Summary: When the road you're on is already in the verge of crumbling, you could either choose to foolishly continue onward, or turn back and change paths. Harry decided on the latter. MoD!Harry

Main Pairing: HP/LV (Marcaunon/Voldemort – not Chaos)

Side Pairings: Pending

Warning: AU, Time-Travel, Universe Hopping, New Identity, Slash (this means Boy/Boy), MasterOfDeath!Harry, Killings/Torture

Disclaimer: If I were the author of Harry Potter, Dumbies would have chocked on a Lemon Drop and drop dead, not AK-ed. So no, I do not own Harry Potter.

"Speaking"

"Parseltongue"

'Mental telepathy'

Chapter 17: Realizations and Expectations

Date: 16 May 1967
Location: Malfoy Manor, Hallway

The dreadful feeling in his gut intensified when they entered Voldemort's private study – does the Dark Lord have his own personal office at every of his follower's manor? In order for him to calm down, he distracted himself by taking in his surroundings whilst mentally noting all the possible exits. The relaxed atmosphere in this rectangular room was something Marcaunon had not expected. The long forest green walls and comfortable cushioned armchairs near the warmly lit fireplace made Marcaunon's anxiety almost dissipate. Almost.

Voldemort gestured for him to take a seat on the pristine white armchair near the fireplace whilst the Dark Lord himself seated directly on the opposite of him. Marcaunon was confused. Shouldn't Voldemort be seating behind his mahogany office desk like any other employers that would interview their potential employees?

The man took out a few pieces of parchment and crossed his right leg over the other as he began reading. Marcaunon only blinked owlish and followed his cousin's lead by crossing his legs as well – it was his naturally relaxed posture rather than a defensive one. His cousin then placed the parchments on the classic round side table on his right before he lightly tapped it twice. Two ceramic teacups appeared on the rectangular glass table in front of them, both filled with what he assumed to be green tea.

"Would you like some tea?" Voldemort started with a light tone. Marcaunon didn't let down his guard and remained vigilant on the inside. Making idle conversations were one of the many ways of ensuring an approachable and companionable disposition.

"I appreciate the offer, but no thank you." Wasn't the host supposed to ask first before serving? Perhaps Voldemort just forgot. He mentally shook his head and pushed it out of his mind – he wouldn't be able to drink it with his mouth covered anyway.

"Pity. Slendy makes the most aromatic of teas." Marcaunon only remained silent. "Tell me, Mr. Rose, why did you choose to be a Potions' Master?"

"Money." A money faced arrogant person would turn anybody off. Nobody would want to hire someone that could be bought by their rivals – he was a potential back stabber in the making.

"Is that so…" Voldemort only cocked his head to the side. "Why not become an information broker then?"

Marcaunon only stared at Voldemort stupidly. It was true that information brokers would receive a hefty sum if they provided information that could be used as potential blackmail material, however what does that have to do with anything?

"Why so confuse, Mr. Rose? I'm sure you'll make a great information broker… You did call me Mr. Gaunt after all." Voldemort's eyes narrowed when Marcaunon subconsciously crossed his arms over his stomach. "Not many know that I descended from the Gaunts – I can count them all with one hand actually… And let me tell you that none would dare to betray me."

…Did he really call Voldemort a Gaunt? He thought back to the meeting fifteen days ago.

"Pardon me for asking, but have we met before, Mr. Rose?" Voldemort whispered softly to him whilst the others were still busy with reading their parchment, those narrowed crimson eyes taking in every detail of his reactions.

"I'm sure I would've remembered someone as charismatic as you, Mr. Gaunt, if we were to have met before."

Voldemort only continued to gaze at him attentively.

He swallowed inaudibly and mentally hit himself on the head. How could he have made such an elementary mistake? He was so busy with thinking about Voldemort being his cousin (and about Chaos) at that point of time, that he naturally referred Voldemort as Mr. Gaunt. He at least soothed his fraying nerves that he had not called Voldy Cousin. That would be most unsettling for the both of them.

"That was a mistake on my part. You look alike to my client –" Marcaunon bit his lower lip in horror. Why was he acting so out of character!? He was supposed to be anti-social and tight lipped! Damn Voldemort for throwing him off his rhythm.

"Oh? Are you saying that a client of yours is pretending to be me or… I have to review on being the last of my family." The way Voldemort said it made Marcaunon's arms tightened before he forced them to rest on his lap. Calm down Marcaunon Seirios Gaunt. He took a deep breath in and stared into Voldemort's crimson eyes with indifference.

"Client confidentiality, Mr. Voldemort."

"I will pay you a considerable sum if you provide me with details of your client, Mr. Rose."

He was in a pickle now.

"How much will you be offering?" Curse himself for creating such a backstabbing, money-faced traitorous persona!

"Depends on what you are able to provide." And curse Voldemort for being such a slimy snake, as Harry's ex-best friend so eloquently put it.

"Name."

"You only know your client's name? I rather doubt that, Mr. Rose." Voldemort's crimson eyes darkened, as if daring Marcaunon to lie.

"Age… and appearance."

"What about Mr. Gaunt's occupation?"

"He did not say." It was true that Marcaunon Gaunt was very secretive about his occupation. He had intercepted and altered any mail that his students had sent to home if his name was included in the contents. Also, he placed spells on the students so that he will be at the back of their minds unless they spotted him in the crowd or they were back in school. Never say that he was not careful.

"Very well then. I only desire his name and age."

"What about his appearance?"

"I will assume that his appearance is similar to that of mine – since you've mistaken us so."

Marcaunon refrained from clicking his tongue in annoyance. Since he was giving out Marcaunon's basic information, he thought he could get more dough from Voldemort with the appearance part. Voldemort seemed to have noticed his irritation, and only raised an amused brow at him.

"Alright. That would be 100 galleons." A little expensive, but hey… Voldemort was bloody rich. "Each."

Voldemort only took out a pouch from his pockets and tossed it to him. Marcaunon caught it and started counting instantly. He would've blushed at his awful mannerism if he were currently Marcaunon and not Ignatius – Chaos would undoubtedly stare at him with unconcealed horror at Ignatius's lack of courtesy. When he confirmed that there were really two hundred galleons inside, he raised his head and looked away when Voldemort only gazed at him with mirth in those crimson orbs of his.

"Marcaunon Gaunt. 23 this year."

"Thank you, Mr. Rose." Voldemort gave him an empty smile, which would have undoubtedly charmed anybody if it were not him, and levitated his respective cup forward before taking a tentative sip. "The reason why I asked for you to follow me is not only due to the slip of your tongue, but because I want to hire you."

Why!? Why would Voldemort want to hire such a traitorous person such a he!? Wasn't Voldemort someone who hated traitors with a passion – Snape was a prime example. He did not fancy being bitten to death by Nagini.

"May I ask why, Mr. Voldemort?"

"Voldemort, if you would." The man smirked for a split second before that expression was replaced by one of contemplation. "Is there any reason why you would not want to be hired?"

"Not at all… Voldemort."

"Then there is no reason to ask." Voldemort's smile broadened. "Is there?"

"No…" His cousin nodded sharply at his reply.

"Expect my letter in two weeks' time, Mr. Rose. You are dismissed."

He stood up from him seat and bowed reluctantly, careful not to jostle Suki too much, before leaving the man's study. He would need to be prepared by then – the marking will undoubtedly be in a week's time.

OOOO

"Professor!" Marcaunon turned around when as heard a female voice, and halted in his steps when he spotted Vevila brisk walking towards him in high heels. The lady was sometimes a headache to deal with – especially when he was already (mentally) exhausted.

"Vevila." He greeted just as she reached him, a smile already plastered onto his youthful features. "I apologize for burdening you with my workload during the past two weeks."

"I'll forgive you if you take me out to dinner." She leaned forward and hugged his right arm.

"Forgive me. My schedule for this week is already filled. How about the next?" He smiled apologetically to Vevila as he replied.

"You promise?" Her lower lip jutted out as she blinked rapidly – as if dust had gotten into her eyes.

"I promise."

"Just the two of us?"

"Do you not want to dine with Chaos as well?" Marcaunon gave her a perplexed expression.

"It's not that, Professor…" Her index finger trailed down his clothed chest as she stared into his eyes. "But I would like some… dessert as well."

Oh! So Vevila knew that Chaos loathe sweet things. How considerate… for a Malfoy that is. His lips curved upwards and he cocked his head to the side lazily. It seems that he had misjudged her.

"Of course, my Lady." He grabbed the slender hand that was resting on his chest and brought it to his lips, his eyes never once wavering from her grey orbs. He pressed a light kiss to the back of her hand before he guided her forward with one hand resting on the small of her back. She only giggled, her cheeks having a slight reddish tint. "Were there any difficulties whilst I was away?"

"Not at all… however I am concern about Ms. Black."

"Which Ms. Black are you referring to?"

"The eldest – Bellatrix, Marc." He blinked. Did he give express permission for her to call him by his name? If so, he must've been too busy with paperwork and just nodded idly when she had asked.

"What ails you, Vevila? She appears docile enough in my classes."

"She…" Vevila hesitated slightly before she looked at him with wide teary eyes. He sincerely hoped that she would not cry – she would look like a panda with smudged eyeliner and mascara otherwise. Not something he would like any of his students to see – a Professor has to have a good image for their students… disregarding Dumbledore of course. "She's extremely hostile towards all the female Professors, including myself."

Marcaunon hummed in thought at that. His treatment on her was flawless, so he doubted that there would be any abnormalities in her personality due to him tinkering with her brain. Perhaps in this alternate world, Bellatrix becomes a woman hater?

"What about the male staffs?"

"They are treated fairly except for…" She suddenly paused in her tracks and stepped in front of him, her hands resting on his clothed chest as she leaned forward. "Before I forget, Professor Noegg McMuffin has submitted his letter of resignation."

"Hmm… It's not really a surprise. The DADA position is cursed after all. Will Albus be finding a new one or will the other Professors be taking turns?"

"Neither."

"Oh? Did Albus already find a replacement?"

"Headmaster Dumbledore informed that I take over your classes for this year, whilst you take over DADA."

"What?" His left eyebrow twitched in annoyance.

That damn old goat – give him an inch and he would take a mile. Marcaunon may be qualified to teach all the subjects Hogwarts provided, however he had already (firmly) stated that he preferred Potions, and that he would only become a temporary Professor for DADA for the whole year if the position remained empty for at least three months. It had only been fifteen days, and he could only assume that that old bastard became lazy and just handed him the load.

"I'll go have a friendly conversation with Albus." He gently pushed her away from his person and took a step back. "Thank you for informing me Vevila. I shall see you at dinner."

OOOO

Marchosias's sour mood only worsened when turned the corner and spotted Vevila Malfoy standing directly in front of his mother, their breaths almost mingling as they converse. He quickly hid behind a bronze statue of a bald man and peeked at them. The woman's pupils were dilated and he could only sneer in disgust when her breasts intentionally came into contact with Marcaunon's clothed chest – she was obviously excited and turned on, and if it were not for her underclothes, her hardened nipples would be proudly on display.

He resisted the urge to maim the bint this very instant and took a deep breath to calm himself. His mother was finally back home, so he should be smiling, not frowning – sometimes Marcaunon could misunderstand the smallest of things.

Just as he was about to move closer to them, Marcaunon turned on his heels and strode towards the direction of the hidden stairway that leads directly to Albus's office. He only blinked and assumed that his mother had been notified of the change – Marcaunon was definitely not happy, judging by the killer glare he was producing. He only hugged the tome that he was clutching to his chest tighter when his mother bypassed his hiding spot.

"Tempus." He murmured under his breath. The numbers 1640 appeared in front of him and he waved them off after a second. What should he do whilst he wait for dinner? It was boring the whole time without Marcaunon – he didn't mind Mort's company (he wasn't forced into any cutesy animal onesies), but it just wasn't the same.

"Oh if it isn't wittle baby Chaos." He twitched and turned to see Bella skipping cheerfully towards him. "Say hello to your future mummy~"

He scrunched his nose in distaste. Why did Bella have to be obsessed over his mother? He would never approve of anyone courting Marcaunon (apart from Mort) and he would never call Bellatrix 'mummy' of all things – deranged woman fit better.

"Bellatrix." He greeted with boredom and slight annoyance, as if she was a mere fly buzzing around him. "What an unpleasant surprise to see your repulsive face when dinner is but an hour away."

"What are you doing here, future son of mine?" Bellatrix ignored his insults as if it was a daily occurrence (which it was) and cooed as she stopped just in front of him and crouched down so that they were at eye level. "Is itty bitty wittle Chaos having a bad day?"

Indeed he was having a bad day, and he has no desire to make is worse. He turned on his heels after a brief glare, and strode away from the mad teenage girl, blocking out his future minion's annoying voice. Bellatrix on the other hand, puffed out her cheeks in a pouty manner at being ignored, before her eyes shined brightly as an idea formed inside her brain. She suddenly scooped Marchosias, who gave a manly squeak of surprise, and situated him on her right hip.

"What in the name of Merlin's saggy balls are you doing, Bellatrix!?" He struggled in her hold as he tried to escape without the aid of Magic – normal seven year olds were like Muggle children, helpless without their sometimes accidental Magic outburst.

"Such words! No future son of mine should be so crude." She rubbed her cheeks against his, much to his utmost disgust. "I'll punish you by… this!" She started to tickle him, and Marchosias cursed his young body. He took no notice that his tome had dropped to the ground as he giggled and laughed uncontrollably.

"S-top… ahaha… it yo…gah… you imbecile! Kyahahahaha!"

This torture continued on until a few moments later, until Bellatrix finally stopped. He panted in exertion, and he could feel his cheeks heating up as well as tears welling inside his eyes – much to his mortification. He started to hiccup and sob before he let out a wail that could shatter eardrums on magnitude levels. Bellatrix's expression of panic could be seen through his blurry eyes and he took in a small portion of pleasure at her discomfort – though he still could not control his bloody body!

"A-ah… Chaos sweetie… Don't be like that. Bella Bella was only playing around. Who's the most cutest and bravest of them all?~ You are~" She cooed and rocked him gently in her arms, but he only continued to wail louder.

Stupid childish body. Stop crying like a baby for Morgana's sake, Marchosias Mort Gaunt! It's bloody disgraceful!

He suddenly felt himself being snatched from the teenager's hold and into another female's – he could feel the person's breast on his cheek, so it was definitely female.

"Ms. Black! Why are you bullying Professor Gaunt's son?" He recognized the voice of Minerva and clutched her robe tightly. Might as well take advantage of this situation and appear as frightened as he could be.

"It wasn't on purpose, Professor McGonagall! I was only tickling him!" She waved her hands around in panic, before she realized that that was an unsuitable behavior for a Black heiress. She quickly blanked her face. "What I meant to say is that, Marchosias looked lonely without Professor Gaunt so I thought that I could cheer him up by tickling him."

"And the results are rather counterproductive don't you think so, Ms. Black?" Minerva's strict voice suddenly changed into that of a comforting mother as she rubbed Marchosias's back. "There there. I'm sure your father would not like to see you in this state once he has returned." She wiped his tear stained cheeks with a handkerchief and smiled gently at him.

He nodded with a sniff whilst mentally swearing to himself that he would not burst out crying in the future. He would need to train this new body of his so that he could have a higher threshold to anything that was done to his person, especially torture.

"Detention, Ms. Black."

"What!?" Bella screeched in disbelief. "But I didn't do anything wrong, Professor! I was only trying to help."

"And for your intentions, I will give Slytherin a point. However the way you handled it… You will be having two weeks of detention with Professor Gaunt."

Bella's face remained stoic, but Marchosias saw her true expression – happiness and excitement. He had trained himself in the art of detecting micro expressions since he was but a young adult. Bella would have to constantly put her guard up for at least another three months – bones will definitely be found in her pumpkin juice.

All the thoughts of revenged suddenly was replaced by that of an uneasy feeling – like a bucket of ice cold water being dumped on his person. The reality of him being Marchosias Gaunt and not Lord Voldemort became more factual than before.

"I am Marchosias Gaunt. Not Voldemort. Only a child with the memories of my past life. I am but a weak, helpless, and insecure child." He whispered weakly under his breath, with newly formed tears that he would later deny trailing down his already tear stained cheeks. This reality really hit him hard. And it hurts.

OOOO

He exited Dumbledore's office with a tired sigh, extremely exhausted after his rather one sided lecture. He had not noticed that the old coot had fallen asleep halfway, which resulted in making him rant all the more after he had zapped the Headmaster awake. The overall outcome turned out to be a useless waste of time – he was still the temporary DADA Professor for the rest of this year.

Marcaunon halted in his steps when he noticed an opened window near him, and stared out of it, registering how late it already was. Dinner was definitely missed. He grumbled about missing dessert to himself before he yawned halfway, exhausted both mentally and physically. Seeing that he could not muster the energy and effort to continue his way down the dungeons by foot, he let loose his Magic to scan his surroundings before deeming it safe, and tore open the air in front of him, creating an inky black portal. He stepped into the entrance of Death's realm, and exited into his private study with just a few long strides. He normally would have avoided doing such a thing when in Hogwarts, however he just wanted to sleep his fatigue away.

He was then suddenly flocked by butterflies, and his lips tilted upwards into the slightest of smiles as some landed on his person, whilst others hovered around him merrily. They were always affectionate after being separated from him for a long period of time.

"I'm back, my lovely sinners." The butterflies made some sort of noise as if to welcome him back, and he chuckled as they trailed after him like ducklings when he glided out of his study.

He scanned the living area for any sign of life, before he entered his bedchamber when he did not spot either Chaos or the two serpents. He brought forth a floating candle and shifted closer towards the bed. The adorable slumbering face of Chaos made him almost reach out to pinch those chubby cheeks, before he waved the candle away in case his son woke up due to the bright flicker of light.

He transfigured his clothing into silky pajamas and stealthily crawled under the covers, careful not to jostle the occupants of the bed – the two serpents were curled together at the foot of their king size bed – and he spooned Chaos to his chest, his personal warm teddy bear. His son made no indication that he was awake, and he wondered if Chaos was just as exhausted as he was. Marcaunon only buried his nose into Chaos's crown of hair and closed his eyes to sleep. He would prepare for the branding the next day… after he finished his MoD paperwork that is – much more important.

Date: 30 May 1967
Location: Cauldron Fever guild tavern

He stood near a dimly lit corner of his guild's active tavern, clutching his left forearm tightly as he scanned the bar for any faces that he would recognized from the previous meeting. Voldemort had owled him the previous day. He was supposedly to meet another Potions' Master that was hired alongside with him, before they head to their Guild Master's office for a portkey Voldemort had sent to his Guild Master.

He walked over to the large bulletin board near the bar and stood only a few steps away, reading the pinned parchments and articles in boredom – there was nothing else he could do after all, and he was slightly distracted in his worries due to Chaos's silence this past two weeks. Drinking his worries and boredom away was definitely out of the question. He would never go to a Death Eater meeting slash branding when intoxicated, if he concluded Voldemort's letter for today correctly.

Unbeknownst to him, a pair of rage filled dark eyes were glaring holes into his oblivious pretty head whilst he was busy with staring at the bulletin board unblinkingly.

"Uhm, Mr. Ignatius Rose sir?" He finally blinked when his name was called, and turned to the speaker with an annoyed look.

He cocked his head to the side when he recognized the man to be Felix Weasley, a fellow Potions' Master. Weasley still looked the same, with a gentle smile and happy wrinkles on his features. He was like any other Weasley boys, with ginger hair, freckles, and blue eyes. He wore the usual plain black long sleeved wizarding robes, with his wand holster strapped around his waist, and a worn out old leather pouch tied on the opposite side of the wand. Marcaunon's eyes trailed down the broad shouldered yet lanky body until he reached the man's Potions' protection leather boots – many wore that so that their feet would remain safe even if there was spillage.

"Weasley." He drawled as he gazed coolly at the redhead, like the man was nothing but dirt underneath his calf high, white stilettos basiliskhide boots – he was taller that way… not that he was short to begin with!

The redhead rubbed the back of his neck nervously and fidgeted when Marcaunon said no more. He bit back a sigh and crossed his arms over his chest, head tilted upwards in an arrogant manner. He was slightly annoyed at the fact that Weasley was still taller than him even after he wore his highest heeled boots.

"So…" Weasley croaked, before he cleared his throat weakly. "You were hired as well, Mr. Rose?"

He nodded. So Weasley was the one. It was kind of obvious if he looked at the man's creation. A person who invented such a ruthless and torturous potion, the Nightmare Potion, was someone Voldemort would likely desire to have as one of his Potions' Masters. He was unsure if Weasley had created anymore torture potions back in his original world, but it was something to look out for – just in case Weasley had had enough of Ignatius's arrogant bitchy attitude in the future.

Weasley only continued to stand at his spot in silence, not knowing what else to say. Marcaunon sighed through his nose and walked ahead, intending to get the portkey from their Guild Master. He didn't need to check behind him to see if Weasley was following, the footsteps were enough to alert him.

Without bothering to knock, he slammed the door to his Guild Master's office opened and raised a hand in greeting, with Weasley apologizing profusely for Marcaunon's lack of common curtesy from behind of him.

"… Still uncivil as ever, Ignatius. And you need not apologize for this brat's mannerism, Weasley."

His Guild Master, Jellal Frost, appeared to be in his late 40s. However everyone should not be fooled – the elder is supposedly 83 this year. He has short blue hair, and a fringe that joins in the center of his face, similar to that of the alphabet 'M', with the tips just brushing the middle of his nose bridge. His sharp brown sharp eyes were usually used for intimidation purposes, giving out a cold feeling to those who prolonged eye contact with him. He also has a red tattoo at the right side of his face – above and below his eye. Jellal's skin tone was not as pale as Marcaunon's, but it could be classified as that shade – most Potions' Masters are pale due to little to no exposure from the sun's rays. Jellal wore a simple yet elegant robe, consisting of a long white tunic with black stripes across the edges, a decorated collar with the Guild's insignia, large straps connected to decorated buckles closing the inducement on the front over a dark shirt, and matching pants and boots.

"Give us the portkey and we shall be on our way, old man." He stretched out his left arm with his palm facing upwards.

"Don't call me old!" Jellal's lips curled into a contemptuous smile before he threw an inkpot, aimed directly at Marcaunon's head.

He ducked without effort and made his way towards where Jellal was seated behind his desk. They both ignored the loud THUNK that was heard a second later, and a pained shout from Weasley.

"Hurry up. I don't have all day unlike a certain elderly with blue hair."

"I should've failed and kicked you out the second you stepped foot into my guild headquarters." Jellal sighed regretfully. "Here." He tossed a small round stone to Marcaunon, who caught it with his lightning quick reflexes. "Should I cancel your name from the list?"

"Mhm." Marcaunon hummed lightly as he rolled the stone between his fingers. "I doubt that I'll be available for a while – I suspect a long term contract."

"Your regular clients would be most saddened."

"Like I care."

"Owl me once you're finished with this job."

"Don't expect it to be done anytime soon, Jellal." He turned to Weasley and gestured for the redhead to get up. "Get your arse up, Weasley. We're going."

Weasley hurriedly got off the floor, still rubbing his nose, and touched the stone with a finger.

"We're ready. Activate it already."

"You really are a rude brat, Ignatius." Jellal sneered, but Marcaunon could see fondness in those usual apathetic brown eyes. "Be careful. Voldemort." Just as the name was spoken, Marcaunon felt a tug in his navel and the two disappeared from the office without a second to spare.

Jallal stared at empty spot where the two men had previously stood on, his lips curled downwards as he tried to control his emotions. He sincerely prayed that Ignatius… no, Marcaunon would come back safely. Voldemort was a very dangerous person. It was still fresh in his mind – the way he had trembled like a child in the presence of that crimson eyed young man.

OOOO

They landed in an office Marcaunon recognized as Voldemort's study at Malfoy Manor. Voldemort was seated on one of the three armchairs near the fireplace, a wineglass in hand. Marcaunon subconsciously roamed his eyes over the figure of the seated man – elegant form fitted long sleeved crimson shirt underneath a black vest, dark slim trousers, and polished leather shoes – and took in the way Voldemort had uncrossed those long legs of his to stand up with a charming smile plastered on an equally beautiful face.

He snapped out of his dazed and bowed slightly, with Weasley imitating him, though more lower. He didn't wait for Voldemort's permission to rise, and just strode towards one of the armchairs and plopped down. He was already prepared for this encounter. He was ready and would not screw up due to nervousness.

Weasley looked panicked, not knowing if he should be following Marcaunon's example or wait for Voldemort's instruction.

"Please take a seat, Felix – may I call you that?" Voldemort himself was already seated in his previous seat.

"Of course, sir!" Weasley nodded with a smile after he had seated himself on the last armchair beside Marcaunon.

"And may I call you Ignatius, Mr. Rose?" Marcaunon shrugged uncaringly. He would've normally stared at the other like they were insects beneath him, but this was Voldemort, so he allowed it. "Good. Before we begin however, would you both like something to drink?"

"Ah.. Yes please." Weasley beamed.

"No." Marcaunon rested his masked right cheek on his fist, with his elbow on the armrest.

A wineglass that was already filled with wine floated towards Weasley, and the redhead plucked it out from the air with a quiet thank you. He saw the redhead subtly dropped a few of some unknown clear liquid into the glass before he took a tentative sip. He took mental note that his future partner was careful, and if he wanted to rid of the man, would need something undetectable.

Voldemort pulled out his bone white yew wand and flicked it. Two parchments appear and floated down to their respective hands. Marcaunon scanned the contents and hummed quietly in thought. It was a contract. It basically stated that he would be in a probation period for a month, and if his services are considered excellent in the eyes of Voldemort, he will continue to work for the man until termination or death. It also stated that he will be paid by remuneration rather than monthly, and will provide his services when called. Also, any form of betrayal will lead to death. At the end of the contract, a space was provided for his signature… and there was a microscopic sentence that said the employee will receive a mark by Voldemort. He almost missed it due to the size.

"Uhm Voldemort sir?" Weasley's voice made Marcaunon look up from his contract, to stare at the redhead with curious blue eyes. "May I know what kind of services will we be providing?"

He was curious as well, but it didn't show. He only crossed his right leg over the other, and twirled a lock of snowy white hair around his right index finger. Weasley leaned slightly forward in interest.

"Brewing of requested potions," Voldemort started as he swirled the wine in his glass. "and also creating potions that I desire – or have a similar effect at the very least."

"An example of such for us to brew and create?"

"I need competent wizards to brew health related potions – my supplied are limited after all. As for creation… Perhaps I would like some kind of potion that is able to burn only the skin when poured onto a person's body."

"Before I agree… I would like to know your goals… And why you have a group of followers, Voldemort sir." Weasley was obviously nervous when he asked that.

The question wasn't that of a surprise to Marcaunon (and Voldemort). It was quite obvious that the men followed and served Voldemort, rather than work for him – he highly doubted that Death Eaters are paid for their services. He wondered why the two of them were being paid though. It made no sense, but when did Voldemort make sense anyway?

"It is quite simple actually." Voldemort smiled gently at Weasley. "My only wish is to improve the Wizarding World – to help our community grow."

Weasley only widened his eyes in surprise.

"I need you," Voldemort turned to Marcaunon. "the both of you, to help me in achieving my dream. Light Magicals fill the majority of our community. They condemn my kind, and ignore our bills because we have a Dark Core – we are born with it, what can we do? I proposed that we have an orphanage build for those Muggleborns that live in abusive homes, but it was ignored because I am a Dark Wizard. I fear that I would need to be practical for them to listen to my reasoning. I am in need of your superior brewing skills to aid me in my and my followers' goal."

Voldemort gave a rueful smile to the both of them, a smile that could melt even the coldest of hearts, and extended his right arm towards them.

"Will you join me in my pursuit for change… Felix Weasley, Ignaitus Rose?"

A/N: There's a link to my FB (Facebook) group on my profile. Join if you feel like it~ Happy (belated) New Year guys! We all survived 2014, insert wink here.

Er so… Some of you are confused as to why my previous chapter, the Christmas Special, has a huge gap in between the years. I'll explain it here since there were too many reviews from Guests. The previous chapter was something like an extra or omake. It's like a preview into the future. Not a real chapter but something similar to a sneakpeak. That's why I put it as 'Special'. Hope this clear things up – and I highly advice that you read my A/Ns. I don't mind if you skip my ranting, but I do write important bits for the first paragraph.

On to the reviews!

To answer one of the Guests' questions, my inspiration for Death wasn't actually from Sebastian or anywhere else. I just thought that Death would be playful yet mature at the same time since he has lived for a very long time. The more I write him, the more confused I get by his character sometimes – my fingers just typed on without me actually thinking. He's kind of like an unpredictable sort of character with an obsession with Marc.

As for cascioli's questions… Chaos gave Voldemort a pair of Slytherin crest cufflinks at the previous chapter. I apologize if it was unclear. The reason why Marcaunon's Yess has two S, is because of parseltongue. He spoke it back in his original world for far too long, so parseltongue is considered his main accent.

For those of you who have noticed about Marc calling Voldemort as Mr. Gaunt… Congratulations! I award you with a certificate for good observation skills. I thank you all for giving me such splendid reviews, and I hope that you will all continue to do so in my future chapters!

Story recommendation for today: Meant To Be by phoenixmaiden13. Whilst trying to escape from his captives, Harry ran into a bedroom that could be opened by only Parseltongue. Voldie and Harry had a brief duel alone and before long, they were snogging each other silly due to the Horcrux Bond (not that they know of course). That one night of lustful love making leads to Harry ending up pregnant. TMR/HP pairing, AU, M-preg.

Rainbows and New Years,
GenderlessPerson