So, for everyone who enjoyed the last chapter from Voldemort's POV, here's another glimpse into his life :P
Thanks a lot to all reviewers again!

Enjoy!

Chapter 37 – A Day in the Life of a Lord

It was freeing, walking around the office without having to swallow Polyjuice potion every hour he was here. Despite having completed the spells shortly before the last task of the Triwizard Tournament, he only put them into practise today, after he'd learned how to control the transformation easily. As tiring as the spells had been to create a more permanent disguise of Noctua, it had been worth any price. The Daily Prophet had been acquired three-and-a-half month ago, Nouvelles du Monde Magique only five weeks, and Voldemort had split his time between the newspapers and his legislation. Now, he could finally focus as much on this work as he expected from all of his employees.

Calm and Control were two words that Voldemort had enforced instantly in both of the newspaper publishing companies he ran now. Noctua had been a hands-on man who had an eye on everything, and the Dark Lord made sure to use that image to enforce his will on every detail that went on. He had no use for hectic employees running around and forgetting half of the things they should be doing, so the Daily prophet was soon running in a smoother manner than ever before, and he hoped to reach the same level of efficiency quickly in France too. He stalked through the offices, looking left and right to spot anyone who might be slacking off, and at the same time checked a list he'd received from the reporters of Witch Weekly on interesting gossip to pursue. For if there was one thing he'd learned in his lifetime, it was that in such a small community as their own, especially with magic happening left and right, gossip was a surprisingly accurate way of finding those stories that really piqued one's interest.

Reluctantly, he also admitted that his Muggle upbringing helped to sort out the accurate ones, by comparing it to what Muggles usually made up to explain phenomena they didn't understand nor could influence. In sharp contrast to Muggles, magical folk tended to try and downplay explanations for those kinds of things. Black ghosts on the moors of Devon for example, were instantly thrown out, knowing that people merely wished to have a safer explanation than the fact that a couple of Dementors were going rogue -a fact he would not like to alert the public to anytime soon in the first place -. Large explosions down in Tinworth on the other hand, spoke of illegal experimentations that he would love to use as a distraction to cover up some of the more questionable affairs a couple of Ministry workers had gotten themselves into. Not that he wouldn't exploit those affairs, but he preferred to let politicians with opposing views think themselves safe enough to gather a heap of dirt before exposing them. Like that, they would have a much harder time defending their actions than if he'd exposed wrongdoings already very early on, making them more careful.

''How is the additional category working out?'' he asked, stopping at the desk of three of his newest employees.

''We already have several ideas for the layout, and Tintink told me he hunted down several spell creators and inventors already to provide a steady stream of information.''

''Good, work out some test layouts with a dummy paper and have it sent to my office tomorrow, I'll have a look at it then.'' He gave them a curt nod and kept going, pacing back and forth. He might soon need to expand, the Headquarters in Diagon had become too small in the short time he'd been here. Perhaps next Saturday he would get some time in to clear out the office and put in expansion charms, before everyone would come in to work on the Sunday edition.

After taking over Noctua's persona, Voldemort had introduced changes to fit his plans each week. Before, the Daily Prophet been an absolute mess with 36 sections spread over only 20 pages. During his reforms, that entire structure had been broken down by now. First and foremost, he had put international news in the spotlight, it was too important to push to page eight where it had previously been. Especially when they would at long last disconnect from the Muggle world, it was important to still keep in contact with wizarding communities abroad. Newspapers were fundamental instruments in that. Furthermore, he'd removed the 'good news and bad news' sections and instead recategorized it all as national news, highlighting the pages after on the Ministry of Magic, Hogwarts and 's as national beacons of daily news. Sports he had left untouched due to popular demand of it, and he had reduced many of the nonsensical categories, from 'Ask D. Shaman', to 'Puzzles' and 'Blablabla'. None of those had any right to be in a professional paper. Instead, they now cooperated with the reporters from Witch Weekly: the magazine staff provided all broad current topics of gossip to him like the list in his hand, so he could sort out what was real news, and leave the juicy bits to the Magazine to cover. Who was dating who had no business in newspapers and it was an easy way to get free information.

His latest project had been the advancement of the 'Magic News' section, which was now less a list of interesting magical titbits and more modelled after the science section in muggle newspapers: new inventions, discoveries regarding magical creatures, spellcrafting and developments in potions were to be featured. The Wizarding World liked to pretend that it was stuck and steady, creating an invisible hurdle that consisted of the society's general mindset when it came to changing the country's fundaments. To stimulate people's curiosity regarding magic's possibilities and to instil a feeling of that the world was moving faster than they thought, he wished to remind every single reader of how much existed out there to keep up with, also leaving behind a sense that Britain was not as advanced as many other magical communities out there. That was harder to do in France with the second paper he ran, since that country had always tried to strive forwards regarding magic. It was no wonder that alchemists and potion masters flocked to France even when they hadn't gone to Beauxbatons.

He still had a few worries about Nouvelles du Monde Magique since he wasn't there as often himself, and three weeks had not been enough to take any grand steps towards anything yet. One bright spot was that two weeks ago, he'd appointed a reliable, zealous young witch named Argantan Derrien as managing Editor when he wasn't there personally, and despite her age, she'd already shown to excel in whipping the employees in shape. Her major flaws -having no nose for good articles herself and having horrid style – were more than made up for by his own influence and the fact that she was incredible at finding brilliant staff members. That the Derrien family were purebloods which always had held open views towards dark magic had also played a role in appointing her. Having disagreements over what was appropriate to publish would not do the company any good, after all.

Overall, Voldemort felt pleased with how well the take-over had gone. Noctua's methods had matched his own, even if not as extreme, and buying out the French national newspaper had been easier than expected. What was most important to him, was that he doubted any of his enemies would ever suspect the role he'd taken up. Dumbledore knew only of his drive to teach, and others who had known him back then had expected him to be drawn to politics. Running the press was also not something he per se enjoyed, but it was the most beneficial position to be in at the moment, especially if he would after all become politically active in a few years. Even if by then, anyone would try to dig into his 'past', it would be hard for anyone to notice the fact that Noctua had actually been removed from office a long time ago already or pinpoint the exact time. The only thing that might give it away was the fact that now, several physical details were different. Since he hadn't wished to rely on Polyjuice potion or temporary glamours for too long, he'd crafted a second appearance, binding the spell to him using the tattoos he now bore on his right arm. Crafted appearances were hardly ever exact though, and he was a bit taller now than Noctua had been for example, and retained his own voice. Most of today had been spent on changing his employees' memory a tad to convince everyone that Noctua had always looked like this. It had been hardest to influence his assistant, who had worked with Noctua daily for over six year now and who, as he'd found out today while probing her mind for memories- was a tad too obsessed with the man. Perhaps Voldemort would give her another position at one point, he didn't wish to have his every move be scrutinised by someone who was in love with him.

''Sir?'' he looked down on a small, balding man who shuffled closer. Merlin, why did this cretin always remind him so much of Wormtail?

''What is it, Belby'' he replied, a tad harsher than strictly necessary. It looked like all the talent in the family had gone to Belby's brother, a famous potioneer who had received an order of Merlin. The only reason why Voldemort hadn't fired him was that it would sink the morale if he dismissed the one employee who had been here longest of the current staff.

''The… the results of the survey from last week are in.''

Oh yes, he'd entirely forgotten about the surveys. For reasons he could not quite grasp yet, people were incredibly hesitant to give out any personal information, unless that personal information could tell them what type of broomstick was most closely matched to their personalities. Or something along those lines. In either case, surveys were one of the most popular tools in several magazines, both magical and muggle, to reach out to people and target them for marketing purposes. Voldemort figured that, while he wasn't especially interested in advertising the Prophet further -it really wasn't necessary, being the only large newspaper in the country- he could use surveys to gather information on the population he planned on ruling one day. What was on their minds, who had gone to what house in Hogwarts, how high of a percentage of foreigners their community held, a rough amount of Muggleborns… Each week, they created a new survey or quiz for their subscribers to fill in and sent back, and it had quickly gained popularity. All of them were overall harmless, but he ensured to put in at least one question of importance in each one, to slowly mine valuable data.

''Remind me again what the topic of the last one was?'' he spoke.

''A questionnaire on what people would like to improve in our paper, Sir.''

Right, there had been that too. Feedback on whether the changes he'd made were being received well was as important as information on the actual readers. ''And?'' he asked, getting a tad impatient at Belby's silence. Did he have to drag out every word? If so, he'd gladly yank the man's tongue with it until it would rip-

''Most would like to change the focus of our content. A few filled in the 'other' option a couple of times to complain that the Prophet is too dry since Skeeter has gone. One woman wrote that there is too much Fudge and too little Potter. Looks like people want their celebrity back.''

Voldemort's eye twitched. Potter? Potter? Could that boy not leave him alone at work now either?

''We just brought out the article on the Champions after the final results of the Triwizard Tournament, do they expect news of their hero every single day?''

''To be fair, that was almost two weeks ago-''

''I don't care, I will not go back to drivel for the sake of entertainment! I'll publish Potter once the boy does anything worth writing about. Until then, the public will have to entertain themselves with Quibblers if they wish sensational stories!'' Belby backed off with a shocked look and Voldemort hissed under his breath. Why did Potter always rile him up so much?

He retreated to his office with his sour mood as once more, his thoughts revolved around his youngest… follower? Truth be told, Voldemort himself wasn't entirely certain as to why he'd gone along with the boy's wish to spend another summer at Riddle manor. True, it was good to keep an eye on his Horcrux, and true, the boy didn't deserve to be stuck with filthy Muggles for all of summer, but it had one major drawback: feelings. The Dark Lord was familiar with anger, with pride, and even fear. But what seeped through the link when talking to Evan was much more complicated and alien. He thought he had learned the more complex emotions of humankind, yet the intensity and composition of the boy's moods, sometimes feeling three entirely different things at once, was confusing. Time and time again, he had to hold back to not quickly skim the upper surface of Evan's mind to read actual, comprehensible thoughts. Considering the history they had of accidental lapses into each other's mind and the deliberate dream-walking, Voldemort was certain that Legilimency would be ill-advised. That left him only with the puzzle of Evan's moods to figure out what was on the boy's mind, although judging by the reactions he'd gotten, he usually took good guesses.

Sometimes though, he wondered if he interpreted too much. The way that Evan had looked at his hands when healing them, the strange, almost longing emotion that he'd received… He enjoyed Evan's admiration and was fascinated by exploring the ancient soul and mind magic they shared, but he needed to be careful not to let anyone get too close, certainly not a teenage boy with as many issues as Evan had. Voldemort took a deep breath and pinched his nose as an echo of those emotions he'd felt now welled up in himself. With a resolute slam of a fist on his desk, he stopped them. This was ridiculous, he was a master of his own mind. He would need to be more on guard around Potter, that was certain. Whether it was a curse or a blessing that the boy himself was denser than a bludger when it came to figuring himself out, remained to be seen.

Finally, Voldemort managed to distract himself with labour: magic took away most of the routine work, but it could not replace a human brain when it came to checking the content of articles. That even with his newly appointed members of staff they were only less than two dozen, didn't ease his workload either. He changed what he felt necessary before it would get printed and made notes to inform his employees of the desired changes to improve future work. Hours later, he emerged, handing the pile to his assistant.

''Listen,'' he spoke, the office falling silent in an instant, all eyes on him. A moment passed in which he took in the faces of all the people in the room. ''All of you need to keep one thing in mind: what we do is informing the public of each detail that goes on in our world. This is more than a mere job that you spent a bit of time at in exchange for money, I hope you agree to that. We are the backbone of our government, both to support it and to keep it on the right path when the politicians swerve off it. People depend on us, they believe in and rely on our stories, for who else is going to tell them what is happening? We must never forget about the impact we have. I realise that some people have been missing Skeeter and a few others like her that I fired. Some of you have changed your writing style in a way that reminds me of her, a fact that I am not pleased about. We do not write to become popular. Good stories will present themselves, there is no need to embellish on details. It will only make the public question our integrity in case we publish articles on topics not supported by the public. So from now on, I wish to see no more sensationalist headlines, certainly not when after the first two lines I can see that it is merely meant to stir up trouble at expense of quality and accuracy. Do you understand?''

Two reporters who had been more than guilty of his accusation let their heads hang. If only he could get a good round of torture in…

''What…. What do you mean with topics not supported by the public?'' Belby again… Voldemort narrowed his eyes at the man, the only one who'd picked out that particular sentence. Perhaps he wasn't so unintelligent as the Dark Lord had thought before.

''You all have heard rumours of the blacklist, have you not? A list that was started by the Chief editor several generations back of topics that were not to be written about?'' At a few hesitant nods, he smirked. ''While I can unfortunately not confirm the existence of such a specific list, it is true that the Ministry has made it incredibly difficult to write about certain issues. Let's just, metaphorically, say that we will burn the blacklist entirely in the coming year.''

Chatter broke out instantly, and if not for the fact that he had a very specific image to uphold, he would have blown up at them to shut their mouths. Damn Noctua's good nature… as much as they were alike when it came to work, so different were they personality-wise. It was a good thing that the man had been married to his work, Voldemort couldn't imagine having to also uphold the image of Noctua's possible family life.

Leaving the staff to their own thoughts and gossip, he exited the office, strolling through Diagon Alley, breathing in the magic of the place. Only Hogwarts could rival the pure, old magic that oozed out of the ancient buildings. Hopefully one day, this would not be limited to a small cluster of streets anymore. Voldemort stopped in front of Ollivanders, giving the single wand on its dusty cushion a fond look. How he loved magic, every single aspect of it… Physically, it kept him alive more than air did after all the changes he'd made to his body, and more importantly: it gave him a reason to make living about more than mere survival. For his people, he'd fight, to bring them all to an era without shame. He could never thank Magic enough for choosing him. Not that he'd ever doubted there was anyone more worthy of the title of Lord than himself. Any fool who claimed so would not live long enough to profit from Voldemort's fight.

The difficult part was to keep together the people who did believe in him as much as he did himself, for he'd found that most people were cowards, out for their own gain, who'd turned tail as soon as he'd gone.

Not everyone is a Slytherin, an inner voice reminded him that sounded suspiciously like Potter again. Considering the links they shared, he took a moment to make sure it wasn't actually Potter, then moved one, slightly disturbed by the fact that he was developing inner voices. He'd been alone for too long…

Taking one more look to appreciate the magical community around him, he apparated to Little Hangleton, quickly making his way into the house, stopping on the doorstep of the kitchen, where Evan and Barty were having a discussion about House-elves. Keeping his presence masked, he listened in.

''- One cannot get an elf using a false name or any falsified information, otherwise the binding spells wouldn't properly work. And who would want a servant who could possibly betray you?'' Barty spoke, in an apparent answer to a question the teen had asked.

''It sounds more and more like slavery to me.''

''Interesting idea, but as someone who comes from a family that has kept house-elves for a long time, I can't see it like that. House-elves love doing what they do, I've seen it often enough. Also, this entire thing did not come from wizards searching servants. I talked quite a bit with Winky when I was younger, and she told me stories about her kind. The first house-elf was a wild elf, creatures that have long since gone extinct and that were barely magical. The only powerful magic they had, was that they could siphon magic off witches and wizards they lured into their homes, strengthening their own powers. Wishing to have more than that life, one elf in particular went to a wizarding home and offered to stay near them in exchange for work. More followed his example after it became clear that prolonged contact with witches and wizards gave elves power more permanently. At one point, the elves wanted even more and started contracts to tie themselves directly to magicians, sacrificing their own independence for magic. It's a fate that they doomed themselves to in greed.''

Evan frowned. ''I've never heard about that before… it's definitely interesting. Still, even if this is the true history of House-elves rather than a romanticized bedtime story, that generation of elves must be long dead, and their descendants are born into this life without any choice. It does not excuse the fact that many magicians treat their elves horribly, make them hurt themselves or sleep and work in horrid conditions.''

''I never said I advocated for cruelty,'' Barty shrugged. ''Elves don't make a good case for themselves in that regard either however. Look at Winky, my father acted like she was the lowest form of life and gave her commands that were emotionally damaging, including firing her when it was convenient for him. He didn't have enough compassion for humans, and certainly didn't waste any on creatures he believed to be beneath him. With all that, Winky still treats him like a god, and even now still cries about him after getting a new contract.'' Evan was silent at that for a while, looking as if he fought an inner debate.

''Then how do you explain rebelling House-elves? I know of one who defied his master and another who tries to do everything to not follow orders properly.''

Barty shook his head. ''I'm honestly stumped there. Winky may have told me much about elves, I'm no expert on how these contracts work. Whatever the case, I can assure you that it will not turn out well for the elf if defiance gets them fired. Even when not punished directly by their masters, the spells that bind them to our magic can also snap. Elves without work go back to their previous state. Even if an elf takes the benefits of having ties for granted, they'll feel the repercussions when they're gone. As I said before, they can only do this much magic due to indirectly using ours. Without it, House-elves can barely do anything and have no protection. Trust me on this, any elf that is so unhappy with their situation that they manage to break free, will soon seek new employment.''

''Actually,'' Voldemort spoke up, removing both Noctua's disguise and the shields that masked his power. The others jumped up as if burned, and he smirked at their reaction. ''It has to do with the way elves are bound nowadays. Your history on elves is only partially correct, Bartemius. The first elves bound themselves not to a family, but to one specific person, and could then use magic on the exact level of their master. Upon death of that master, elves searched out a new human to serve. Wizarding families weren't exactly happy with the arrangement however, since elves would only answer to a single family member, and leave after that person's death, forcing the family to purchase or persuade a new elf each time. The contracts were changed so elves would serve an entire bloodline or those carrying a certain surname, generations long. Then, it changed to even generations of elves being bound to a family instead of an individual one. This made for convenient servitude, but had the negative effect of ties not being so close anymore. If an elf prefers one family member over the others or receives different orders, they can choose what to do for example. What you said is essentially still correct though: if their last master dies or they break free for whatever reason, their magic will be reduced to being as harmless as a regular pixie's. Elves born in servitude may not know that, they'll feel the effects soon enough regardless.''

''My Lord, I did not know that you were so knowledgeable on elves,'' Barty spoke in surprise. ''You hardly ever expressed an interest in the creatures.''

''When Evan and I met after the third task, we had a brief discussion about house-elves,'' Voldemort admitted. ''He mentioned knowing rebelling elves, I found it interesting enough to pursue, to find out the reasons behind their change in behaviour. The crux lies in perception: the bond between House-elf and Master was created to be mutually beneficial and powerful. With its power weakened due to the laziness of wizardkind, and benefits for elves downplayed and forgotten, it is no wonder that these ties are dissolving. Elves who perceive themselves at only being at a disadvantage can, with enough willpower, work against their masters. Since house-elves will be an important asset to us after detaching our world from the Muggle one, I need to spread this knowledge quickly to make the public aware of the effects mistreating elves can have.''

''Why would House-elves become so important?'' Evan asked, having listened to his explanation without a word, which was incredibly uncharacteristic.

''Who else would do menial labour? Keeping Muggles would bring more trouble than good, and magicians can usually not be bothered to run farms or orchards, can they? Elves are the best solution, for no matter how you view them, most really do love their lives. It is also a non-issue for most witches and wizards.''

Barty nodded in agreement while Evan just stared at him with a strange expression that Voldemort couldn't quite place until the teen said in a very careful, low tone: ''You thought about taking Muggles as slaves?''

Raising an eyebrow, the Dark Lord tried to gauge the boy's feelings. It didn't help that many of them were so unfamiliar to him, although he could pick up disgust quite well. ''If you are talking about keeping them to work without pay, then I suppose you'd call them slaves. Since Muggles do not really count as people however, I'd prefer the term cattle. Though this is all quite hypothetical. As I said, it would have too many drawba- where are you going?'' he snarled as Evan, now wearing a furious expression, walked past him without a word. As Voldemort turned to follow the boy, he was rather taken aback when the other turned around, a cold anger showing that was very unlike the usual way the teen blew up when disliking something.

''I need some time to think,'' Evan said through clenched teeth. ''And I don't give a damn about how powerful you are or how much pain you can make me feel, I'll talk to you again when I want to.'' With that, Evan rushed upstairs, a door slamming making it clear that he'd retreated to his bedroom.

Not wanting to admit that he felt a bit lost, Voldemort turned to Barty and harshly demanded: ''Drag him out of there! I will not be disrespected in my own house!''

Barty licked his lips nervously and swayed back and forth a bit. ''My Lord, I will do as you ask if that is truly your wish but…. I would like to express that I doubt it's a wise course of action. Despite what you share, you only just gained his trust, destroying it now for the sake of showing him your control is ill-advised.''

Voldemort hissed a few choice words in Parseltongue, then sat down on the only chair in the kitchen, glaring a hole into the wall. Barty remained at his side as a quiet comfort until the Dark Lord was ready to speak again. ''This is why I chose you to stay here instead of any of those idiots,'' he finally admitted, rubbing his temples. ''What was so disagreeable in what I said? Since he has some moral issues about slavery, I thought pointing out that I do not see it that way would sway him.''

Barty sighed deeply and conjured a second chair, carefully sitting down. Voldemort noticed that his muscles were tense, as if he was prepared to up and run at any moment. A wise move. ''Evan's problem isn't slavery specifically. Nor is it murder, or theft, or any other crime. He is the type of person who only condemns certain actions due to a sense of a higher moral standpoint. This kid has been mistreated all his life by people who thought he was beneath them.''

''I as well-'' Voldemort exclaimed, sparks jumping up from his hands in his anger.

''My Lord, with all due respect,'' Barty muttered, bowing his head. ''From the moment you cast your first piece of magic, even the Muggles around you saw your superiority. They did not hate you for being below them, they feared you for being something they could never hope to be. It is true that the Muggles in your own life and that of Evan's acted out of hatred and fear both… yet it manifested in different ways. You were isolated, cast out and punished when you showed your powers, and only then. Evan's family had a deep-seeded prejudice against wizardkind already and took it out on him before he could even cast accidental magic. He has been treated like less than human until his time at Hogwarts. Because of this, he has vowed to protect those he thinks cannot stand up for themselves. Muggles are, unfortunately, included in that. Having them labelled as cattle may have brought back unpleasant memories.''

''But he isn't lower than the scum that raised him! He is a wizard, for Merlin's sake. From the time he was one year old, he managed extraordinary feats. There is no reason for him to identify with the weak!''

''And yet he does.''

Frustrated, the Dark Lord got up and started pacing. ''So all of this time, the reason he has been so defiant about many of my actions is due to his misplaced sense of care for the helpless?'' he spoke, cackling at the thought. ''Does he not realise just how dangerous Muggles can be to us, even after what he went through at their hands?''

''I think he does, but he is only willing to condemn individuals, not an entire species. I do consider myself lucky that he has those views though.''

''Why so?'' Barty gave him a calculating look, as if debating whether to speak up or not. ''If you hadn't wished to tell me, you shouldn't have spoken in the first place, speak.''

The blond ran a hand through his hair and bit his lips, two nervous ticks that Voldemort had tried him to stop doing, as it would make Barty appear unstable and weak in front of others. ''Had it not been for his sense to protect the weak, he might have killed you again when he first entered this house.''

Voldemort didn't answer – he didn't need to, Barty could read his mood well enough to know when it was time to flee, dodging the curse that was sent flying through the room. Seething, the Dark Lord remained where he was, unpleasantly reminded of how frail he had been back then. While he could gloss over it easily himself and talk about it, Barty knew well not to mention it as a moment of weakness. Needing to calm down, he went over to the veranda, the sweltering heat of the day still trapped within its confinement of glass panes even as evening set in. Nagini came slithering over, possibly having spent the entire day here, and he basked in the warmth. If there was one disadvantage that his new body had given him, it was cold blood. Warming charms were sufficient to counter it, though there was nothing so satisfying as real heat on his skin. Within minutes, all negative thoughts and anger had been cast aside, new insights in his conversation with Evan and Barty coming to mind. His loyal follower had been right, as was often the case when it came to judging human interactions. Coping mechanisms came in many different shapes, and whereas he had found comfort in retaliation and dehumanisation of Muggles, Evan had had vastly different experiences and could not be expected to harbour the exact same feelings. It looked like the boy had embraced kindness instead of all things, and more self-hatred than could be good for anyone.

How to deal with such a thing was the question. Certainly, not all those who followed him shared his every thought, but the general idea had always been there, a superiority of being mages being a belief held up like a banner against the rest of the world. Then again, if all went as planned, that wasn't entirely necessary anymore, since he'd rather save his people and hide than have them all die trying to scratch away the stains on this earth. Evan had become a lot less hostile after seeing his intention to prioritise lives of wizardkind over his own need to murder the unworthy. Perhaps the only thing he'd need to do was be less vocal about the latter. That would only pose a problem should Evan meet with other followers of his than Barty…

What was most frustrating, was the realisation of how important it was to keep the boy happy. Shunning Evan could be detrimental in more ways than one: he knew of Voldemort's plans, of his immortality, of the fact that Evan himself was a living Horcrux, and many other secrets. They shared a bond through soul, a mental connection and he had Evan's blood running through his veins since his resurrection. As much as he tried to downplay it and control the hot-headed Gryffindor, the boy held power over him as well. What was more, Potter had been prophesized to have the power to vanquish him, and had already lived up to that once. His throat constricted at the thought, and Nagini curled closer to him as she sensed his emotions.

She was, however, not the only one.

''What are you so afraid of?''

Keeping his eyes closed, Voldemort tried to show no outwards signs of having been startled.

~Of possibilities, and my inability to judge which ones to trust or follow,~ he hissed, tensing as Evan came closer. His back was unguarded, if the boy held another weapon now, he could-

He felt the other sit down next to him, a flurry of feelings coiling in the air around them like a ball of moving twine. ~I find it hard to understand you sometimes. Barty tried to explain to me where you come from but I… to me every life has value. Even the animals that we eat or use in potions are not so worthless to me that I'd ever wish them dead, kill them for sport or out of hatred. You have everything that millions of people would be envious of: magic beyond belief, immortality, intelligence… why waste all of that on putting others down? And how can you, even after all that, still fear anything? You've spent over a decade as a spirit and still you pulled through it, what possibility could be worse than what you've already experienced?~

He didn't answer, for he still did not wish to open up to anybody, not even to the one who held his soul. Finally opening his eyes, he gave a sideway glance at the teen, who sat next to him completely off-guard, legs crossed, leaning back on his hands and wand nowhere in sight. How could he ever be this open to another human being? How could he put the weight of his fears on anyone without panic about being betrayed? The answers Evan was searching for were none that he could give… An inquisitive gaze met his, Killing curse green, yet without a hint of malice.

Before he knew it, the veranda disappeared, green eyes all that remained in a last flash before he was overcome with emotions, his own thoughts laid bare. The anxiety that gripped him at the possibility of never knowing true feelings, that what he had achieved being merely artificial imitations of something his parents had denied him at birth. The pressing weight of failure in his Task, mages being wiped out before he could act, any wrong step being the last one. Uncertainty over Harry Potter, possibly destined to be his greatest foe, a truth he did not wish to be real… For if the full prophecy really did mark Potter as his enemy, would he need to kill the most wondrous piece of magic he'd ever created? His human Horcrux? Give up another sliver of his soul to protect the whole and kill a piece of himself in the process? Being killed… his greatest fear: to die alone, forgotten, and above all, unloved. For as much as he tried to distance himself from those bothersome other humans, at the base of it all he yearned most for that which he'd never truly had. Even Regulus had only taken from him before fleeing, betraying…

Lashing out, Voldemort managed to scramble back for control, separating his mind's and Potter's. Tears streamed down Evan's face, the stricken and fearful look telling him instantly that this invasion had not been intentional. Resolutely, he got to his feet, wanting to create as much distance between himself and the boy as possible.

He didn't get very far. After only a step, Evan jumped up towards him. The Dark Lord raised his wand, ready to defend himself, only for his arm to hang in mid-air uselessly when arms wrapped around his waist, Evan pressing himself against Voldemort's chest. ''What… what are you-''

''You're not alone,'' Evan whispered with a choked voice. ''And after the impact you made on this world already, you'll be remembered for ages even if you'd miraculously perish. I- I don't know much about this prophecy-thing, but as much as we disagree sometimes, I'll stand by you. The fight for something greater is not something I can ignore, Magic is not something I can ignore. I'll do anything, I told you as much. I-''

''Stop,'' Voldemort commanded, gripping the boy's shoulders and pushing him away, claws digging into thin robes. ''You're rambling.'' How strange it was, to be comforted by a child, a child he'd caused so much suffering nonetheless. Uncomprehending, he asked: ''Why are you not afraid of me?''

Evan blinked rapidly and quickly, almost angrily, wiped away his tears with the back of his hand ''I am. Like, you seriously scare the hell out of me sometimes and at times I'm not sure if I'll survive my next conversation with you.''

''Then why?''

''It didn't really seem relevant to me at the moment. You needed someone there,'' was the mumbled reply.

Voldemort shook his head slowly in disbelief. ''One day, I swear, that attitude of yours is going to land you in an early grave if I don't physically drag you away from it. Go now, I need more time to think alone. Why did you come here so quickly in the first place?''

With an unimpressed, raised eyebrow, clearly overcoming his previous mood, Evan huffed: ''You're the one who told Barty to drag me out of my room, are you complaining about it now?''

Right, he'd never actually cancelled that order, had he? ''Speaking of Barty, if you tell him of anything you learned here, I'll give you a reason to be afraid of me again.'' And how much had the boy actually seen and felt of his insecurities? Should he try to find out? He did nothing as Evan nodded and retreated, only stopping long enough still to pet Nagini's head.

Sighing, Voldemort sat down once more to ponder on his thoughts. In a way, Evan's presence had only made him more uncertain…

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xx GeMerope