Hey everyone!

I know it's been FOREVER since I updated, and I apologize, especially since my several week absence follows a bunch of reviews praising how fast I update. The irony. The truth is that I'm overwhelmed with schoolwork and have hit a bit of a writer's block for this story. I don't know how often I'll be able to update; it depends a lot on how much work I have to do in school, and since I'm taking 19 hours my update rate will probably be fairly erratic.

Anyway, to atone for going so long without an update, in addition to this chapter I am also posting a side-story oneshot detailing the events leading up to the birth of Revelin's mother. I just thought some people might be interested in it.

Thanks so much for sticking with me!

Elizabeth England

Voldemort reacted to the attack on Hogsmeade and his subsequent visit with Dumbledore by altering Revelin's education schedule. History of Magic, the subject which most often brought the two to Europe, took a less prominent position. It was replaced instead by Astronomy, which, due its nature, could not be studied in Europe at all, for Voldemort could not afford to teach it at night. For one, he held his Death Eater meetings at night. For another, it would completely mess up Revelin's schedule, which would make the child cranky, which would make Voldemort cranky, which make him lose a few Death Eaters. And after the Halloween fiasco, Voldemort couldn't really afford to lose that many more servants, imbeciles though they were.

Thus, since Astronomy could not be studied at night in Marrakech, it had to be studied at night elsewhere, which meant a lot of trips to the Americas, Australia, and East Asia. There was another benefit to these locations, aside from their distance from Europe: they were all in unpopulated areas. Astronomy was best studied away from cities, so when Voldemort took Revelin on field trips out of Morocco, he had the comfort of knowing there wasn't a damn person for miles around. There would be no Death Eaters bursting from the woodworks, no mudbloods trying to hold his child, and no following the little miscreant into crowded candy stores.

Not that Voldemort would ever let Revelin into a candy store again.

Revelin took to these changes somewhat unenthusiastically. His reluctance irritated Voldemort at first, till he understood what it was for. After skimming the child's mind, Voldemort discovered that the five year old found sitting in a cornfield in the middle of Nebraska, staring at the night's sky, somewhat less interesting than visiting the cursed burial grounds of Babylonian kings. Not surprising, but easily rectified: Voldemort simply proposed that, since Revelin found their excursions so boring, perhaps they should just quit leaving the riad for lessons. The child was much more enthusiastic about their trips after that.

Revelin's eagerness to leave the riad was probably heightened by the fact that security around the riad had gotten much more stringent since Voldemort's meeting with Dumbledore. Extra protective magic lay thick over the riad like a layer of dust, so strong it sometimes made it difficult to breathe. For, as elated as Voldemort had been with how his meeting with Dumbledore had gone, he wouldn't put it past the old coot to try and find some loophole in their Unbreakable Vow and exploit it; he half-expected for the headmaster to appear on their doorstep. And though he doubted Dumbledore would start casting Avada Kedavra's upon arrival, since he had so stupidly swallowed the trollop Voldemort had fed him, he would be an unwelcome visitor, homicidal or not.

Mostly the extra security was for Dumbledore, but a small part of it was for Voldemort's Death Eaters. Many of them thirsted for revenge against the man who singlehandedly killed so many of their comrades, even if they weren't witness to the massacre themselves. That had been part of the reason he had killed the Death Eaters who had attacked Hogsmeade that night: they had fought him firsthand, and would have had even more reason revenge. Eliminating them took care of that problem.

Admittedly, though, Bellatrix was probably the most dangerous threat on that front, as zealous and as skilled a duelist as she was. Still, she had been too valuable to simply eliminate. Instead he had raped her mind and ripped his image from its depths, implanting in her horror at the very thought of trying to find the man who had bested her in the duel. Now, a week later, he was quite sure he had put too much power in the mind-ripping spell. She had become unstable. Narcissa had banished her from Malfoy Manor upon finding her dragging the little bratling, Draco, to the dungeons for punishment after he had tripped her in the corridor. While Voldemort, personally, would have rather liked to see Bellatrix's punishment of Draco, he somewhat doubted the snot-nosed little rat would have survived, which wouldn't have bothered him at all if he didn't think Lucius Malfoy would be a total wreck because of it. Lucius was no use to Lord Voldemort when overwhelmed with grief. Besides, Lucius's pathetic weakness towards his son was a weakness Voldemort could exploit, and it would cease to exist should the brat be killed prematurely.

As amusing as that would be.

Despite Bellatrix's unfortunate downhill spiral, Voldemort didn't regret the harsh punishment he had doled out that night. Looking back on it, he felt a distinct rush of pleasure at the memory. He could taste the horror and fear that night, could hear his servants' rapidly beating hearts and shallow breathing. The cacophony of tortured screams and useless pleading had been so satisfying against the backdrop of his utter rage.

And what was even better was that echoes of that tantalizing fear had followed him everywhere this week. All of his Death Eaters were properly cowed. The change was less obvious in his English Death Eaters, with whom he had more contact with and who had been conditioned appropriately to fear him. His foreign servants, especially those from countries he focused less of his energies on, were more deeply affected. It seemed like, in his long absences, that they had forgotten who, exactly, they were serving. The little display Halloween night had reminded them. Their terror practically leaked out of them whenever he visited.

It was a welcome change in America, and to a lesser extent, Australia. He had never particularly liked either country—wizards and witches there were so irreverent—so it was particularly pleasing to see his servants there sufficiently cowed. But to make sure the message sunk in, he went ahead and tortured and killed a few of them anyway. It worked marvelously in instilling the appropriate tone of voice, and he resolved to be more public and frequent in his displays of brutality in the future.

The week, really, had been a very good one. Monday he had successfully fooled Albus Dumbledore, and Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday had all been marked by a level of competence and fearfulness in his Death Eaters that he hadn't seen in years. Even Revelin contributed to his good mood: though the child was unenthusiastic about his Astronomy lessons, he had made up for it by ending his string of throwing temper-tantrums whenever Voldemort left the riad. Voldemort wasn't sure whether or not this was because the child had gotten over his fears or because he had realized the futility of clinging to Voldemort's pant-leg. A part of Voldemort wondered, if the latter part was the case, if Revelin had something else planned. He decided not to question his good fortune. The week was just going too well to worry about such things.

Of course, Pettigrew had to change all of that.

AAAA—Page Break—AAAA

Voldemort hadn't actually summoned Pettigrew since the little show on Halloween, for the simple reason that he had thought summoning Pettigrew would probably ruin his good mood. Pettigrew had always been the most cowardly of his Death Eaters, and if his braver servants were minor wrecks, Voldemort didn't want to know to what Pettigrew was going to be like. Pettigrew's fear had never been pleasing the way others' was; Voldemort suspected it was because Pettigrew was just pathetic.

Predictably, upon facing Voldemort, Pettigrew blanched and stumbled backwards. The little rat was so contemptible he started hyperventilating even before Voldemort could open his mouth. Voldemort despised him for it. Just seeing his sweating, rat-like form scrambled backwards in a panic made Voldemort's good mood evaporate. Why did the Universe allow pathetic little beings like him to exist? Pettigrew gave wizards a bad name.

"Wormtail," started Voldemort warningly.

It did no good. Pettigrew started shaking like a leaf. Voldemort watched him. Oh, he couldn't wait for the day that he could kill the man! Watching him trembling on the floor—truly, he was pathetic to the point of ludicrousness—Voldemort resisted the urge to roll his eyes and turned to Malfoy.

"Lucius," he said, sounding bored, "Go fetch a calming draught from your kitchen. He's useless as he is right now."

Bowing low and looking greatly relieved Voldemort hadn't cursed him, Lucius disappeared out the door. Silence fell in the room as he waited. The only sound was Pettigrew sniffling and twitching on the floor. The man was so terrified Voldemort idly wondered how Pettigrew had built up enough courage to answer his summons. He inwardly sneered. Gryffindor bravery at work, it seemed.

After a minute of waiting in bored silence, watching the little rat humiliating himself on the floor, Voldemort turned to the remaining Death Eaters. There was really no need for them to hear Pettigrew's report. "The rest of you," he said coldly, "Leave. Now."

"Y-yes, m-my l-lord," they stammered, bowing low before disapparating. From his glimpses of their expressions on their faces as they left, they looked practically faint from relief to go.

Soon, it was just Voldemort and Pettigrew in the hall, Pettigrew, aware of their solitude, more terrified than ever, it seemed, and Voldemort, his eyes glittering, watching him in silence. He had always been inexplicably curious about people like Peter Pettigrew. What made them so inconceivably pathetic? What insipid thoughts and convoluted feelings went through them to make them act as they did? How was it possible to be so incredibly stupid? Voldemort had never been able to figure it out, and he was quite sure it was because he couldn't stoop down to their level of thinking. Voldemort trying to understand the thoughts and feelings of people like Pettigrew was like man trying to understand the thoughts and feelings of a worm.

The far door swung open, and Lucius entered swiftly, a vial in his right hand. He approached his master and kissed the hem of his robes. Voldemort took the vial in one hand and clutched his wand tightly in another. He considered cursing Lucius for taking so long, but decided against it for the sake of not wasting more time.

"Leave."

Lucius looked more than happy to do so. He was the ninth person today to leave Voldemort's presence with that expression on his face. The fear this expression entailed normally would have pleased Voldemort, but Pettigrew's pathetic-ness was making everything annoying, and seeing his Death Eaters looking so happy was starting to grate on his nerves. The next person who tried to leave looking happy today was going to get Crucio'd and make Voldemort happy.

Without even attempting to address Pettigrew, Voldemort flicked his wand and forced the man, who sputtered and gargled and choked, to swallow the draught. He didn't even try to ask Pettigrew questions. Instead, when the little rat's mind, which had been blank with terror earlier, finally returned to its normal stupid state, Voldemort plunged in.

It was revolting, as always. Pettigrew's mind felt slow and sticky, like it was filled with morass, which would not have honestly surprised Lord Voldemort. The slow movement and poor organization of his thoughts made them difficult to sift through, and Voldemort observed with great disdain four memories of Pettigrew enviously watching James Potter before he came upon ones that were useful to him:

"How did the meeting with Cad go?" Remus Lupin asked James Potter. They were sitting in a kitchen Voldemort didn't recognize, across from each other at a table. Early morning light spilled in front an over-sink window, and despite the premonitions of a beautiful day, both looked worn and drawn, Lupin more so. His hands gripped his coffee mug limply and large bags shadowed his eyes.

James made an odd grunting noise. "How should I know?" he asked morosely, staring down at the table.

Lupin looked up in surprise. "Didn't you go?"

James sighed. "I went. But that didn't mean I met him." He tapped his finger on the table, frowning. "No one met with him except Dumbledore and Scrimgeour. Even Skeeter was expelled."

Lupin arched an eyebrow, a puzzled expression crossing his face. "But…why?"

James exhaled heavily. "I don't know. Well, I do. Sort of. Dumbledore can't say much about the man, because he and Scrimgeour made an Unbreakable Vow not to, but he did say this Cad fellow had good reason to be paranoid, or something to that affect."

"Why?" Pettigrew asked, speaking up for the first time. He shuffled away from the doorway, pattering to the sink.

James shrugged. "Dunno, Wormtail. But we all have reason to be paranoid in this war. Could be a number of reasons. It doesn't take much for Voldemort"—Pettigrew and Lupin winced—"to hate you."

"What's Dumbledore planning to do about Cad?" asked Lupin, taking a sip of coffee.

Voldemort's attention sharpened.

"Well," said James awkwardly, shifting backward in his chair. "That's complicated. The Unbreakable Vow also stipulates that neither Dumbledore nor Scrimgeour can seek out or knowingly allow someone to seek out this Cad fellow unless they reasonably suspect him of criminal activity."

"So Dumbledore's just going to forget about the man?" asked Lupin incredulously, arching both eyebrows.

"I didn't say that," said James calmly. "I just said that the situation's complicated. Dumbledore wants to know more about Cad, but since he can't even send the man a letter he has to be very careful. He can't break his vow." A pause. "Technically."

There was another brief pause in which Lupin regarded James with arched eyebrows, obviously waiting for him to elaborate.

James looked aggravated. "I probably shouldn't be telling you this…but Dumbledore's hoping to meet up with him in Diagon Alley."

"Oh?"

'Oh,' indeed. How did Dumbledore figure that?

"Yeah. I don't know the specifics of it, but apparently Dumbledore expects the man to make occasional visits to Gringotts for business, and he's hoping Caradoc will run into him on the job. If he does—and he had to be extremely careful on his wording when asking Caradoc this—he wants Caradoc to invite him to lunch or tea or whatever, and have Dumbledore meet up with them wherever they are. That way Dumbledore's not technically seeking this Cad out; rather, Cad is coming to him, and Dumbledore is in the bounds of his oath."

Voldemort felt his mood sink, and, irritated, he jerked himself out of the memory. Pettigrew fell gasping to the ground, and Voldemort glowered. Dumbledore was right. The situation he envisioned was technically—barely—in the bounds of the oath. How utterly annoying. He truly hated that old coot.

This turn of events was troublesome. He had of course expected Dumbledore to be curious about Cadmus Ellwood, and he had suspected he would try to find some way around the oath, but he hadn't imagined it would happen so quickly. Trying to meet up with Cadmus Ellwood during the course of his work…There were no other word for that but just plain irritating.

It meant that Cadmus Ellwood would have to show up at Gringotts; if he didn't, Dumbledore might begin to suspect him, which meant he would begin to suspect illegality, which meant he could actively seek out Cadmus Ellwood, and that had to be avoided at all costs.

Voldemort would have to face Dumbledore again. The thought sent a twisting sensation through his chest; adrenaline rushed through his veins, making his limbs tremble; butterflies fluttered in his stomach. Anticipation, excitement, anxiety….all these emotions erupted inside him, and it was a few minutes before he could categorize his thoughts appropriately and think about the situation in the objective, logical way he preferred.

So. Dumbledore was going to pursue him. He had expected that. But he had not expected him to pursue him so quickly. That meant Dumbledore was more interested in him that he had anticipated.

But of course he was. Cadmus Ellwood was Voldemort's nephew. Voldemort had expected Dumbledore to be sympathetic, but he had obviously underestimated the effect this sympathy would have on Dumbledore. It was not a surprising failure on his part. After all, he had a difficult time understanding the lesser emotions the Light lived by.

Voldemort had expected Dumbledore to want to fraternize with someone like Cadmus Ellwood. It was one of the reasons he had demanded the oath he did. But he had thought, naively it seemed, that such an oath would discourage Dumbledore from attempting to make contact. After all, it was a pretty clear indication that Cadmus Ellwood wished to have nothing to do with Dumbledore. To immediately—without any apparent consideration of doing otherwise—actively seek a way to get around the oath was something he had not expected out of Dumbledore because it was so…rude.

Yes, rude. It seemed like a rather rude thing to do. Voldemort imagined that even if he was not Voldemort and simply Cadmus Ellwood he would be quite annoyed.

And not only was it rude, it was rather…sneaky. Another word Voldemort had never imagined calling Dumbledore. His circumventing the oath was almost…Slytherin. Voldemort's lip curled. Well, well, well—the headmaster was a bit more than sparkling robes and lemon drops, wasn't he? Very well. Two could play that game, and Voldemort was a master at it. He had fooled Dumbledore once; he could certainly fool him twice. Let this Caradoc invite Cadmus Ellwood out for lunch; Lord Voldemort would be eagerly awaiting it.

AAAA—Page Break—AAAA

It wasn't until Voldemort returned to the riad that remembered the reason he ought to be careful about his meetings with Dumbledore. Revelin was curled up on a lounge in the courtyard, fast asleep, an ancient astronomy text just seconds away from slipping out of his hands and onto the floor. Ink stains dotted his hands, and there was one on the very tip of his nose. Voldemort stared down at the child, his expression inscrutable, as his body shifted from its snake-like visage to that of Cadmus Ellwood.

In his utter contempt for Dumbledore, Voldemort had briefly forgotten that he had created the identity of Cadmus Ellwood to keep Revelin as safe as possible. Therefore he couldn't let his previous success with Dumbledore go to his head. One slip up, and Revelin would be compromised. Dumbledore absolutely could not suspect that Revelin was in any way in the care of Voldemort.

For a brief moment, an image came to him: Dumbledore holding Revelin on his hip, Dumbledore's eyes twinkling, Revelin gazing up at him adoringly the way most children did—and Voldemort was suddenly dizzy with rage and loathing. In his mind Dumbledore called Revelin 'my boy,' and Voldemort felt like he wanted to be sick. He jerked himself away from that image, and as he came to, he realized in shock that his entire body was trembling, his hands were fisted at his sides, and he was breathing harshly and angrily.

Never, never, never, never, never!

A murderous rage swept through Voldemort, and he bared his teeth angrily, running his hands agitatedly through his hair. His fingers clenched and unclenched around his scalp. All of his satisfaction from earlier had vanished completely. He was sure there was some way he could use Dumbledore's interest in him to his advantage—but not without some risk to Revelin, and—once more in his mind, Revelin gazed up at Dumbledore adoringly—and Voldemort snarled in fury, whirling away and striding to his library, his hands clenching and unclenching.

Never, never, never, never, never! No, he would not risk it! He would need to find some way to get Dumbledore out of his hair, to satisfy his curiosity. What sort of lies would he have to tell to get Dumbledore to back off? Meddling old fool! The man was such a threat to him in war—it figured that he was such a threat to his family as well!

Family…Voldemort stilled at the word, his anger draining as faint surprise echoed through him. He had never actually thought of Revelin in terms of family before, though, technically, biologically, Voldemort supposed that was what he was. But family was such a light connotation, full of hugging and kissing and stupid Gryffindorishness, and Voldemort's lip curled at the very thought. He didn't like the term family. Whatever his relationship to Revelin, it wasn't like those of Light parents and their children. It wasn't like a Light family. English needed another term to describe Voldemort's relationship to Revelin, which was so obviously un-family-like, and so superior to Light families, which were trite and trivial and full of disgusting, mushy feelings…Voldemort sneered.

Yes, he was superior to Light wizards in regards to…family—and that included protective measures. Dumbledore wasn't going to transform Revelin into some Gryffindor idiot who would rush into danger at the slightest hint of 'injustice'—whatever that was—because Voldemort wouldn't let him. Really, it was rather shocking to Voldemort that Light families liked having their children around Dumbledore, when he was so good at turning them into Gryffindor fools. It was just further proof of the idiocy and incompetency of Light parents, that they actively raised their children in a way that most guaranteed them getting killed at a young age.

Voldemort wouldn't do that to Revelin. He would grow up as a Slytherin, and he would survive.