Hello again :) So, it's time to delve a bit into the mind of our second main character!
Thank you again to all of you who read this and especially those who leave me comments so I know what to improve on or what direction to take.

Enjoy!

Chapter 31 – Tempus Fugit

Nine months of work stood neatly bound in the study of Riddle Manor, a feeling of accomplishment filling its creator. Time had flown by frustratingly fast as Voldemort had spent every minute of his time bent over books in various languages, picking out the parts that were useful and either changing or discarding the rest. It had been difficult to not get angry over the slow progress even with a vast source of magic at his disposal. He'd only managed because once he started something, the Dark Lord would bite into it and not let go until he'd accomplished the desired result. Now he had it, after almost a year, and it was only the thought of that Muggles usually needed years to even learn the laws of a single country that made him feel better about the perceived delay of the progress he'd made over the months.

Nothing could be done about that now, he reasoned. It wasn't as if he hadn't had anything else to do either. Pushing back the long, heavy sleeve of his right arm, he once more looked at the black lines that spiralled around the limb. He'd debated for a long time which language to use exactly, considering there were various occult alphabets available that would suit his purposes, from Enochian to the Alphabet of Magi. The latter might have been best regarding precision, but for many reasons, he was reluctant to ink himself with symbols that originated from a language so closely tied to Muggle religion. In the end, the wizard had settled for the most obvious choice of Old Norse Futhark. With the runes being very versatile and him being more than proficient in working with them, it had been easy to craft the spells he'd needed, although this particular alphabet had the obvious drawback of many other magicians also being able to read the incantations. It would force him to conceal the spells if he'd perform rituals with other people that would require being skyclad. Sanguine eyes roamed over the enchantments that lay so close beneath skin, anxious to pick up on any mistakes. After a few minutes of not finding any, the paranoia ceased. Voldemort hadn't spent days on these tattoos to leave room for errors.

Unlike other people he knew... His fingers subconsciously flexed in a motion that could have been very lethal around someone's throat. Why had he thought it a brilliant idea to put so much faith in a fourteen-year-old child to keep his secrets? After the first two slip-ups, with Karkaroff and Draco Malfoy respectively, Harry had apparently let word fall of being far too openly on the dark side to yet again another person. He'd befallen in rage as the news had reached him, and the only reason Voldemort hadn't dragged the boy back here after, was that Barty had assured him of that Harry hadn't technically broken any promises, not mentioning having ties to the Dark Lord personally, nor of that he had gained a new body. Still, Sirius Black of all people? If the Dark Lord hadn't invaded Harry's mind so often now in dreams, he wouldn't have thought it too far-fetched to assume that Potter didn't have a brain. This was exactly one of the reasons why he only worked with children in very few exceptional cases. Harryhad to be such an exception... unfortunately.

Voldemort gritted his teeth when he thought about the boy whom he had tied himself to so closely, both unknowingly and purposefully. Why was it that this child made him feel so much? It seemed as if every emotion was so much more intense than it used to be. At first, he'd imagined this to be a result of being reborn, or a compensation for those years spent as a spirit. The first doubts about that theory had appeared right after Harry had left the house, like small cracks that spread through him and bled dullness. Until his thoughts wandered to Harry again, of course. Be it elation or annoyance, it was tripled when it either regarded his young Horcrux or if Harry simply happened to be near, and Voldemort wasn't quite done coming up with reasons why. Having a piece of soul tied to a living being might explain the latter... yet only the latter.

Breathing in deeply, the Dark Lord tried to gain hold of his unreasonable, unbridled rage that bubbled to the surface each time he thought of Harry prattling to Black. Logically, it should have been expected that a child could not be asked to be burdened with such a secret and not confide in anyone close. Logically, Voldemort should have known better than to put Harry in a Tournament that could claim his life and give the additional task of learning unfamiliar, powerful magic at the same time. He cursed when even that thought did not ease the resentment he felt towards Harry using the trust the boy had been given. Vaguely, the Dark Lord wondered if he'd see the boy tomorrow, then dismissed the thought. Even with all the aid received from Barty, himself and -undoubtedly - Potter's friends and godfather, his Horcrux was still up against three much more accomplished mages.

He still was indecisive about what to actually call the boy when thinking of him. During summer, the alias Evan had stuck at Potter's wish, but Voldemort found that it wasn't very appropriate anymore now that the young wizard was back at Hogwarts. In the boy's own words, he had to be Harry Potter again, and since he had not explicitly expressed a desire anymore to be called one over the other, Voldemort had switched his referrals in dreams quite often. Dreams were different from waking life and he'd have to make a decision about it, for names held power. Unless Harry would ask to return to that pseudonym of Evan, Voldemort would keep to referring to the boy by his given name... although he felt himself fall more and more into the habit of using 'Harry', rather than 'Potter'. Perhaps sharing dreams made it natural to also share a certain familiarity... Harry seemed to think so, having become a tad too lax with his manners at times, another reason why Voldemort had avoided other dream visits since they had met in person at Malfoy manor. He received reports on Harry's progress in the Tournament and training dark magic by Barty and tried not to think too much of Potter besides that, lest the boy would drive him insane.

That wasn't to say that he wasn't looking forward to seeing his Horcrux again... to hear those never-ending curious questions, to amuse himself with observing Potter fretting over things that didn't matter in the slightest, to share knowledge of magic and have someone around to talk to again who put an interesting new perspective on almost every topic...

Casting all thoughts of the teen out of his mind, he concentrated on his achievements once more. Thousands of pages, put together in five heavy tomes, detailing every single decree he wished for the citizens of his future country to abide by. The first version of it, that was. He knew very well that many of these laws would not see the light of day for decades, and he also still wished to hear the opinions of his closest followers regarding a few that he didn't have particularly strong feelings about. That would mean contacting Yaxley again. The man was one of the few Death Eaters who knew of his return, being an important asset in the Ministry's Department of Magical Law Enforcement. One more thing that was rather ridiculous in the current state of the Ministry of Magic, was that the department that was supposed to centre around enforcing the law was the same that employed judges, the Wizengamot and even legislators. In the Muggle terms he'd gone through so thoroughly now, it combined police forces, justice facilities and lawmakers in one, a breeding ground for corruption.

Voldemort tapped his fingers on the armrests of his chair, finding the topic of corruption always worth a second thought. It would certainly be easy if he could pay off whomever necessary to put his will through as was currently the case with the Minister of Magic. It also meant that there was hardly any instrument of control that could track down his more questionable actions. Looking at it from a long-term perspective however, using corruption would be hazardous. So many governments had fallen once word inevitably got out, and while that may be fine for Ministers or presidents who were only in office for a couple of years, he planned to rule for quite a bit longer than the average person. Which meant that the persona he crafted around himself had to be clean, with perhaps only a few minor scandals in a back closet to not seem too suspiciously perfect.

Practising deals beneath the table or using contacts around him to give or gain favours would be detrimental. He had a much larger secret that would need to stay hidden, one that he would have to put all of his strength in without having to worry about additional malpractices to cover up. Plus, he added in afterthought, he couldn't exactly have Barty's faith destroyed. Good followers were hard enough to come by.

More people should try Horcruxes, he decided. It made for great epiphanies. Death had truly been a wake-up call in a great many aspects. His first attempt at reigning had been pursued by using fear, his followers had mostly flocked to him to get a taste of power and a chance to let out their aggression no matter his own intentions. Then, as soon as the Dark Lord himself had been removed from the playing field, all he'd built had crumbled down till nothing was left, a mistake he wouldn't make twice. Other ways to gain respect may be more troublesome, but what he would gain in return was worth the endeavour. The only ones who still held true devotion were those Death Eaters he'd given something in return for their service and of whom he'd fulfilled their deepest wishes. There was Barty, who wanted a family who cared for more than mere politics and was straightforward with their methods. Then Bellatrix, who'd wished to display and honour her heritage while also breaking down the traditional ideas of a woman only being there to sit pretty and raise a bunch of children. He'd provided that by training her and matching her with Rodolphus, whom he'd known to seek for a marriage that wouldn't be restrictive and still give the illusion of upholding family values.

These wishes had not been easy to fulfil. Back then, he'd wondered if he couldn't have used the time and effort it had cost better. The answer became clear now, now that these three people were the only ones of whom he could with absolute certainty say that they'd gladly die in his stead if he'd command them to do so. At long last, Slughorn's method of gathering people and aiding them made complete sense now. Shame that he'd had to kill the man that he finally begrudgingly looked up to. If only his old potions professor hadn't known too much about his Horcruxes. Oh, Voldemort was no fool, from Harry's report of the 'lessons' with Dumbledore, he knew that it would only be a matter of time until the old goat would find the right track, if he hadn't already. That didn't mean that the Dark Lord had to make it any easier, and the information about the exact number of his Horcruxes was a fact that Dumbledore didn't need to know. Even his own human Horcrux wasn't aware of that particular detail.

Ah, and there his thoughts went back to Harry after all. Voldemort sighed and gave up pretending not to want to pay attention to the musings about his latest obsession. Such a fascinating being the boy had turned out to be, which he most definitely had not expected after the disastrous talk they'd had when Voldemort had still played parasite. Back then, he'd gotten the impression of a stubborn, headstrong nuisance with far more curiosity and luck than an eleven-year-old should possess. That impression had had to be reconsidered last year. Underneath all the foolish bravery, there was distrust, anger, and a hopeless longing for acceptance that resonated unpleasantly with Voldemort's own personality. Had things been slightly different, he could fully imagine Harry to have gone down the same path as he himself had. Thus, he'd humoured the teen, for acceptance was one thing he had to offer in abundance.

Well, in certain aspects, that was. As long as a person had magic and was not too brainwashed by Muggle ideas, he could accept people from all walks of life. That did narrow his generosity down to less than a percent of the general world population, but he deliberately ignored that insignificant fact. When the right conditions were fulfilled, he would give almost anything to take in those people he felt were wronged, including Potter.

This was, he felt, in complete opposite to Dumbledore, who clung to secrets as if they gave life itself, which made it very easy to convince Harry whose side was superior. The Dark Lord had no qualms about telling Potter the truth about what the boy was and why he was so essential. And no matter how annoyingly loose-lipped Harry turned out to be about some of that information, he couldn't regret the decision when seeing how effortless it had been after to make Harry see what he truly wanted. The boy had been a mess when he showed up at Riddle manor. Voldemort sincerely hoped that, after finally finding a place to vent about his woes without being judged one way or the other, Harry had come out of it for the better.

''Who is evil now,'' he whispered into the empty room with a wry smile, mustering up as much hate for his old transfiguration professor as possible. Which wasn't especially hard to do.

Letting Harry go had been harder than imagined, especially considering that upon becoming aware of the boy's presence in the house, he'd had half a mind to kill the brat. Good that even in his feverish state, he'd been able to recognise that doing so without further investigation would be unwise. It had been an eventful and amusing few weeks during which he'd housed his Horcrux. Eventful, because of all the insight he'd gained through the rituals and the talks he and Barty had had with the teen, which had revealed the many layers of Harry's character. Amusing, due to the revelation that the boy was much more attuned to Voldemort's magic than anyone, practically craving it, especially after the protection of Lily Potter wasn't fighting the wishes of his soul anymore. It had left Harry being awkward and embarrassed in a way that was highly entertaining.

Getting up, he finally noticed that he hadn't been so alone as he'd thought, Nagini lying curled up in a corner. With a twinge of affection, Voldemort approached his pet and kneeled down next to her to stroke the scales atop of her head. He really was fortunate for having found such a fine creature. In what he now referred to as his first life, he'd held a few snakes around for company, but most of them had been simply creatures with not much to say. Nagini had been a different story, and Voldemort was certain that she could not be an ordinary animal, although he was not aware of her origin, and neither did she have much of a recollection of her youth herself. She'd only told a vague tale of flashing lights and grabbing hands before fleeing into the forest where they'd met. It could also explain why she did not behave much like a regular snake, instead often being awake during the day and tending to follow him around, not to mention that she was an impossible combination of a constrictor and a venomous species, wielding both lethal weapons at once.

Despite the charms he'd put upon her, she was still rather heavy when he picked her up and carried her over to the bedroom he'd de-cluttered after gaining his new body, the one that had belonged to his grandparents. After considering the one of his father for a while to spite the bastard, the Dark Lord had decided against it. It wasn't that he had anything against sleeping in the bed of someone he'd killed -else his current choice would also make little sense-, he merely did not feel comfortable in a room where his father may have bed other women than his mother while Voldemort was stuck and miserable in the orphanage.

For a while, Voldemort had seriously considered leaving this place behind. When first arriving here, he'd planned for it to be a temporary hide-out and make use of the homes of followers who had remained loyal. That was an impossibility now he had made Barty gather his Horcruxes, realising the danger they were in after one had been destroyed. -There was that anger again, when thinking of Potter, raising the Basilisk fang. Potter, saving the Weasley girl because his heart was so large that it could fit the world in it-

His snarl shook Nagini. Why did he always have to think of Harry?

~Will Harrison be here again tomorrow?~ Nagini hissed quietly as if reading his thoughts, wagging the tip of her tail as he put her down on the bed. (For a while, she'd slept near the fireplace until one night where the fire had burnt too bright and even with the charms that protected her she'd received burns to her side during the night. After that, he'd found it safer to keep her warm with blankets so she curled up at his feet every night. It was more pleasant to have someone there than he'd ever admit) The question surprised him, for there had been no mention of his plans to Nagini. Had he talked to himself in Parseltongue while working? He did wonder why she kept calling the boy Harrison, he'd explained to her a couple of months ago who Harry really was so they would not need to be careful around Nagini anymore when talking. It had taken her a while of being angry and sulking to forgive the boy for lying to her, but she'd thankfully come around by now.

~Perhaps, if he is clever enough,~ he hissed back, undressing and slipping under the covers himself. Then again, while having had insightful thoughts to add to discussions, showing a certain level of intelligence, Harry still had more brawn and heart than brain. One couldn't have all three... even Voldemort admitted so, knowing that physically he was weaker than most, compensating for that with potions and spells. Not that any magician would think of assaulting him physically. Or well, any other than Harry bloody Potter who had tried to throttle him once.

''Potter'' he spat, getting frustrated once more. For now he would try to keep watch. If Harry kept running around and telling too much to those near him, Voldemort could always still decide to just remove him from society for a while. Yes, that was a plan, he finally decided before drifting off to sleep.

'How had time gone by so fast' was not a sentence that was only on Voldemort's mind. Harry was busy with the same thought buzzing through his head. It felt like only yesterday that he'd returned to Hogwarts after the Easter Holidays... and it was as if everything and nothing had happened at all during those months: together with his friends he'd snuck down to the kitchens a couple of times, checking on Dobby and Winky. Besides that, he'd just attended classes, did less extra learning than planned, tried to keep in shape by flying around the grounds despite Quidditch having been cancelled, trained with Barty whenever he could and, most surprisingly, stayed out of trouble. Due to Skeeter's mysterious disappearance, there had been no more mortifying articles in the Prophet either to shake up his life. It didn't look like the paper had found a new staff member yet with as much experience in tearing down people's lives.

There were of course those strange, irregular visits with Dumbledore too, but it looked like the headmaster was less worried than Harry had expected for someone who was supposedly getting his forces back together. He'd only been shown three further memories. Perhaps the Headmaster simply hadn't had the time to gather more, for he hadn't left the castle again. Instead, Harry had delved into Dumbledore's own past, first seeing the trial of the Lestranges and Barty Crouch and then a memory of when Voldemort returned to Hogwarts to apply for a job once more.

And then there had been that memory: the first meeting with a young Tom Riddle at that creepy Muggle Orphanage. Harry finally knew now when Voldemort's birthday was, since Dumbledore had spoken to Mrs Cole first, and Harry had realised that he'd missed the Dark Lord's last one. Harry's heart had clenched when recognising the distrust and hostility Riddle had shown, followed by an eagerness to believe Dumbledore when being told he was different... A hope that was crushed when he turned out to be too special as soon as the revelation was out that he was a Parselmouth. No wonder that Voldemort had turned out so twisted; Muggles had feared him for his powers when he'd been too young to even understand them himself and then the first wizard he'd met was openly disapproving too, telling Tom off for stealing trinkets and 'misusing' the powers he held so dear. What kind of scar must it have left when Dumbledore pretended to burn Riddle's only treasures, what kind of message had that been supposed to give? Tom's cries of rage and fear etched deep in Harry's soul... Perhaps Voldemort had not been able to feel more complex emotions during his childhood as he'd said, the primal instincts had all been there.

''Could you possibly be feeling sorry for Lord Voldemort?'' Dumbledore had asked him afterwards, having watched Harry's wet eyes almost curiously, a question that still made Harry laugh bitterly.

''Yes,'' he whispered into the wind, the same answer as he'd given then. ''No matter what he became after, what kind of monster would I be not to feel sorry for a lost and broken child?''

He hadn't been shown any further memories after that, which suited Harry just fine.

''Did you say something?'' Bagman asked, frowning. ''Don't worry Harry, you'll be great!'' Harry only gave the man a sideway glance, still not trusting someone who apparently had trouble with goblins and was far too eager to give advice. Bagman didn't seem to care, grinning and giving a thumbs up at the slightest hint of recognition, then rubbing his arms. ''Cold here isn't it? I hope Dumbledore will hurry up. Man, if only Crouch were here, he was always good with warming charms.''

''Have you heard anything about him?'' Harry asked, finally taking the bait, also not wanting to only stand there in silence, stewing on his nerves. A few more minutes before they'd have to take their places and go into the gigantic labyrinth that had utterly transformed the Quidditch pitch. The thought of never getting the pitch back to its old state however, worried Harry more than the labyrinth itself, maybe because he knew there was nothing that he could really have prepared much better for. With the dragons he'd had a specific tactic. In the lake, his main focus was to keep breathing. This? Anmaze with unknown creatures and enchantments? This was like getting to the philosopher stone all over again with a new challenge behind each door and hey, he'd also made it through there right? His friends may not be with him in the maze to give aid, but Hermione and Ron had helped him practise so many spells that he still felt as if they were with him in spirit.

''About who, Crouch? Not really but I'm sure it's nothing serious,'' Bagman shrugged. ''Just like old Bertha who surely got lost on holiday, Crouch maybe decided he'd rather hunt down some dark wizards on his own without the rest of the department to hold him back.'' Harry sceptically raised his eyebrows, knowing very well that both those people had been murdered by Voldemort. How could one person be this delusional?

Even Dumbledore saw these disappearances as a sign that the Dark Lord was growing stronger. He'd told Harry so right after showing the Death Eater trial, diverting the teen's attention from Barty's pale face as the then-teen's own father sentenced him to Azkaban. Harry was clearly not the only one who wasn't careful enough, the Dark Lord had underestimated Dumbledore's deductive abilities as well. Somehow, someway, the Headmaster had even found out about the murder on Frank Bryce, getting dangerously close to Voldemort's hiding place. Too close to Harry's liking, an opinion shared by Barty who had instantly warned Voldemort to up the defences around Riddle house or move someplace else. Whether or not the man had followed that advice, Harry had no idea, not having spoken to Voldemort anymore since Easter, not even in dreams.

He still wasn't sure whether to feel disappointed or relieved about that. The dreams had been confusing and he'd usually not been able to recall much from them in the first place but... they'd somehow made him feel secure, taken care of. Harry felt like he usually was the last person who craved attention from other people and still... Voldemort's attention had been nice. It was difficult to describe why it was so different. It wasn't as if Harry didn't feel loved: he had amazing friends, a wonderful godfather who was even willing to take Harry in, Hagrid was always there to talk to and he even had his personal guardian angel/devil in the form of Dobby. His heart jumped a bit in his chest when recalling this morning, when Mrs. Weasley and Bill had stood in for his biological family and who were now beaming at him from the stands. Friends, family... still, talking to Voldemort was unlike anything else and not only because of the wizard's power. No, Harry felt understood by the man, now more than ever since he'd seen just how similar their upbringings had been. Added to that the fact that he carried a piece of Voldemort's soul and they'd shared blood twice now... if it wouldn't sound so uncomfortably sappy, Harry would almost call the feeling intimacy.

Which he didn't. Absolutely not.

''Finally!'' Ludo Bagman exclaimed, shocking Harry out of his own weird musings, which he could only feel relieved about. He had better things to concentrate on than whatever insanity the Dark Lord awoke. Harry looked behind him and saw that the last people took their places, Dumbledore having lingered a bit longer than absolutely necessary, which made Harry slightly suspicious. ''Well then, let's get this show started,'' Bagman enthusiastically said. ''Sonorus.'' He spread his free arm and reminded the crowd of the current points of the Champions and thus the order in which they'd enter the maze - first Cedric, then Harry, Viktor and lastly Fleur. ''To make this task slightly more entertaining to watch,'' he spoke with blinking teeth, ''and to address the complaints we got after the underwater one, we'll have monitoring spells set up all through the labyrinth!''

Harry froze. Monitoring spells? That was one thing he hadn't counted on. If he judged Barty's expression correctly, neither had the Death Eater. They'd practised many darker spells that he was hesitant to show with teachers watching now that Dumbledore had warned him yet again. Also, Harry had hoped that if he was in a real pinch, he would still be able to fall back on Voldemort's protection as a last resort. He could forget about that now unless he wished to have a massive explanation at hand. ''Naturally, the centre is shrouded in mystery,'' Bagman continued, winking. ''So we'll only know who the real winner is when they appear back right here.'' He pointed at a golden circle that was painted on the grass in front of the entrance. ''So let's see how our Champions behave when all alone. Cedric, if you would?''

Viktor glowered a bit at Bagman using Cedric's first name as if he was familiar with all of them. That the Champions had formed bonds between each other did not mean that members of the jury could include themselves in that group. Harry felt the same, just tried not to show it as much. Cedric turned to the other three of them, looking a bit nervous. ''Good luck,'' Harry said, being the first to speak. A small, anxious smile formed on Cedric's lips and he nodded back, then took the hand Viktor offered him and accepted the awkward pat on the arm from Fleur. ''So, the last Task huh,'' the Hufflepuff softly spoke, his eyes a bit sad. ''It really was great to do all these things with you. No matter the outcome today...'' he drifted off.

''We'll still be a team,'' Krum commented, giving a curt nod. ''Let's all play Quidditch together sometime after. Now go.''

With that, Cedric ran into the maze, not waiting for a further sign, perhaps due to nerves. Harry watched the older boy's back as he disappeared into the shadows of the towering hedges. Squinting his eyes, he could make out the figure still. If he was correct, Cedric had gone to the right.

A few minutes later, a shrill whistle sounded and Harry walked forwards, encouraged by the remaining two Champions. It was time to face his last deadly task.

Well, you all know what is coming up next ;P
Was the Voldemort POV alright? Should I include scenes from his perspective more often?
Please read and review!
xx GeMerope
xx GeMerope