, frightened eyes. All around Hong Kong, scores of ghosts floated around like a thick fog, conversing with each other and the few wizards who could see them. Not four yards away, a richly-dressed Chinese lady floated over the water, wringing her hands and muttering to herself in a slightly echoing voice. She had a knife protruding from her back.

"I-It's—" Revelin started, his voice wavering, then fell abruptly silent as the ghost of a Mongol warrior stormed by. He stared after its retreating form with wide eyes.

Voldemort prodded him gently. "The ghosts can't hurt you, Revelin. They're dead."

Revelin's grip on Voldemort didn't loosen, but he did manage to stammer out, as another ghost passed by, uncomfortably close, "The g-ghosts c-come h-here because o-of the T-Taoist sh-shrines."

"Very good, Revelin," said Voldemort. Then, seeing that the boy wasn't going to be able to say anything else, he explained, just in case the child didn't know any of it, "The ancient Taoist magicians across much of China, Malaysia, and Singapore built shrines they believed allowed them to connect closely with the Earth's energy. Inexplicably, however, during this month's lunar cycle, the moon and the shrines interact in such a way that they act as a magnet for ghosts, drawing hundreds of thousands of them from all across the world during this month alone. So many ghosts come that even the muggles have figured out something strange happens during this time. They celebrate the Ghost Festival too. The whole occurrence is a bit of a mystery." Voldemort's eyes glowed as he thought about it. He planned on studying the whole thing in detail once he had taken over the world. "Necromancers," he added, "have studied the phenomenon for centuries without coming up with any agreed-upon explanation for the behavior."

Voldemort glanced down and realized Revelin may not have heard a word he was saying. The child's eyes were fixed on an Indian ghost juggling his head around. Voldemort could feel fear radiating off the boy as he stared at it.

Voldemort frowned. The child's fear of ghosts couldn't be allowed to persist. It was a silly thing for the grandson of a Dark Lord to be afraid of.

"You!" Voldemort said imperiously in Hindi, pointing across the street directly at the juggling ghost.

The ghost froze in its juggling, then grabbed its head with both hands and turned it slowly to face Voldemort. The expression on its face was one of both fear and astonishment.

"Come here," Voldemort commanded. Or else was implied.

There wasn't much a wizard could do to harm a ghost, but this ghost obviously didn't think it wise to cross Voldemort. Ghostly sweat appeared on its brow, and it plopped its head back on its body and floated over.

Upon seeing what it was doing, Revelin gasped in horror, looked up at Voldemort with an expression of great betrayal, and then buried his face in the crook of Voldemort's neck, trembling. His arms and legs clutched Voldemort like steel. Voldemort wouldn't have been able to pry off the child if he had tried.

"My child needs to learn not to be afraid of you," Voldemort informed the ghost coldly, once it hovered only a foot or two away.

He looked down at Revelin and nudged him in the side. "Revelin, look up."

Revelin's grip tightened impossibly. "I don't want to," he said in a small voice.

Voldemort gazed down at him sternly. Rebellions from Revelin were rare and not tolerated. "Revelin," Voldemort said warningly. "You will not disobey me." Revelin's shoulders tensed, and Voldemort said, a little more gently, "Do you not trust me to not let anything bad happen to you?"

Revelin was still for a moment, then slowly his head turned, so that he was peeking up at Voldemort worriedly. "Are you sure it can't hurt me?" he whispered.

"I am positive."

Slowly, Revelin craned his head around and looked directly up at the ghost. Voldemort could feel his little heart racing in his chest.

The ghost smiled. Revelin cringed back. "Namaste," the ghost said in its echoing voice. It stepped back and gave a rather flourishing bow.

"N-namaste," Revelin whispered back nervously. The child knew the basic greetings in Hindi from their travels in India.

The ghost then rattled off something else in Hindi, and Revelin looked up at Voldemort questioningly. Voldemort smiled rather smugly. "He says that you look a lot like me," he said, for interpretation.

The ghost hovered a little closer, and Revelin stared at it cautiously. Voldemort could tell the child was calming down, his fear fading somewhat.

"Touch him," ordered Voldemort quietly. "See that he cannot hurt you."

Revelin paused for a long time, then he cautiously extended his hand. Voldemort could see his arm trembling.

"Don't be afraid," said Voldemort. The child bit his lip, appearing to steel himself, and surged forward and swiped his hand through the ghost.

Revelin cried out in surprise and withdrew his hand quickly. "He's cold!" he exclaimed, looking up at Voldemort rather accusingly.

"Yes," said Voldemort, unaffected by his accusing gaze. "But not solid. He can't hurt you. See?"

Revelin appeared unconvinced. Voldemort realized he would have to take drastic measures. He turned to the ghost. "Try to punch him," he ordered in Hindi.

The ghost appeared terrified. "B-but—"

"Now."

The ghost could tell, wisely, that there was nothing for it. Still looking terrified, he pulled back his arm and took a wild swing. Revelin cried out in alarm, his grip on Voldemort painful, but the fist and arm rushed through his chest and Voldemort's like a cold wind and then faded.

When it was over, Revelin was very still for a long time, as if processing what had just happened.

"Do you understand now," asked Voldemort after the silence had gone on long enough, "that they can't hurt you even if they tried?"

Revelin was silent for a moment more. Then he slowly nodded. "But," he said quickly, anxiously, "I don't like it when they touch me."

"It is an unpleasant sensation," Voldemort acknowledged.

Revelin looked up at him cautiously, and then over at the ghost, who hovered awkwardly nearby. Voldemort slipped into the child's mind and saw the fear fading. After a minute Revelin's grip loosened, and the child slid voluntarily to the ground. His hand immediately clutched the edge of Voldemort's robe, but that was enough to let Voldemort know the child would be all right. The fear would fade fully soon enough.

Voldemort turned to the ghost. His voice was cold. "Leave."

The ghost appeared only too happy to do so.

After that, the child seemed to enjoy the Festival. In fact, he even seemed to take a liking to the ghosts, as the afternoon wore on. Revelin found a group of them that spoke Arabic floating near a noodle restaurant and spent a good hour or so asking them what it was like to be dead, Voldemort leaning against a nearby wall and keeping an eye on him.

As afternoon started fading into evening, lights started appearing on the slow-moving river. "They're lotus lanterns," said Voldemort, upon seeing Revelin staring at them in fascination. "The ghosts like them."

Indeed, the ghosts had clustered around the river like a thick cloud. Revelin could peer through them to see the lanterns shining like large fireflies on the river. He was craning his head. Voldemort could tell he wanted to get a closer look, though it meant getting closer to a multitude of ghosts. This pleased Voldemort.

"Go put a lantern on the river," he suggested, pulling a knut out of his pocket and handing it to Revelin. "They're selling them right over there." He tilted his head toward the corner of the building where there stood a stand covered in orange and red lanterns. A line full of children had formed in front of it.

Revelin needed no encouragement. He jogged over to the stand eagerly, turning the knut over and over in his hands. Voldemort leaned up against a light-post, his hands in his pockets, keeping an eye on him.

One could tell Revelin was different from the other children in the line just by looking at him. The other children, though all of different ethnicities, acted much the same: rather rowdy, shifting backwards and forwards impatiently. Two boys ahead of Revelin were shoving each other around, nasty grins on their faces. Revelin, on the other hand, was very composed, standing quietly and without fuss, waiting patiently for his turn with the vendor. He glanced over at Voldemort and smiled.

When Revelin got up to the vendor, he chose a lantern with a paper snake slithering through the petals. Once he had it and was cradling it in his arms, he looked to the shore of the river, where a gaggle of children were dumping their lanterns, and then back at Voldemort questioningly. Voldemort tilted his head towards the children, granting permission. Revelin beamed at him and ran to join the others.

Voldemort watched quietly from afar as Revelin set his lantern on the water. A girl next to Revelin pointed to his lantern and said something. Revelin said something back. The two began to talk. Intrigued, Voldemort tilted his head to the side and watched more closely.

It didn't seem like a friendly conversation. The girl had her hands on her hips in a stance that made her look remarkably similar to Molly Weasley, or indeed, any self-righteous Gryffindor. Revelin's hands were clenched at his side, and he spoke to her tightly. In a minute a few other children had joined the conversation, all, seemingly on the girl's side. One of them, a much larger boy, sneered and shoved Revelin in the chest. Revelin stumbled back a few feet.

Sudden, unexpected rage surged through Voldemort, and his hand inched towards his wand, ready curse the imbecilic bullies who had dared touched his grandchild. Revelin, however, beat him to it. Water erupted from the river like a tidal wave, dousing all the children save one. The others stared at Revelin in horror, stunned into silence for a moment. Then they turned tail and ran. A few of the assembled wizards and witches whispered in surprise—strong accidental magic, they murmured amongst themselves—and Revelin ran back to Voldemort. His face was scrunched up. His chin wobbled. His eyes shone with unshed tears.

Voldemort knelt down and allowed the child to launch himself into his shara's arms. For a while Voldemort said nothing, and the child sobbed openly into his shoulder.

It made Voldemort uncomfortable to have Revelin crying—it was so rare, and Voldemort did not do crying children well—and yet, at the same time, it made him angry. He wondered what the little idiots had said to upset Revelin this way. Whatever it was, it was important for Revelin to understand that nothing imbeciles say should ever have the power to upset him.

"What happened?" he asked at last, rocking Revelin back and forth. He hoped the child would stop crying soon. "What did they say?"

Revelin hiccupped. "Th-they s-said th-that I sh-shouldn't p-put a s-snake in th-the l-lantern b-because s-snakes w-were n-nasty a-and i-it w-would b-be bad l-luck." The child was so distraught Voldemort decided not to chastise him for stammering so badly.

"They're idiots," said Voldemort flatly, in response to Revelin's statement. "They have no idea what they're talking about."

"I know!" Revelin wailed. He shifted in Voldemort's arms, and he was suddenly much more coherent. His little fists clenched in sudden anger. "That's what I told her, but she wasn't even interested. She didn't even seem to know or care when I told her that we were in China, and that snakes weren't considered bad luck, and that there was even an entire year dedicated to snakes—and then she asked me what 'dedicated' means, like a dumbie, and I told her, and she and the others started making fun of me, saying that I was a dork, and I asked her what a dork was, and they started laughing—"

"They're idiots," said Voldemort again, more firmly, angry. He pulled back and met Revelin's eyes, placing a finger over the child's mouth as he opened it to say something else. "Unfortunately, child, there are a lot of people like that in the world, people that are so stupid that they can't recognize or appreciate a genius—like you—when they meet one. They are morons and completely beneath you." His voice resonated with anger.

Revelin had slowly stopped crying, but he was still sniffling. He peered up at Voldemort with wet eyes. "But there were so many of them," he said in a small voice.

Voldemort's lips tightened. Fury thrummed through his veins. There had been a lot of morons at the orphanage and Hogwarts as well. "Unfortunately," he said tightly, "you just experienced what idiots like to do. Whenever idiots are losing an argument, they gang up and force their will through sheer numbers on people that are inherently better than him." Loathing filled Voldemort as he thought of it.

Revelin looked appalled. "But I don't want to do what idiots tell me to do," he said in a horrified whisper.

The opening was so perfect, Voldemort couldn't pass it up. "Maybe you won't someday," said Voldemort smoothly. He plucked Revelin off the ground and settled him on his hip.

Revelin stared at Voldemort in bewilderment. "What do you mean, Shara?"

Voldemort pulled out his wand and cast a quick charm, so that no one could eavesdrop on their conversation.

"That's what the war in Europe is about, child," explained Voldemort, as he strode with Revelin down the busy boulevard. "See, Europe has a lot of people like the ones you just met, who are afraid of things they don't understand, like snakes…or werewolves…or giants…or the Dark Arts. So, because they are stupid, weak, and afraid, they gather together and elect stupid and weak people to rule over them, and they expect others, who are better than they are, who are more powerful, more intelligent, who are special, to follow the rules the weak people make, and they force them to do so through sheer numbers."

"But that's terrible!" protested Revelin.

"It is," Voldemort agreed. "So there is a war. The smart and special people, the powerful ones from powerful families, they are fighting to reorganize society, so that idiots like those children you just met can stop imposing their will on special people, like you and me. The most powerful people will make the rules. If that side wins, you, child, will never be ganged up on like that again. People like those children you just met will be put in their proper place."

Voldemort could tell that in his hurt and anger, Revelin liked this idea. He liked it a lot. The child's approval of the rebellion resonated throughout his mind.

They fell silent for a while. Voldemort came to a stop at a far more secluded area of the boulevard, away from the ghosts and lights. Revelin grew heavy in his arms, his thoughts murky. Voldemort could tell the child was almost asleep.

Before the boy fully nodded off, however, he asked, quietly, "Shara?"

"Yes?"

"Who will be on top, if the other side wins? Who is the most powerful?"

Voldemort paused.

"I am."

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