Author's Note: Hey guys! It's Friday so you know what that means! Here are the next couple of chapters. Enjoy! (I'M REALLY LOVING THESE PARTS SO YOU'LL NOTICE THAT IT'S A FAIRLY LONG CHAPTER BECAUSE I JUST COULD NOT STOP! We're finally getting to the good parts leading up to the First Wizarding War! YAY!)

...He entered a room where there sat seven men in black cloaks, all of them with their hands on the table, waiting. They turned around just as he entered the room.

"Welcome back, my Death Eaters," Tom told Avery, Lestrange, Rosier, Davis, Nott, Rowle, and Selwynn.

They beamed at him...

CHAPTER 22: THE DEATH EATERS

"Good evening, my friends," said Tom.

He looked around the room at the men sitting at the table, all of them smiling up at him. Though, he could tell they were surprised by his physical appearance. He looked nothing like he had 6 years ago. His hair was much longer now and there were greater scars on his face which was paler than ever. His eyes had undergone some transformation as well, though Tom could still see his filthy muggle father in them.

"How have you been, my lord?" asked Rosier as Tom took a seat at the head of the table.

"I have been well," said Tom casually, "Very productive couple of years, I must say." He paused. "You look like you have been well, Rosier."

He eyed him carefully. Rosier had grown a lot since they'd last seen each other. He looked like a man now and was even sporting a beard.

"Thank you, my lord," said Rosier, grinning. "I hope you won't mind if my sister joins us soon."

"Your sister?" said Tom, surprised. "How old is she now?"

"19, sir," said Rosier.

"And how much does she know?" asked Tom.

"Not everything," said Rosier, slowly, "But the important things, yes. You will like her, my lord. She is very enthusiastic about the Dark Arts."

"I have never thought of including women in our meetings," said Tom, thoughtfully.

"I assure you she thinks like a man," said Rosier.

"There is no need to try and convince me, Rosier," said Tom, "We're not shopping here. It's not a debate over a new wand."

"Of course, my lord," said Rosier quietly, but Tom had not heard him and turned to Lestrange instead.

"The Department of Magical Law Enforcement," he told Lestrange, who was sitting near him. "I read about you in the Prophet. Very nice."

Lestrange bowed his head to him. Tom turned to look at Avery on his other side, who was very quiet. He too had grown so much. Not even a fraction of his facial features resembled that of 6 years ago.

"And what have you been doing with your time, Avery?" Tom directed at him.

He glanced around the table once as he waited for Avery to answer, and noticed that the Death Eaters had mechanically arranged their seats so that those who were first to join Tom were seated closer to him and those who were last to join were further down the long wooden table.

Avery met Tom's eyes but did not smile.

"I have been recruiting people, my lord."

The answer surprised Tom very much. He raised an eyebrow at Avery, which told him to continue.

"I have been meeting with friends of friends…telling them about your magical abilities and your ancestry. Many have been curious to hear what I have told them and they have told their friends as well."

"What sort of friends?" said Tom, slowly.

"All purebloods of course, my lord," said Avery, quickly. "Friends and relatives of our old Slytherin mates and all sorts of pureblood wizarding families who share your—uh, our beliefs about muggles, sir. Dolohov is one particular individual whom I feel you will be fascinated with."

"So there is definitely interest?" said Tom.

"Yes, my lord," said Avery. "I've told them I would contact them soon enough."

"Thank you, Avery," said Tom, who now smiled at him. "You have been most useful."

Avery gave him a small smile, but did not look like he meant it.

"My lord," said Lestrange, forcing Tom to turn his head away from Avery. "Forgive me, my lord, but might I ask—how are you feeling? You don't look well, sir."

"I am splendid," said Tom to the group. He was very well aware that they were eyeing him with great concern. He had to admit he did look a lot like a patient at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Though, in his opinion, there was nothing particularly wrong with that. After all, he was gaining much more in return, with every new Horcrux creation. "Things have been especially good lately."

"How so, my lord?"

"You won't understand it," said Tom. "Now, what have you been doing with your time, Lestrange?"

"I…" Lestrange stopped and bit his lip. Tom waited. He could tell that whatever it was that Lestrange wanted to say, the group already knew about. They exchanged looks of concern and all took extra care in avoiding Tom's eyes.

"Go on," Tom said to Lestrange, keeping the cool in his voice.

"I m-married, my L-lord Voldemort," said Lestrange, "I have t-two children, s-s-sir."

There was silence. No one seemed to be breathing. They all appeared to be frightened of Tom's reaction. Tom however, surprised them all a few seconds later by smiling at Lestrange.

"You have been busy," he said, chuckling. "I am very pleased to hear that."

"Y-you a-are?" said Lestrange.

"Oh yes," said Tom. "We need to recruit as many as possible, no? What better way than to reproduce amongst our ranks?"

The group collectively took a deep breath and their faces relaxed a bit.

"I married too, my lord," said Rosier quickly.

"As have I," said Nott.

"What are your children's names?" Tom asked Lestrange.

"Rodolphus and Rabastan," said Lestrange proudly, whose voice had also stopped trembling. "They are 5 years old and 3 months old."

Tom nodded.

At that moment, the door to the room opened and a woman entered. She was wearing a dark green cloak and had long silvery blonde hair and dark eyes. She stopped in the doorway, bowed once, and then proceeded to the table and took the seat at the very end.

"Good evening," said Tom.

"My lord," she said, bowing again.

"And you are?"

"Druella Rosier, my lord," she said.

"You look like your brother," Tom observed.

Rosier chuckled.

"What brings you here tonight, Druella?"

"I wish to join your ranks," she stated.

"Why?" said Tom.

"Rosier has told me about what had happened down at Hogwarts during your fifth year—that girl in the bathroom.."

"Ah," said Tom. "That's what interests you, is it?"

"Well, for a wizard at age 15, I find it to be incredibly marvelous, yes."

Tom smiled. What had Rosier been thinking, bring this child to a meeting?

"Well, why don't you run along and play with something?" Tom told her, kindly.

Her smile faded and she stared at him blankly. Then, without warning, she rose to her feet, drew out her wand, pointed it at her brother and muttered Imperio. Within seconds, poor Rosier was tap dancing on the table with his tongue stuck out and his hands clutching his buttocks. The Death Eaters roared with laughter and Tom smiled slightly but Druella kept her face sharp.

"That's enough," Tom instructed after a couple of minutes and Druella lifted the spell and sat back down. "You have a dangerous sense of humor, my dear."

Tom watched her for a long time while Rosier stumbled back to his seat and shot a few remarks at the laughing Death Eaters. After they quieted down, Tom nodded once at Druella, and then turned to look at her brother.

"And have you any children, Rosier?"

"One," said Rosier, grumpily. "Rosier Jr."

"How very predictable," Tom chuckled.

"My lord," interrupted Rowle. "I too have been speaking with many pureblood families, and there is one particular family who are very interested in meeting you and joining us."

"Yes," said Tom, beckoning him to continue.

"The Blacks, my lord," said Rowle.

"Ah yes, I've heard of them," said Tom, thoughtfully. "I believe the headmaster at Hogwarts, sometime before the late Armando Dippet, had been a man called Phineas Nigellus Black. Is it the same Black?"

"The very same, my lord," answered Rowle. "His great grandchildren are not much older than us. They have children too."

"And they are teaching them our beliefs," added Rosier. Tom stared at him. "I've been meeting with them as well, my lord."

"Ah," said Tom. "I see."

He glanced around the room, lost in thought. Here they were, his Death Eaters, hard at work. They were all loyal of course, but they were a motley collection—a mixture of the weak seeking protection (Selwynn), the ambitious seeking some shared glory (Lestrange, Nott and Rowle), and the thuggish gravitating towards a leader who could demonstrate more refined forms of cruelty (Davis and Rosier). But they were his, to do with as he pleased. And Avery, the oddest one among them, was quickly becoming Tom's favourite. He was definitely no longer predictable and Tom found it hard to recall those nights at Hogwarts when Avery practically begged him to play Exploding Snap with him.

"Well, forgive me, my Death Eaters," said Tom after a long silence. "But I'm afraid your work is far from over. You will continue to spread the word and recruit as many as you can and you will continue to make connections at the ministry, marry off, have children, teach them our values and our belief system, and report back to me regularly."

"Yes, my lord," they said in unison.

"Selwynn," said Tom. "Put together a list of as many muggle-born families as you can find. They will be our first targets."

"Y-yes, m-my lord," said Selwynn in barely more than a whisper.

"Oh and please make yourself useful and go find some whore to be your wife," said Tom.

Selwynn went red in the face. The Death Eaters smirked.

"We will be having meetings regularly now," Tom continued and the Death Eaters stopped laughing at once. "You are to bring your recruitments up to date. None however shall be brought to these meetings. I am not that trustworthy of a man. Therefore, I do not want to see or hear of them unless the situation is concerning. You are to command them as I will command you. Uh, Rowle, invite these Blacks over for dinner tomorrow night. They are an exception and so I'd like to conduct the interview myself."

"Yes, my lord," said Rowle, bowing his head to him.

Tom stared around the table for a moment, then got up and began to slowly walk around it.

"Unfortunately, the current situation in our country is—unfavourable," he began. "Everywhere you look, left and right, there are filthy mudbloods roaming the streets. Respectable pureblood families are mating with muggles and sharing all the secrets from our world. It ought to be a crime, in my opinion. But no, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement seems to believe that discrimination against half-breeds is a crime whereas mating with muggles is encouragement."

Several of the Death Eaters sniggered.

"Therefore," continued Tom, glancing once at Lestrange who looked uncomfortable with his job. "It is our duty to restore this country to its former glory—to that of the time of my ancestor, the Great Salazar Slytherin. Oh, what a beautiful time it had been. And it is my goal to bring it back again. We will rise up and show witches and wizards everywhere what they have succumbed to. And we will help them to improve.

We will start by getting rid of as many mudbloods as we can possibly track down. It won't be easy and we will have to do this secretly—at least, until we can form a greater army and go publicly about it. Until then, every treacherous act that you commit—and there better be many, for I will monitor your progress—shall be completely untraceable. I can't afford to lose any followers now and I won't tolerate any failures. you are all better than that. I would know, I have trained you myself. In addition, I expect you to continue to spread the word and reproduce. We need as many as we can get. But do not let anyone know what I call you. Do not reveal my name just yet. The time for all of that will come soon enough."

"Yes, Lord Voldemort," the Death Eaters recited.

The Blacks had turned out to be the exact kinds of people Tom was most interested in. As purebloods, they certainly exhibited a thirst for dominance over mudbloods and half-bloods. They absolutely detested muggles and their idea of a good show was clearly the art of torture. Tom was very pleased to hear this and was more than delighted to show Lycoris Black how to properly perform the Cruciatus curse after dinner. He was astonished that such a grown wizard like him had never learned the spell before. Selwynn had so kindly volunteered himself for the demonstration upon Tom's request.

As the Death Eaters followed his orders and recruited more and more people, Tom quit his job at Borgin and Burke's and spent the next couple of years training. He began to practice the many kinds of Dark Magic that he'd read about during all those years in the orphanage. He was now a master at Legiliments and often enjoyed demonstrating this to his Death Eaters who were awed at his magical abilities and his strength as a wizard. He continued with his physical transformations, casting various jinxes and modifying his facial features. He now had slit-like nostrils and his eyes were becoming redder by the day.

Slowly, very slowly, word was coming out that there was a dangerous dark wizard active in London. No one quite knew what he looked like yet but the name Lord Voldemort was mentioned several times in hushed whispers at street corners. The Daily Prophet had reported on it a couple of times, informing the public that an unnamed group, under the leadership of this Lord Voldemort, was disturbing the peace. Tom found these articles to be very humorous, especially since no one knew the name Death Eaters yet, but nonetheless kept reading and keeping an eye out for any signs of obstacles. And for a long time, there were none.

By 1960, ten years after the Deatheaters' reunion, they had managed to recruit just over 50 people. Satisfied, Tom slowly began to show himself in public as an anti-muggle wizard with strong beliefs about magical blood. There were many who disagreed with him and even more people were shocked at what he was preaching, given his history at Hogwarts and his perfect record. Tom however, no longer had anything to be afraid of. His army was growing every day, as were the children of his Death Eaters. He had already made arrangements to meet them and had declared them future Death Eaters who would succeed their parents after they were gone. Tom however, kept quiet about his own fate to the Death Eaters. It was, after all, none of their business what he was up to behind the scenes.

It was on December 25th, 1962 that Tom came across an interesting article in the Daily Prophet. He skimmed through it and then narrowed his eyes at the photograph of a 15-year-old prefect boy smiling back at him. The boy was standing next to an old man with a fat belly and a stupid grin on his face. Horace Slughorn Dining with the Enemy: Are Voldemort and Horace still talking?, read the headline above the photo. After just over a decade, he had at long last been discovered.

Tom was surprised to find that he was quite pleased about this. He had been yearning for people to finally wake up and realise that it was he, Lord Voldemort, who was responsible for the dawning era. And now that they had, the change was quite vast.

People began to avoid him on the streets. Borgin and Burke, both of whom had gotten over their strangeness, were somewhat fearful of Tom now and treated him as their employer, rather than former employee. Books were being written about him—the tragic boy who'd lost his way and was drowning in the Dark Arts. Article after article reported on Tom's mental state declining due to a traumatized childhood in a muggle orphanage. Dumbledore had been asked several times to give statements about this but always declined or replied with "No comment". Horace Slughorn had been hunted for a while too, as reporters were urging to get information out of him regarding Tom, but somehow, Slughorn was never seen without Dumbledore anymore and so reporters eventually realised that if Dumbledore was keeping quiet, so was Slughorn.

Tom met with his main Death Eater group—which now formally included the large Black family—almost every night for dinner to discuss things. They all addressed Tom as Lord Voldemort and none of the 50 other followers even knew his real name. This suited Tom very well. The main group were formal with him, yes, but not afraid to give him their input or advise him from time to time. The other followers feared to even speak his name, which was exactly how Tom liked it. A few odd followers however caught Tom's eye–they were either extremely talented or very ambitious–and so he allowed them to join the main Death Eater group; their names were Muldber and Dolohov, two equally vicious wizards.

Every night, Tom and the Death Eaters gathered in each other's homes, usually Nott's mansion. They brought along their families and Tom marked their children as his future followers. The Blacks particularly had a large family...Arcturus and Lycoris, Alphard and Cygnus (though they rarely showed for they were often busy at the ministry), Callidora and Cedrella, Charis, Marius, and Dorea, Pollux and Cassiopeia with their grown children, and Walburga and Orion with their young sons...though, Tom noticed one of their children was rather odd. Though the child was only 5 or 6 years old, he behaved very strangely. His younger brother was more well behaved than him. The child was not responding to their teachings like the rest of the children had. Bothered by this, Tom instructed Orion Black to stop bringing his peculiar son Sirius to dinner parties. Orion obeyed faithfully and began to leave him, Sirius, at home with some house elf named Kreacher.

Tom was curious to find that many of the Death Eaters were marrying off into each other's families and blending. For one, Cygnus Black married Rosier's younger sister, Druella, and together they had 3 daughters...Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa. They were all in Hogwarts now (Slytherin), as was Lestrange's son Rodolphus, who was now 15. He was a prefect for Slytherin house. Tom appreciated this and declared that the boy would join them just as soon as he graduated. Rosier's son, Rosier Jr, was a bit younger but had shown an aptitude for the Dark Arts and was therefore provided special permission to attend the dinner parties.

On one such party, as the Death Eaters sipped on wine and listened to music from the radios and chatted about political affairs, Tom stood in the corner of the room, watching them. He watched as Walburga Black led her youngest son into the room and began to take off her traveling cloak. The boy wandered around curiously and then stopped to stare at a statue of Salazar Slytherin. Feeling kind, Tom approached the boy and knelt down beside him.

"Hello," said the little boy in a small voice. Tom smiled at him and then pointed at the statue.

"Do you know who this is?" he asked, coolly.

"Mummy's told me he is my father."

"Your forefather, yes," Tom corrected. "This wizard once set the basis for what the Wizarding world ought to be. It is because of him that we have achieved so much to this day."

"What has he done?" asked the boy.

"He taught us about magical blood," said Tom, "He taught us about our differences from muggles. He believed that muggles and muggle-born people ought to be eliminated completely. And he was quite right, little one. They are dangerous to us. They are not real wizards, mudbloods. Oh no, they get their powers by stripping them from real wizards. That's called thievery."

"That's bad!" cried the boy. Tom smiled again.

"And that is why your mother and father are helping me to stop this from happening."

"But who are you?"

Tom's smile faded slightly.

"Has your mother not told you?"

"Regulus!" cried Walburga Black from across the room. She stopped at the sight of Tom and then bowed her head low.

"Forgive me, my lord," she said, as Tom rose to his feet and put a hand on Regulus' shoulder.

"Not at all," said Tom. "I was just having a little chat here with Regulus. As I understand it, you have neglected to tell him about me."

"I..." said Walburga, whose husband now joined her and bowed low to Tom.

"My lord," said Orion.

Tom nodded to him.

"Why does your son not know my name?" he directed at Orion who said nothing.

Tom turned to look at Regulus.

"I am Lord Voldemort," he announced.

The other Deatheaters' conversations had gone bizarrely silent and all eyes were now on them.

"Wow!" cried Regulus. Tom smiled. "Do you also know how to do cool things like Slatherung?"

"Slytherin," Tom corrected. "And yes, I do. Did you know–I can speak to snakes."

"WOW!" repeated Regulus, whose eyes were sparkling with delight.

"Isn't that wonderful, sweetheart?" said Walburga nervously, and Tom was sure she flashed a look of warning at her son. She put her hand on his shoulder and tried to drag him away but Tom kept his hand firm on the boy's other shoulder and glared at Walburga.

"He stays," he declared.

"But...m-my lord–"

"I wish to continue talking to him," said Tom, simply. And with that, he led Regulus over to the couch, seated himself next to him, and continued with his tale, feeling very aware of Walburga's and Orion's nervous whispers.

Tom knew their son would be quite useful to him one day. Their other son, on the other hand, was as useless to Tom as his orphanage had been. The boy's very existence caused Tom to lose some respect for the Black family, which was a shame for they were, on the most part, very worthy.

In the winter of 1965, fifteen years after the reunion, Lycoris Black was killed in a duel with a Ministry auror. The Death Eaters gathered in Nott's house and mourned the loss, each offering comfort to the Black family and particularly to Lycoris' brother, Arcturus. Tom stayed for a drink and then went to pay a visit to Borgin and Burke's and retrieve some items from his old room. He was just starting to head down to Knockturn Alley across the heavy snow when he suddenly crossed paths with a familiar face. He stopped and stared at the old man looking back at him from behind half-moon spectacles. The man narrowed his eyes and then smiled. Though, it was not as kind of a smile as it had always been.

"How do you do, Tom?"

Tom was startled to hear himself being addressed by his old name. It had been a while since he was last called that.

Nevertheless, he replied "Fine, professor," out of old habit. He thought hard for a long moment and then continued before Dumbledore could say anything else. "I've actually been meaning to bump into you."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.

"Have you?"

"Oh yes," said Tom, carefully leveling his voice to supress the sarcasm and deep hatred. "I have something important I'd like to discuss with you. Uh, shall we go somewhere?"

Dumbledore glanced at the clock inside one of the nearby shops and then sighed.

"I'm afraid, I'm in a bit of hurry now, Tom," he said, sadly. "I have a hearing to attend again. I won't complain about being made Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot; tis quite an honour, but I won't deny that it does use up too much of my time."

"I really do need to talk to you soon sir," Tom pressed on.

"Well," said Dumbledore, warily. "How about you come up to the school this coming Tuesday? Shall we say 6 o'clock?"

"I look forward to it," said Tom, coolly. He bowed once to Dumbledore and then disappeared down the alleyway, without looking back at Dumbledore, who he was sure, was still watching him intently.

"I don't advise you to do it, sir," said Rowle in a constricted voice.

"He's right, my lord," said Rosier. "It'll waste too much of your valuable time."

"Gentlemen," Tom interrupted. "I have all the time in the world, believe me."

They were sitting in the dining room of the Black family manor that night, discussing tactics and strategies for how to go about tracking down a particular mudblood family. Tom had casually mentioned that he would be going to work at Hogwarts and to his surprise, Rowle and Rosier were putting up a fight.

"There is nothing more to discuss," Tom told them.

"Sir, we have so much more we still need to do!" said Rosier. "Think about the cause! Think about everything we have been building up to in the last fifteen years! If you're off at Hogwarts, we'll surely fail! We need you, we can't do any of this without you. Think about it!"

"I am, Rosier," said Tom, calmly. He sipped from his glass of wine and then lowered his voice so the others wouldn't hear. They were too busy listening to the radio and fighting over who would report to Tom about something. "Don't you see that working at Hogwarts is the best possible strategy for getting to the children? The wizard children who will grow up and join my ranks one day? I will teach them, I will befriend them, and I will make them ours."

"I think it's awfully dangerous to do this under Dumbledore's nose," said Rowle, nervously.

"Coward," scoffed Tom. "Listen, Dumbledore is no problem at all." He tried to make himself sound as convincing as possible, but even he had to admit that the strain in his voice was noticeable. "I feel connected to that place. I feel that I need to come back to it and that is what I will do, Rosier."

Rosier quickly shut his mouth again and blinked at Tom.

"I am drawn back to it. No matter what I do and no matter where I go, everything somehow always comes back to Hogwarts."

Rosier and Rowle didn't say anything but merely exchanged a look.

"I know what I am doing," Tom said, firmly. "Don't you two trust me?"

"Of course, my lord," said Rowle quickly. "We didn't mean to—"

"Everything is going to go exactly how it ought to," said Tom. "You are too naïve and innocent, Rowle, to see it now but I expect you will very soon."

"I wouldn't call him innocent," Rosier said with a small grin. Tom turned from Rowle and looked at him, raising an eyebrow.

"Didn't you know that he tortured a little girl last week?" said Rosier, whose grin had broadened. Tom turned to look at Rowle with great fascination.

"She was the daughter of a mudblood who reminded me of an old cat," shrugged Rowle.

"I am very impressed," said Tom, smiling at him. "You have always been my favourite, Rowle."

Rowle gave him a look of deep gratitude but said nothing.

On Tuesday night, Tom put on his best suit and threw his black traveling cloak over himself. He pocketed his wand but kept a tight grip on it as he left the Black mansion, followed carefully by Nott, Muldber, and Dolohov. Rosier had insisted on coming along as well.

"When will you be back, my lord?" Rowle called after them.

"Later this evening," said Tom. "Start without us."

"Yes, my lord."

Once they disapparated to Borgin and Burke's, Tom jinxed both of his former employers into a deep sleep and then climbed up the stairs to his old room, while his Death Eaters waited outside. He retrieved his diadem from under the floorboard and fixed his diary and cup under the wood so that they were safe. Then, he met up with the Death Eaters again and disapparated, landing in Hogsmeade station.

"We will be waiting here, my lord," said Rosier as the men entered The Hog's Head. Tom nodded once and started off.

As he walked up to the castle alone in the cold January evening, he went over what he was going to say to Dumbledore. The last fifteen years had certainly been full of activity. His Death Eaters had managed to eliminate dozens of mudblood families and were on the move to terminate many more. During these little hunts, Tom had practiced his legiliments and was pleased to find that he was able to create images within others' minds rather than simply read their memories. He had begun to create very dark, very powerful images that caused his victims to screech with pain and almost always beg for death. He wondered, as he reached the castle grounds, whether Dumbledore knew about this.

He entered the Hogwarts castle and made his way along the old, familiar corridors, remembering his years there and how much he had changed since, both physically and magically. He reached the stone gargoyle in no time and held out a hand to knock on the door, though he hesitated. He had forgotten how panicked he always felt when facing Dumbledore's accusatory eyes. But surely there was nothing to worry about now. After all, Dumbledore knew Tom was the only perfect candidate for the job and there was no proof out there of his wrongdoing. It was all strictly rumors. Still, he couldn't help but feel that, as he knocked on the door three times and heard the old voice call 'come in', he was walking right into what could potentially become his demise.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all characters and rights belong to J.K Rowling

Thanks