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I updated every day so far and I thought I'd give myself a little break for one day or two...but then I saw that I had hit the 50 reviews! Yayyyy! And I thought this deserved to be celebrated with a new chapter, whoouuuu!
You guys have an real impact on my posting speed, you know? I give myself modest review goals in my mind (and I don't tell them to you, mouhaha) and tell myself that I'll post when I reach them; I keep expecting it to happen in two or three days, and that's what happens! One chapter per day, nearly! But I love it, so don't stop!
Chapter 8: The same night, 10th of August 1995: Part 5, Riddle Manor
"Crucio!" Lucius writhed on the floor, screaming in pain.
He kept feeding the spell, relishing in the seductive pleasure that this Unforgivable never failed to bring him and in the debasement of the annoying aristocrat.
"How dare you question my strength, Lucius? Have you found my "Crucio' satisfying enough for your high standards? Or perhaps I should reiterate the demonstration, what do you think? I can do it better, much more painful if you so desire, my friend..."
The Dark Lord's voice was low and soft, his tone a horrible parody of the obsequiousness with which most had addressed him for the past ten years.
Lucius cringed at the mocking words. He had deserved that 'Crucio'. He had, after all, speculated about the Dark Lord's strength (or potential lack thereof) and openly doubted his decisions in a very public and populated area, in broad daylight and without as much as a single anti-eavesdropping charm.
There was a time when he'd have been instantly dead for committing such an obvious mistake. It was in moments like those that he was happy to be so useful to the Dark Lord.
Of course, the latter could have appointed just any marionette for the post of Minister after his Victory and nobody would have as much as raised a voice in protest. However, Lucius was convinced that his already important presence in the political background of the years preceding the end of the war somehow eased the transition into the new regime. The élite, for instance, trusted him to defend their interests and not to do something as ridiculous as to impose a progressive tax on the revenue which would damage their fortune, and his own. The rest of the population knew of his illustrious descent and preferred to have "someone they knew" in power, as opposed to some unknown spineless sycophant. And he was doing a really good job, in all modesty.
For all his talk and high position in the Ministry, Crouch would never be a better Minister than he was.
So well...maybe he didn't fear enough for his life, but he'd come to know this sane version of his Lord well in the past thirteen years and had a lot of respect for His sense of cunning and Slytherin ambitious tactics. And killing Lucius now for some trivial mistake wasn't a politically sound move.
So he waited for his heart rate to lower marginally and his breathing to come back under his control and moved to a genuflection when he felt ready to face whatever was coming.
Which turned out to be...nothing at all.
He risked a glance at his Master's face, only to find him looking strangely puzzled by something. His brows were furrowed, his lips pursed and his eyes looking down and a bit to the right of where Lucius was kneeling. He had slowly brought his left hand to the side of his head, running it lightly through his long dark hair as he always did when he was thinking of something important.
Lucius personally thought that the Dark Lord was afraid of returning to his old snake looks and that his subconscious made him double-check (when it got the chance to do so without the conscious noticing) if he hadn't inadvertently lost all his hair.
Lucius resolved to wait it out. After all, his Master's most brilliant plans mostly came from such moments of deep reflection. The aristocrat wondered what it could be about, this time. The long-planned invasion of Ireland, perhaps?
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As it turned out, Lucius was mostly wrong. The Dark Lord wasn't thinking about Ireland, or scheming, for that matter. Something was wrong with him.
A few minutes before, when he was contentedly looking at his servant lying in a heap on the floor, he had felt the most peculiar array of emotions assaulting him: indignation, dread, disbelief, an abnormal amount of sadness for him, relief, and it had ended in such a strong wave of anger that he nearly re-crucioed Lucius on the spot to scratch that peculiar itch.
There wasn't anything in what was happening in his life to justify such intense emotions. He was more even-tempered than he'd ever been, for Morgana's sake!
He pondered the question, turning his attention towards himself.
Sometimes, when he urged to do something particularly cruel or insane, he'd feel his diary Horcrux stir within himself, as if it was voicing its disagreement.
He explained it by the wide age and maturity gap present between him and his soul piece and had considered a few times reuniting with some of his other Horcruxes to smoothen the assimilation a bit, but he only had four Horcruxes left (ring, locket, tiara and cup, he internally recited to calm himself down) and five was an adequately powerful magical number.
Three would have been better, but he refused to make himself vulnerable by having only two Horcruxes. He was in a position of power, he had worked hard to get himself where he wanted and he wasn't about to give it up because one of his numerous enemies had at last managed to send him a well-aimed killing curse when his back was turned.
When he connected with his recalcitrant soul piece, he found it oddly dormant. What was the source of those feelings, then?
He felt around, searching for an anomaly and found a feeble link toward something or someone else.
What was it?
He probed it a bit, and diagnosed it as a connection between two living beings.
His soul was connected to another life and he'd never known. Why it chose to make itself known now, he didn't know either. He tried to follow the link to the other being, but he soon hit solid Occlumency shields. Hum, he needed to further investigate this strange connection. He looked at Lucius, who by now looked like he was considering taking a nap on the carpet. He just had to finish with the blond before he did anything else about the connection.
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"Take a seat, Lucius."
He loved to surprise the aristocrat by granting him small privileges. It made him think he was respected and above the other Death Eaters. Which he was, in a way, as a member of his inner circle and his Minister. But, above all, he did it because it made Lucius infinitely more loyal and eager to please him.
"So, what were you saying before you had that regrettable moment of weakness, my dear friend?" Voldemort said, a hint of the previous mockery still present in his voice.
"My Lord, there was an incident in Diagon Alley today. Around twenty rebels attacked and pilfered the shops for about 15 minutes before the Aurors managed to arrive at the scene. No one was arrested; they apparently escaped the second their wards collapsed. The damage and cost of the stolen goods are estimated to roughly five hundred Galleons. There were no deaths, but twenty bystanders got light injuries and a man's wand hand was cut off. The Healers have thankfully managed to heal him and he'll recover full usage of his hand again by the end of the week."
The Dark Lord lifted an eyebrow.
"Well, they are getting bolder, apparently. One question Lucius, among the twenty rebels, was there a young man of about fifteen, with dark hair and green eyes?"
Lucius looked taken aback.
"I didn't hear of anybody of this description, my Lord. Would you like me to proceed to further enquiries about this boy?"
"No, he probably wasn't there if nobody remembers seeing him. He is a remarkable person, after all, so he wouldn't have escaped notice so easily."
"Miss Tonks might be of some help. I'll ask her if she has seen someone of this description, if you were agreeable?" suggested Lucius.
"Yes, proceed and tell me if it is the case. Don't bother investigating it any longer if it isn't. I'll see the brat soon enough, I'd wager. At the next Victory Day again, perhaps..." He trailed off, pensively.
He had long admitted to himself that he held some sort of morbid curiosity about the boy ever since he was reminded of his existence some years ago. The news about him was quite scarce, but he hadn't forgotten about the talented and somewhat jaded eleven years old ever since he saw him in the Pensieve. And Miss Tonks had obligingly transferred more of those memories (among others) for his perusal in exchange for her freedom.
The only thing missing now was a direct encounter. Perhaps he would draw him out of this dingy camp with a direct challenge that no Gryffindor could refuse. Something of the "come out or we kill everyone else" sort?
The girl's memories clearly showed that the Rebels were grooming Potter to defeat him (as if that would happen!), but there was no telling what Potter himself thought of his "Destiny".
Voldemort honestly found the whole thing rather amusing. Or disturbing.
If they really wanted him dead that much, why hadn't they ever as much as attempted to take his life? Did they really believe that it was completely up to a boy to defeat him, so much that they couldn't even try to help him?
The only situation where he'd see himself defeated by the boy would be in a twenty-against-one fight where Potter would just happen to shoot the last spell that would kill him. Temporarily.
But no matter. People brought up under great stress or expectations tended to become either extremely conformist and boring, or extremely strong and imaginative and he was sure he would find it quite interesting to talk to the boy. And Merlin only knows how sorely he lacked of conversationalists here (he shouldn't have sent the Potions Master away to Hogwarts. For all of Snape's sunny disposition, he was still one of his only Death Eaters with a head on his shoulders)...
There would always be time to kill each other afterwards. Where was the hurry? And besides, there was no fun in a challenge-less duel...Maybe he should let the kid grow a bit before he seeks him out. Let him have a life before ending it prematurely, and all that...
But back to the matter of the strange soul connection. How could he have not noticed it before? Was it recent? Soul connections are not spontaneously formed. They also have absolutely nothing to do with soul mates. Niet, nada. Soul mates were fairy tales created to make some vapid witches swoon when thinking of the handsome prince to which they were destined. Soul connections, however, had everything to do with the Ancient Art of Soul Magic that he used to make his Horcruxes.
A sudden sense of dread filled him. Oh no, don't tell me that Pettigrew is alive somewhere in me!
He nearly shuddered in disgust when he thought of the rat getting anywhere near him. But Pettigrew was dead, and he didn't have Occlumency shields. So that ruled him out. Thank you, sweet Morgana, for that small blessing.
His Horcruxes didn't really have other interactions with anyone else as far as he knew.
Ah, well, there was that abject traitor Regulus who knew of my secret but he didn't have time to do anything about it before I killed him...apart from if he managed to talk to his brother before he met his demise? Could Sirius Black have my locket? Could he have been working on finding the others all this time?
He should go check on them. It had been far too long. Perhaps he'd place a couple of traps and fakes around, in case the Rebels knew about them. And he'll keep close tabs on that soul link from now on.
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Lucius cleared his throat in a 'subtle' attempt to remind him of his presence.
As if I'd let my guard down enough to forget about him. He snorted in his head.
He had always been paranoid, especially when surrounded with his most cunning and powerful Death Eaters. He didn't trust anyone with his life. That was the best way to get stabbed in the back and he didn't want to go down to posterity as the next Cesar for every aspect of the Roman's life.
"Yes, Lucius, do have something else to tell me?" said Voldemort, sounding marginally annoyed.
"Yes, My Lord, it seems like a mysterious wizard was in Diagon Alley under a Disillusionment spell or an Invisibility Cloak some hours before the Rebel's raid. He apparently visited some shops without taking anything, since the shoplifting alarms were only raised after the arrival of the Rebels, and didn't steal from the customers either. I'm inclined to say that he was under an Invisibility Cloak of the best quality because nobody saw the tell-tale shimmer of the Disillusionment charm when he walked around the Alley and or the usual glitches of the Cloaks. A shopkeeper thinks he heard someone hit one of his crates and swear under his breath, but he really isn't sure. It also seems that the person tried to enter a joke shop minutes before the attack, but set off a prank trap and probably backtracked. We do not have conclusive evidence of the invisible man's presence in the Alley before the attack; however, we do have one witness with sustainable proof of his presence during the raid. The unknown man apparently shouted a protection spell to save a child's life from a stray curse. The mother of the child said she immediately tried to spot his protector, but didn't see anyone."
"Lucius, don't tell me you just wasted ten minutes of my time reconstructing all the 'mysterious happenings' of the day just to find who saved a child's life? " Voldemort interrupted, quite annoyed by now.
"No! I mean, my Lord, that's not all. The wards didn't exactly collapsed earlier, they were sabotaged from the inside and nobody present takes responsibility for that feat. Judging by what I saw of their magical strength, none of them would have been able to tear down part of the wards either. That's why our attention was brought to the mysterious man in the first place...
-What are your theories?" asked the Leader of the British Wizarding World.
"Crouch and I thought it was some type of vigilante, but it doesn't explain his presence or why he was invisible. His wand signature is not registered, so it's not any of the known Rebels either.
-Could you identify his wand core from the signature?
-There wasn't enough residual magic but we went to see Ollivander and he said it's probably unicorn hair, but that it might also be phoenix feather or selkie scale."
Voldemort pensively rubbed his lips with his index finger.
"You shouldn't concern yourself too much about that mysterious man, Lucius. He only helped your Aurors, after all. If you see any other cases of Rebel raids sabotaged by an unknown element, however, I would like you to inform me.
-Do you think that the Rebels have a traitor among them?
-It is too early to tell, but perhaps... Well, Lucius, unless you have something else to wish to tell me, that will be all.
-Yes, my Lord. Good night, my Lord.
-Good night, Lucius." He looked at Lucius leave the room, turning a thought around in his mind.
When he reached his conclusion, his lips slowly stretched in a pleased smirk.
Well, well, well. You are turning out to be even more interesting than I thought, Harry Potter.
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Voilà! I hope you liked it! It was a useful chapter to give an indication of how Voldemort will react when he does meet Harry and to open the whole "Horcruxes' Pandora's box". And no, for those who are worried, this fic isn't going to turn into a hunt for Horcruxes and there won't be any camping in the woods, I promise :P
The next chapter will skip some time because Harry has to grow up a bit before the story can continue. I cringe a bit every time I imagine a fourteen/fifteen years old Harry with a seventy something Voldemort. Don't get me wrong, I've read brilliant fics that were like that and liked them a lot. But I can't write one myself.
Ohhhh, yes, and the next chapter will have some elements of HPLV slash in it...ouhhh...At the moment, it's quite short and vague, just a few lines, but if you beg prettily, I might make it a bit longer, what do you all think? ( I think writing Voldemort's POV might have put me in a megalomaniacal mood, sorry about that ^^')
Thank you in advance for reviewing!