Thank you all for being so patient and for the nice comments ^^
Since I can't answer you directly, here an answer to the questions from Fivefatducks of 'isn't Snape skilled at Legilimency and does he pick up on Harry and Voldemort's brain waves?': It's true that Snape is good at it, but full Legilimency requires eye contact and from Order of the Phoenix we know that Snape needs to actually speak the spell out loud. I do think that he could pick up on surface thoughts generally, but it is indeed the necklace that protects Harry from exactly that and I do not believe that Snape is suicidal enough to try it with Voldemort. We will still hear about what Snape thought of the whole thing later by the way ;P Thank you very much for the questions and comments!
Enjoy!
Chapter 41 – Happy Birthday
A soft bed, sweet smells, light shining through fluttering, half-transparent curtains. All that, Harry's senses registered when he woke, and all that sent him in such a state of alarm that he practically bolted upright. Where was he? Stumbling out of bed, Harry threw on some robes that lay folded on a wicker chair in one of the corners of the room, trying not to think about the fact that he did not own these robes and neither did he own the sleepwear he had on. In utter confusion, he walked over to the window, which turned out to be two glass doors leading to a small balcony from which he could look out over a larger village bordering on a forest that stretched as far as the eye could see
Sensing no immediate danger, Harry located his wand, which he had apparently knocked off the nightstand in his haste, for it had rolled onto the floor now. Apart from his wand, there were none of his personal belongings in sight, so he made a quick search of the room, after which he drew several conclusions. Firstly, it appeared to be a hotel room of sorts, for it had the same kind of small soaps and scent bottles in the bathroom that he had used during his stay at the Leaky Cauldron -only the quality here was ten times better, which admittedly wasn't hard- and secondly, by the labels on those bottles, it was clear that he had somehow ended up in France. He almost cast a tempus out of habit, then froze before even raising his wand fully, realising that if they'd moved someplace else, he had no guarantees that they were under protective wards. Instead, his eyes fell on a flowery calendar that hung on the wall, and Harry was relieved to see that it was the first of August, so he hadn't been mysteriously out for weeks or anything of the sort.
It was time to see if there were any people around here to talk to. Which was going to be 'fun' for someone who didn't speak a lick of French. Harry really wished sometimes that Hogwarts would offer some practical courses such as languages. Even at his primary school, they had had books in German and French in case any of the children would be interested in them, even if it wasn't actively taught.
Upon exiting the room, Harry stood in a corridor with several more doors that looked alike his. Suspecting they may be for other guests, he ignored them and went down a narrow flight of winding stairs, ducking his head a bit to not bump into the many dried flowers and herbs that hung from the ceiling.
''Ah, Mr. Potter, I assume?'' he heard as soon as one of his feet touched the ground floor. ''Welcome, the breakfast hall is in the back, I believe that your friends have already started.'' He looked up to find a friendly, round-faced man standing behind a counter, dressed in shades of mauve and midnight blue robes that would have made even Dumbledore jealous.
''My… my friends?'' Harry asked, on one hand relieved that the man spoke English -and quite well at that, he barely had a hint of a French accent- on the other even more confused now.
''That must have been a great party,'' the man winked. ''Well, the harvest season started, I can't blame you. The English always get ahead of themselves with that one, a day too early!'' He winked again, giving Harry slight Lockhart vibes.
''I… I didn't catch your name,'' Harry spoke, still feeling entirely misplaced here but figuring that being polite could never hurt.
''Ah, my name is Yues Le Gall. I own this humble place. It is an absolute pleasure to have the honour of having the Harry Potter under my roof, I tell you!'' he flashed a genuine smile, even though the words made Harry slightly uncomfortable. From the way most of the Beauxbatons students had treated him as if he were air, he hadn't thought he'd be famous abroad too. Voldemort's rule had only stretched across Britain after all…
''Thank you,'' he mumbled, then hurried into the direction Mr Le Gall had pointed to before. As soon as he entered, he seemed to automatically gravitate towards the one familiar man in the room.
''Good morning,'' Voldemort spoke, dark brown eyes looking up at Harry. ''Take a seat, Barty will be here again shortly.'' He made a vague gesture to the side of the room, where a man was scuffling who didn't look anything like Barty. Not that Voldemort looked like himself, he'd taken the appearance of Noctua again.
''Should I know what is going on?'' he asked hesitantly. ''Or do you relish in my confusion?''
''I do find it amusing,'' the other answered with a chuckle, then took a long sip from his coffee. ''Why do you not tell me your theories about it?'' Harry stared at the other for a moment, then sat down and frowned. What were his own theories? A strange kidnapping as he had thought before was out if Voldemort and Barty were here. But what other reason could they have to be in France?
''Since you look like that,'' he started, dropping his voice slightly so none of the other guests could overhear, ''I assume it is about business. You said you wanted to start with Fleur's article first, are we here to gather information?'' Voldemort nodded, then still gave him an expectant look. ''Okay… so, maybe either Fleur or some other victims of that trade system live close by here that you want to interview.'' Another nod. ''That doesn't explain why you brought me along. You gave me an entirely different topic. You want me to be here to get others talking?'' he guessed, remembering how even Mr Le Gall had reacted to him.
Voldemort sighed deeply. Just in that moment, Harry's neck was tackled from behind as he was pulled into a far too strong hug that made him choke more than anything. ''You're awake!'' Barty enthusiastically said, causing a few disturbed looks and muttering from people all around. ''Finally! Happy birthday!''
Before he was fully recovered, the Dark Lord spoke: ''I did not bring you here to do anything for me, I thought to combine work and pleasure since I had planned to travel here at one point this summer. You have never been abroad before, have you? This town is well known for its magical sites.''
Harry was slightly baffled, not knowing how to reply to that. Here he had been trying to think of what in the world Voldemort could want from him here… and for once, it turned out that there was no greater plan than a birthday trip the others had thought he'd enjoy? ''I…. that's rather…. unexpected from you,'' he stammered. ''Thank you. Really.'' Outwardly, he only received a grunt in reply, but a wave of a sort of content pride reached him. ''So where are we exactly?'' he asked, decidedly more excited.
As Barty plopped down on the seat next to him and started shovelling food on all of their plates, Voldemort answered: ''The village Brecheliant, which lies next to the forest with the same name, although its official name on any map will call it either the forest of Brocéliande or Pampoint forest since that is how Muggles call it. It is said that this is where Merlin died. While unknown whether this tale is true or not, his memorial site is located in this forest, on the exact border of its Muggle and magical part.''
''Border? Dimensional shifting again?''
''Yes, although not fully, more like is the case with Diagon alley. There are multiple points of entry, apparating or portkeying in is possible and the sky is still free when going outward. This unfortunately means that the forest fire that happened in 1990 also affected this part of the forest since it travelled through several entryways. Naturally, the magicians on this side could quell it far quicker, so more of the forest is left in this dimension. Enough to not build a statue for the fire like the Muggles did.''
''I never realised that there was a memorial for Merlin,'' Harry commented. Besides the Founders of Hogwarts, Merlin was the most famous historical wizard in Britain. Even Binns had devoted a class about the life of Merlin, a welcome change from the Goblin wars. Harry could still barely believe that the man had really existed. Before coming to Hogwarts, he'd only heard of Merlin at his elementary school where they'd watched a movie about Camelot.
''It will be first on the list, we have a couple of hours here before I need to leave. Ms Delacour lives in Rennes, which is a short trip from here. You may either stay here with Bartemius or accompany me to Ms Delacour and a few other people I wish to interview. The article should be ready for print next week.''
Harry considered, then said: ''If we already spend a while here, I'd like to come with, it would be nice to see what Fleur is up to.''
''Perfect,'' Voldemort all but purred, and Harry somehow got the feeling that, although he had been left the choice and this was supposed to be a birthday trip, he'd still been roped into following the Dark Lord's exact plans. He didn't honestly care all that much. He'd still been outright offered the option to choose instead of somehow being forced or tricked to agree to help with whatever Voldemort had plotted.
It was an absolutely beautiful day outside, and while they were walking through the sunny, narrow streets of the village, Barty explained what had happened since yesterday. Harry had completely fallen asleep at one point and had been protected by Nagini from anyone who came near. Proudfoot and Malfoy had had some arguments about work that were broken off by a few rather painful-sounding spells from Voldemort, Rosier had burst out in song and wouldn't stop until someone magically silenced him, and Snape had left as soon as he could. As they'd planned on going to France the following morning, they decided to leave early while Harry was still asleep since he always reacted so badly on magical travel when awake.
''And what's with the robes?'' he asked, holding up one of the long sleeves of shimmering, dark blue fabric.
''You didn't have anything decent in your trunk, I checked,'' Barty shrugged. ''This is France. You can't show up with wool or linen in grey tones here. And Muggle clothing is out completely.'' Looking around, Harry grudgingly admitted that Barty was right. Those who were out on the streets were all dressed in colourful, shimmering robes with often half-translucent cloaks. It was as if he'd stepped into the era of the Renaissance, except the cut of clothing was obviously robes instead of dresses. No wonder that the Beauxbatons uniforms were made from bright blue silk, here it absolutely wouldn't seem out of place.
It was a strange thought that he was in a foreign country. He'd never been anywhere else than England or Scotland, he'd never even seen the other two countries that made up Great Britain. The Dursleys had gone away on a few trips to Europe that he obviously hadn't been allowed to come with on -not that that was such a loss since it meant less time with them-. His only real experience with even foreign languages had been the Triwizard Tournament. And now he was in France, walking different earth than the island he'd been born on, breathing different air and seeing sights he couldn't even have imagined. Everything about this village was so vibrant. Old stone buildings were decorated with flowers and fabrics, stalls at a small market square sold herbs, candles and food, cafes stood at every corner. As they neared the end of the village, they crossed an ancient stone bridge that led directly into the forest, lush greenery everywhere, so very different from the Forbidden Forest, the only other woodland he'd ever entered. Here, the birds didn't stop singing when going in further than a hundred yards, nor did fog cover the ground. The trees exuded an air of ancient calm that put him at ease.
''It has been a long time since I've been here,'' Voldemort muttered, who had walked at his side without a word for a while now. ''Must have been over thirty years. There are specific flowers that grow here, necessary for a couple of complicated potions. Come here.'' Without a warning, the Dark Lord left the path, slipping through the narrow gap between two large bushes and disappearing out of sight. Harry went after him without a second thought, following his voice. ''It is a shame that so little is left, this forest covered nearly all of Brittany for thousands of years, now only 7500 hectares are left, mainly due to the magical population who tried to preserve Merlin's resting place in the past centuries. Unfortunately, this dimension can only cover so much… More and more disappears each year.'' Harry went around a rhododendron and skidded to a halt to avoid running into Voldemort's back. The man kneeled at the side of a small brook now, pointing at the water. ''See that?'' Following the direction of the finger, Harry saw something move in the water, something long and silver. ''Melusine, a type of water fairy. They're almost extinct, it is only here that they still thrive.''
Kneeling down too, Harry got a closer look. Through the moving water it was hard to see any clear shapes other than something glistening that could have been fish. Then, one of the Melusine jumped out of the water right in front of his eyes, a fairy from the waist up, legs transforming into two separate, serpentine tails. Thin, translucent wings spread out, trembling for a second before she dove back into the babbling brook. Another jumped up, and another, like a school of flying fish. Voldemort's hand shot out, intercepting one in mid-flight, and the other Melusine scattered as the man brought the struggling fairy closer.
''Diffindo.'' The lithe creature gave off a piercing shriek, left tailless and wingless, blood dripping from the stump of its body.
''What are you doing?'' Harry exclaimed, jumping up and staring down in horror.
''They may be almost extinct, no-one controls their population here, they've become a right plague,'' Voldemort commented without a hint of remorse. ''Their wings can increase the potency of Veritaserum, and the scales from these tails are incredibly valuable for weavers of textiles. Besides that…'' he added, murmuring and pointing his wand again. ''Reading their intestines is one of the few accurate types of divination.''
''No!'' Harry said firmly. Voldemort looked up at him with a slightly confused look on his face. -Harry would say baffled, but Dark Lords didn't just look baffled.-
''No?'' His tone was almost curious. It must have been a long time since anyone ever denied Voldemort from doing what he wanted. Barty observed the both of them in silence from a slight distance.
''The future only holds what we make of it,'' Harry spoke. ''There's no need to kill a living being over something that isn't set in stone. Please, let it go. You can recreate limbs, can you not?''
The Melusine had gone silent and limp, the slightly purplish blood dripping down Voldemort's hand. Without breaking eye contact, Voldemort pointed his wand at the fairy once again, tails and wings being replaced with pure silver now. Without further ceremony, he dropped it in the water. Harry held his breath, only releasing it when he saw that she slowly seemed to regain her senses and swam away. ''It won't survive,'' the man still commented. ''These limbs are too heavy to hunt. It'll die of starvation.''
''That's no reason to end her life prematurely,'' Harry muttered. ''Not without her having any choice in the matter, not so uselessly.''
''If you say so.'' Voldemort abruptly stood and continued walking down the stream. ''Do not forget that all life has a purpose too, and the purpose of some lives are to serve others. There would be no cows anymore if we didn't breed them to eat. There would be no dogs if humans didn't wish to keep them as pets, there would be no Melusine if it would not be favourable for mages to keep a decent population to harvest from time to time.''
''There would still be cats, no matter what humans want,'' Harry retorted, earning a quiet snort from Barty behind him. ''And there are still Muggles no matter your wishes on that,'' Voldemort threw him a look that could have been deadly, had Barty not jumped in at that moment, pulling Harry close.
''Such a joker, our Evan!'' he said with a strained laugh. ''My Lord, should the memorial stone not be close? I have never been here before either.''
Miraculously, the Dark Lord let his snide comment slide, and continued onwards. ''It is still about twenty minutes away. The flowers I usually gather here aren't in season now, so we won't be making anymore detours.'' Harry had expected the conversation to end there, but Barty filled the silence with a million questions whenever he saw something even remotely magical, drinking in Voldemort's near limitless knowledge of the forest around them. Harry paid close attention, the cruelty of before being overshadowed by wondrous luminescent crystals on the ground that turned out to be live creatures which gathered magic only to release it in bursts as a defensive mechanism when people tried to pick them up; icicles that grew from specific trees in midsummer; glowing mushrooms that filled the air with hallucinating spores. According to Voldemort, it was the most biodiverse magical forest in all of Europe, although the people of Brecheliant had constant quarrels with Romania about that title. Harry didn't care in particular about which was the best and biggest, he enjoyed all that he saw in the surroundings. They returned to one of the main paths again, and one corner later stood in front of a round clearing. Two large stones stood right in the middle, a small tree growing behind them.
Merlin's 'tomb' looked decidedly less magical than the rest of the forest, and Harry realised that they must have crossed into the Muggle dimension. Without waiting for the others, he went towards the stones, two medium-sized rocks, which appeared to be the same material that most of the houses he'd seen were made of.
''It looks a bit…'' Harry said, hesitating.
''Sad?'' Barty spoke, standing next to him.
''That.'' Indeed, the stones were rather unimpressive, nothing like what he'd imagined.
''There are a few theories about these stones. It is very much alike the Neolithic sites scattered all over Brittany. On the Muggle side it gained popularity about two hundred years ago when it was 'discovered' and linked to Merlin by an antiquarian who also named quite a few other sites in the country as belonging to the Knights of Camelot. The tomb of the Giant, the pavilion of Morgane and Vivienne's tomb to name a few. Those last few are rubbish of course, no matter which way you look at it, it is odd in the first place that Merlin is always linked to the Arthurian legend. Merlin was only born a few years before Hogwarts was founded, in 980, whereas texts about Arthur already started to appear in the 800's, and the most accurate guesses as to when he supposedly lived was the 5th or 6th century. That aside, there was a trend back then by pseudo-historians to look at Neolithic sites from thousands of years ago and interpret them as Celtic ruins, even though those time periods didn't match up either, missing the mark by at least a millennia even when talking about the oldest Celts here in Brittany. It added many layers in the myths surrounding Brittany's forests and folklore history. But no matter how much Muggles made up about important places, knights or kings, there are certain truths in myths. One truth is this one here.''
Voldemort approached the rocks now, placing his hand on them. Instantly, a web of golden lines shot out, crisscrossing over the stones and extending into the air, forming words in a script Harry couldn't read. ''Stones do not appear out of nothing. These pieces of grey granite may have lain on the surface since the Neolithic age and perhaps been part of a burial site from that time, the Celts moved those stones and used it to form a gravestone of sorts here.'' The Dark Lord waved at the thin runes in the air. ''The Anglo-Saxon Futhorc, used during Merlin's time, derived from the Elder Futhark that is taught at Hogwarts. Magicians would never have believed the claims of some Muggle about Merlin if there wasn't any proof, was there? Brecheliant was built centuries before that antiquarian stumbled across these rocks.''
''You said that people didn't know for certain whether this was Merlin's grave.''
''Indeed, a skeleton has never been found. The preserving spells we use nowadays for the dead were not invented back then, so it may have rotten away completely if it was ever here. Whether Merlin's bones lie below the surface or not, this is undoubtedly a Celtic monument for him, made by other mages, it was always meant to be a memorial.''
''Are there any other places that could be his grave?'' Barty asked.
''A few, some more likely than others. Quite a few historians, both magical and Muggle, suggested that Merlin actually never left Britain. England is riddled with places he is said to rest as well: Marlborough Mound in Wiltshire, Alderley edge in Cheshire... One person even suggested that he stayed hidden in the cave he spent his late life in and passed away there, his body carried out by the sea at one point. Others still say that he died at Avalon, which is in my opinion the most ludicrous theory. Even the most powerful witches and wizards haven't been able to confirm the existence of such an island, and it is one more 'fact' that has been pulled out of Muggle fairy tales.'' Voldemort grimaced. ''As interesting as it is to read about how much of the magical world permeated Muggle society, tales from so long ago are highly inaccurate on both sides. The only absolute truth that I know about Merlin, was that he was a Lord. A Light one, but still. I feel a sort of... connection, knowing that he had some of the same experiences.''
''A Light Lord? Wasn't he in Slytherin?'' Barty asked, making Harry's eyebrows raise.
''Merlin was in Slytherin? Binns didn't mention that.''
Voldemort huffed. ''I'm not surprised, many tend to conveniently forget that part. Yes, he was a Slytherin, attended Hogwarts a few years after it opened its doors to students. The whole House dynamics were of course very different then. The Founders would only create the Sorting Hat a couple of years later during a debate on how to keep sorting students after they were gone. Before that, the students were handpicked for each house. Salazar Slytherin also hadn't left the school yet, that would only happen years after Merlin graduated. Ironically, it was Slytherin who caused the imbalance that led to Merlin being chosen as a Light Lord. After his policies on dark magic were rejected by the other Founders, he left and created several circles of likeminded witches and wizards to practise extensive dark magic, influencing large groups of people and causing massive imbalances in Magic. Most of what happened after is steeped in mystery, and since Slytherin was still a respected wizard, his three friends, who were at that point some of the most powerful and influential in this part of the world, covered up his actions even after he perished, despite their differing opinions. The only thing that was clear was that Merlin and Slytherin duelled, with Merlin being victorious, after which the natural order of magic was restored. The event was recorded by one of Slytherins grandchildren and passed down the line.''
''Do you feel more of a connection to Merlin or to Slytherin?'' Harry asked. It was strange to hear how fond Voldemort sounded when talking about Merlin.
''At this point in my life more to Merlin. I used to revere Slytherin, since he was the only proof I had to being of ancient magical blood. His actions however, went against what I stand for: he knowingly disturbed the balance of magic that was there at that point, sought to destroy a government that worked at that time, and abandoned his students. Naturally, I still admire the man as well, he was brilliant, cunning, determined, and a highly skilled wizard. One of the earliest Legilimency masters in fact. In addition, I cannot help but respect that he was the very first person to possess the skill of Parseltongue and honed that skill to a perfection that none other has been able to achieve ever since, using magic specifically created with Parseltongue spells. You've experienced it with the passwords to enter the Chamber, and he also taught his wand to sleep with a Parseltongue spell so it could not be used by enemies who tried to steal or summon it. I have discovered how to use Parseltongue to guard, but even I have not yet figured out how to put my wand to sleep. Merlin on the other hand, contributed to a vast array of new spells, succeeded in what I still have to do and ushered mages into a new golden age of magic, an incredible feat considering that the witch hunts had started two hundred years before and were only getting worse. All in all, I am proud to be a descendant of Slytherin, and proud to contribute to the same work that Merlin did.''
Satisfied with that answer, Harry walked once around the stones, admiring the shimmering letters in the air. Abruptly, they were gone however, and even the warm sun couldn't make up for the loss. ~Muggles,~ Voldemort hissed, glowering darkly at the path that led to the other side of the forest than the one they'd entered from. A few moments later, a family of five appeared, all dressed in a way that screamed 'tourists', from a middle-aged woman with a bum bag on her belly and convertible walking pants to the three children covered in a slightly too-thick layer of sunscreen, to what Harry assumed was the husband and father carrying a bulging rucksack. Almost instinctively, Harry placed himself in between Voldemort and the Muggles, who now were eyeing their robes with open curiosity, brabbling something in a language Harry couldn't understand in the slightest.
The teen had trouble breathing as a wave of gnawing hunger washed over him. It was only now that Harry realised he'd never been close to Voldemort while a Muggle was near. The hatred and disgust was so overwhelming that it almost made him gag. ~I don't understand why the magicians here put up with sharing this memorial,~ the Dark Lord continued. Harry wished that he would stop speaking in Parseltongue. From what Ron and Hermione had told him, it sounded like a lot of threatening hissing and spitting for those who couldn't understand. Unfortunately, it was also the only way in which Harry could right now communicate with the man, since even though he couldn't understand these people, chances of them understanding English was quite a bit larger.
~We should leave now.~ he spoke, stepping closer to Voldemort, who had a dangerous glint in his eyes that was even on the handsome face of Noctua crystal clear.
~They have seen us.~
Harry looked to his right for backup from Barty, but the blond was busy staring back at the Muggles in what could only be described as schadenfreude. In that moment, Harry was certain that he was the only thing standing between these Muggles and a quintuple murder. No pressure. To avoid any drama, he should act fast while the Muggles were only slightly curious instead of wary or even hostile about the stares.
Fighting back the bile in his throat and trying to clear the red haze that entered his peripheral vision as pure hatred raged on in his veins, Harry quickly hissed: ~They have seen a bunch of weirdos dressed in robes standing at the grave of what they believe is a fairy tale wizard. Right now, we are a curiosity, nothing more.~ He gritted his teeth as bloodlust grew within him, a mere echo of Voldemort's current feelings. Trying to keep a clear head, Harry became angry instead. ~Using this moment as an excuse to satisfy your thirst for death is pathetic!~ he spat. Eyes flashed red, but Harry didn't care. Better that Voldemort was angry at him than at some clueless bystanders who had done nothing wrong but being born. ~You wish to rule a country when you can't walk past some Muggles you haven't even spoken to without turning into an animal?~
~Careful, you're forgetting yourself.~
~You bet I am! And you forgot who you want to be!~
A trembling hand shot up and grabbed Harry's arms, nails digging in so hard that Harry was afraid the fabric would tear. He didn't budge, trying to instead analyse Voldemort's actions and emotions as quickly as he could. Hate, anger, disgust, fear… The whole spectrum of basic negative emotions. ~Get me away from here~ the other whispered, so softly that it was barely audible. Harry nodded, finally recognising that the trembling wasn't out of anger directed at him, but a battle that was turned inwards. Voldemort was trying to keep his mind in check. Slowly and carefully, Harry awkwardly embraced the man from one side and steered him away from the clearing, not really caring at the moment that the Muggles could see them disappear in places they shouldn't. He trusted Barty to take care of that. Harry kept walking blindly in one direction, fearing that if he stopped, Voldemort would suddenly change his mind and blow up. Only when they were in a much deeper part of the forest, did the man untangle himself, face a blank mask. ~We shan't speak of this after,~ the man commanded. A moment of silence. Then, a soft whisper that Harry almost thought he imagined: ~I… appreciate your intervention.~ It was as much of a thank you as he was ever going to get.
After returning to Brecheliant, Voldemort was uncharacteristically silent, only imparting his knowledge when asked for it, even if his rants did not lack in enthusiasm once he started talking, whether it was about the history of the town or specific monuments. Harry tried to enjoy himself as much as possible, the Dark Lord surely wouldn't appreciate feeling Harry's constant worry. Thus, he attempted to take in as much as possible as they wandered around town, walking around the market square and its many stalls selling magical wares, looking at a Korriban fight where people pitted a type of gnome against each other, the creatures trying to scream the loudest and best insults to win, visiting the Shrine of L'Ankou -the personifications of death that Voldemort said originated from a particular Banshee who took it upon herself to guard graveyards, which was strange considering that Ankou were always depicted as male-, and lastly taking a seat in front of a very medieval-looking stage on which wizards and witches tried their hand at magical poetry.
''The French have perfected the art of chants,'' Voldemort muttered to him. It was the first time the man had spoken up without being asked till now, so Harry jumped slightly when suddenly finding his Lord's face very close to his own as Voldemort murmured in his ear, the deep voice having a slightly hoarse quality when he was wearing this disguise. Harry vaguely wondered if turning into Noctua changed the vocal chords just like Polyjuice did. ''Starting from the 11th century, troubadours flourished in both Muggle and magical communities, but whereas it started out the same, magicians soon found that when combining poetry and arithmacy, one could create spells out of regular text instead of typical spells. The idea itself wasn't new of course, many more ancient civilisations used rhyme, tone and cadence for spells, but this was the first time that it was used in epic proportions and commercially. Some troubadour songs were of great length, and not the entire song was spellwork. Rather, several lines were subtly added for various purposes: it was popular to enchant listeners to spend more gold or spread the word. Others instead weaved curses in to spread diseases and other plagues unnoticed.'' Harry quickly glanced to the stage, where two women created a poem together, rapidly speaking French in a rhythm that made his heart speed up. Voldemort smiled thinly ''It is rare that anyone abuses the stage here, many listeners are experts themselves and would pick up on specific words of ill intent.''
''It is fascinating how many forms magic can take,'' Harry observed.
''This is true… it is a shame that many forget that it is not just about pointing your wand at something to get it done. We can breathe magic if we wish it.'' Harry didn't doubt Voldemort's words, not when there were sparks of magic in the very air around them, most of which the teen suspected to come from the one sitting next to him. If anyone could breathe magic, it would be the man who was absolutely obsessed with his own powers.
''Teach me?'' he spoke on an impulse. A wide grin spread over the other's face in answer, a grin that flashed slightly-too sharp teeth, accompanied by a gleam of red eyes that bordered on manic. Harry's heart stuttered.
One day in the future, he'd regret those two words. Right now, he couldn't help but cave and lean in a bit so that their shoulders touched slightly, dark magic tingling over his skin at the contact, however brief it was.
They left twenty minutes after, appointments not able to wait any longer. Barty darted back to the market square to buy some fresh bread and snacks for on the way, while Harry and Voldemort leisurely went back towards the inn to pack their things. ''So how are we travelling, apparition again?'' Harry asked when meeting up in the lobby after he was done. Barty had taken a bag with for him with some 'necessities' that Harry hadn't really used, so he'd just stuffed his pyjama in it and was done, really.
''No, I thought you might wish to get acquainted with a more sophisticated way of travelling.'' Voldemort flashed a smile that was less feral and more charming. ''Our carriage is waiting.'' He went to the counter and exchanged a few words with Mr Le Gall, as well as a purse of tinkling coins, leaving Harry alone with his burning curiosity. It was soon sated as they stepped outside, a lacquered black carriage waiting, in front of which stood creatures unlike anything he'd seen before. If anyone would ask him to describe them in a single word, he would have to reluctantly say 'horses' for lack of a better word. But the creatures with milky eyes that stared into nothingness, dragon-like beaks and hairless, skeletal bodies didn't look like any horse he'd seen before. None that were alive. Leathery wings that seemed too sturdy for the feeble, gaunt things grew out of bony shoulder blades. A strange air exuded from them. Harry noticed that hardly anyone on the street looked at the alien creatures, eyes passing over them without seeing, even as people moved out of the way with the same automatism that Muggles did for the knight bus.
''I take it you are familiar with Thestrals?'' Voldemort spoke, giving the creatures a name for Harry to give them a place in his head. He'd seen so many new creatures and animals since attending Hogwarts, but none he'd seen before were this strange, not even the merfolk that had looked nothing like he'd imagined. The image of a large, moving shape and reaching tentacles flashed through Harry's mind for a moment of pure terror. He dragged himself back to reality, hastily casting all thoughts from his mind that had to do with the Black Lake.
''Should I?'' he spoke, a bit breathless. Voldemort's eyes were narrowed, undoubtedly he was trying to analyse Harry's feelings.
''There is no need to fear them.'' It was obvious that the other had drawn wrong conclusions regarding the object of Harry's sudden horror. ''For all their looks, they are almost disgustingly docile. I had expected you'd seen them before, they pull the carriages at Hogwarts.''
Harry frowned. ''Maybe in your time. The carriages are still there, but they're not pulled by anything, they move on their own.''
Voldemort chuckled for some reason Harry couldn't find. ''To think that you can be so thick that even death can't reach you.'' He sighed at Harry's arched eyebrow. ''Thestrals are only visible to those who have seen death. And while I imagine that you might have been too young to realise what was going on when your mother died in front of your eyes-'' Harry clenched his fist, not exactly up for such a casual reminder- ''I'd at least thought that Quirinius would do the trick. Though if I imagine correctly, you were about to pass out back then…''
''I haven't seen anyone die since…'' Harry said, not convinced.
''If I recall correctly, our resurrection succeeded. I don't think it matters whether it is the first or second time someone dies,'' the man spoke with far too much glee in his voice. Harry was too busy trying to instantly forget all the images that were called to mind, to give an angry reply. Barty saved the conversation by popping up out of nowhere and handing Harry a bag of freshly baked goods, sweet scents making his mouth water. He took the blonde's offered hand to get into the carriage, which was lined with expensive-looking black and red satin.
''If Draco could see me now,'' he remarked, trying to steer the topic away from corpses, skeletal horses and literal death. For someone whose only fear was supposed to be dying, Voldemort was slightly too obsessed with the topic, for he wouldn't let it go, continuing as if nothing had happened:
''It might also be because you somehow came in contact with the Cosmos.''
Harry gave him a withered stare, which failed slightly as in that moment, the carriage took off, and from the way it moved, Harry figured that the wings of those horses weren't for show. He wondered how they knew where to go, there hadn't been a carriage driver. ''I told you already, I was in your head again, that is all. Your soul left this plane and, I don't know, pulled me with it or so.''
''But you shouldn't have been able to,'' the Dark Lord pressed. ''You were not protected by a Veil, and there was no body connected to my mind and soul at that moment that could have acted as a vessel for yours.'' Barty looked back and forth between them, eating in silence. ''Why are you so insistent on believing that this wasn't something extraordinary?''
''Maybe I don't want to be extraordinary!'' he snapped back. ''Listen, I want this world to change as much as you do and I'll do what I can to help you get there, because it is the right thing to do and standing back would be cowardly. That does not mean that afterwards I want anything but a quiet, peaceful life away from anything that would brand me special. I've had enough shit about being different. First I was a wizard,then the boy-who-lived, then a Parselmouth, then a Champion. I've had enough of sticking out, okay? I… I don't want to get involved in anything that separates me from others again. And getting theories in my head about strange things happening with me during necromancy rites? That definitely falls in that category.''
Voldemort shook his head in disbelief. ''You've had abilities handed to you on a platter and are rejecting them?'' He sounded almost disgusted.
''I'm not rejecting the ones I have and know of,'' Harry countered. ''I have a knack for flying as if I was born in the air and love that, I've embraced the fact that I can speak to snakes, and the other abilities that came from your soul piece I've come to accept too. But can't it be enough?''
The Dark Lord went quiet and leaned back, eyes unfocused for a while as he thought.
Barty used that opportunity to give his two cents: ''There is a difference between actively searching for things that make you stick out and learning about ones you come across. Denying abilities that you might have, only because you wish to be normal, could lead to suppressing yourself, which is always a terrible idea when it comes to magic. Isn't that right, my Lord?''
''Quite,'' Voldemort spoke in a clipped voice. ''Now quiet, I am trying to… understand.'' They sat in silence then, the carriage rattling back and forth. A frustrated sigh broke it, Voldemort leaning forwards abruptly, staring directly into Harry's eyes. The teen certainly hoped that his birthday treat wouldn't be a Legilimency invasion. Upon speaking, Voldemort's voice trembled with simmering rage, slipping into hisses every few words. ''You could be so much more than what you pose to be. A peaceful life? You survived a Killing curse, lived with a foreign soul in your head ever since, are prophesised to defeat me, received a wand that is a brother to my own,'' he was positively snarling now. ''You have been gifted by Magic in so many ways, you will throw that all away in the end? Hide and be ashamed of who you are when you are destined for greatness? You should wear your powers with pride.''
Harry gave Barty, who sat next to him, a side-way glance, not entirely sure how much the Death Eater had known about either the prophecy or the linked wand issue. Barty wore a rather neutral look, though he was good at hiding his true thoughts. ''Not everyone has the same aspirations,'' Harry spoke. ''I don't need -don't want- people to look up to me, or to think anything of me really. I'm so tired of the publicity and assumptions made about me by strangers. Why then, would I actively try to pursue something else that might make me stand out?''
''Why then, do you learn dark magic at all?'' Voldemort questioned. ''What is the use of learning anything?''
''That is a manipulative argument and I won't take that from you,'' he replied to cut the argument off before it even began. ''I said I do not wish to do one specific thing about a specific situation, trying to suddenly compare that to everything related to it is a blatantly unfair exaggeration. I will not delve deeper in whatever mysteries lie in necromancy for me, that's all there is to it. Learning magic in general is even expected of me, as a wizard, and I won't try to limit myself when I don't think it would put me in a unique position. As rare as the rituals were that I learnt, they are performable by anyone with a decent amount of magic, right?''
Voldemort stared at him for a moment. It was hard to pin any feelings down, there was only a strange, fleeting rush of bewilderment that settled rather quickly, like a wind whirling up some leaves before leaving them scattered across a sidewalk. ''Where did you learn about manipulation tactics?'' the Dark Lord asked, sounding genuinely curious, as if this was the first time he was ever called out for it. It maybe was.
''My Uncle and Cousin may have been stupid, my Aunt wasn't. I'm too used to her using emotional manipulations to get me to do and feel what she wanted. I could only give those names much later of course: victim-blaming, appeal to emotion, minimising, rationalisation, feigning innocence… She's tried all those and more.'' He gave Voldemort a hard look back to convey his unspoken thought: 'It won't work on me anymore'. Not that that was entirely true. Harry had read a bit about parent-child manipulation and argumentative fallacies during stolen summer hours where he was able to sneak out to libraries, but his dirty clothing and overall ragged look had ensured he'd been asked to leave multiple times after loitering around for too long. Also, after his whole childhood being steeped in both physical and emotional abuse that he still often found hard to fully recognise, he knew that he was still prone to falling into the same kind of traps over and over. He could only try his best to fight against it. Not that Voldemort needed to know about that.
''I see.'' He felt pleased for some reason, which set Harry slightly on edge.
''Why do you sound so… happy about it?'' he pressed.
Voldemort's eyes flicked to Barty, who was inspecting a few smudges on his wand and pretending he wasn't there. ~I found that I often use people instinctively and manipulate them to do what I want. I find it interesting to speak to someone who is less prone to falling for that.~
~As long as you won't take it as a challenge.~
Voldemort's grin didn't look promising.
They landed with a shock, Barty jumping out instantly to offer a hand to first his Lord, then to Harry. In front of them stood a beautiful, single house surrounded by an enchanting garden. ''The home of Ms Delacour,'' Voldemort spoke, waving a few invisible specks of dust from his robes. Against Harry's expectations, it wasn't at all pompous or even large. It was decidedly smaller than Riddle manor for example. From Fleur, he'd always got the impression that her family was very rich. Now, he wasn't entirely sure anymore why he'd thought so. The girl in question opened the door as they made their way down the plastered garden path. ''Monsieur Noctua. And Harry, what a surprise!''
''It came to my attention that Mr Potter was residing in France, so I figured I might as well take the opportunity to speak to the both of you again,'' Voldemort smoothly replied. Harry had wondered how Voldemort would explain their meeting when Harry wasn't known for being friendly with the press or even knowing this man. He'd have to ask later on how to handle questions from his friends about that. ''This is my personal assistant, Mr Timaeus Cruc.'' Barty gave a short bow and kissed her hand.
''Do come in, I am honoured to have you here.'' There was the fire in her eyes that Harry had come to know well. ''I have taken the liberty of inviting a few more people so you do not need to search the country.'' Her smile was vindictive, and Harry almost felt sorry for whoever would come under fire after these articles would be published. Almost, if they wouldn't have been literal slavers.
XxX
An audience was exactly what he'd needed, plans already starting to spin in his mind for how to fully utilise this to his advantage. Being led to the living room by Delacour must mean that both her parents were not at home and thus possibly not aware of the 'help' she was giving the press. Good, both of them worked in the French Ministry and he did not wish to have people around who might feel stuck enough between their professional and private life to spill the sopophorous beans. As he stepped into the room with Barty and Evan in tow, the only person who was undeniably related to Fleur was a beautiful woman with silvery blonde hair sitting on a loveseat.
''Grandma, Mr Noctua has arrived. He also brought Harry, I've told you about Harry, no?''
The woman stood with a fluid grace that did not betray her age at all. Without a single look at him, Delacour's grandmother rushed past and enveloped Harry. ''You saved Gabriele,'' she spoke. Voldemort opted for a moment not to translate her words to English, just to enjoy the perplexed look on the boy's face at being hugged by a total stranger, then put Evan out of his misery.
''This is Delacour's grandmother, she thanks you for saving her other granddaughter from the lake.''
''Her grand..?'' Harry spluttered, giving the now retreating woman a puzzled look.
''I hardly think anyone in this room is entirely human, you should get used to surprises,'' he commented, trying to stay tactful about it not to insult anyone with slurs like Halfbreeds or human-like. He already was in a rather suspicious position, being fully human as far as any of them knew. -Which wasn't technically correct, but pointing out debatable Naga heritage from a single ancestral branch centuries ago or sharing genes with a magical snake wouldn't be very helpful here for several reasons-.
Voldemort stepped forward, into the middle of the room, dozens of eyes on him, exactly the way he liked. In the corner, two children sat that were unmistakably werewolves, amber eyes staring at him with a hint of panic. Next to Delacour's grandmother sat two other, younger Veela. While their hair and eyes were of the same colour, it was clear that these two weren't used to being around humans so much -at least not friendly ones-, their skin showing patches of scales and feathers in agitation, which was why he'd ruled them out as belonging to Delacour's family. Apart from these five, six more beings were in the room, and Voldemort identified them as a centaur, a siren, a satyr fawn, a faun, a very unhealthy-looking dryad and a half-vampire, who interestingly enough sat closest to the werewolf children. Quite the collection Ms Delacour managed to call together, although he suspected that her grandmother had pulled most of the strings. Of all of them, only the satyr fawn did not bear any scars, so he might have been saved from the cages before much damage was done.
''I thank you for coming here,'' he spoke. ''I had not expected such a turn-out. So, I will get straight to the point.'' Fancy words were for humans, and many other beings and beasts despised embellished speeches, or so he'd found out with several werewolves and vampires. ''All of you have experienced unimaginable horrors at the hands of a select group of rich humans from all over Europe. For decades, they have covered up these misdeeds, even wiping out groups of other humans who wished to help right these wrongs. I own the two largest newspaper companies in magical Western-Europe now and am not afraid to show them how much damage a quill can do.''
''You have people'' the half-vampire croaked, looking at Voldemort with his one good eye.
''Two full teams,'' he spoke, nodding. ''Who both agreed that this is the right thing to-''
''No.''
Voldemort swallowed in the rest of the sentence, growing irritated. He had to remind himself that he was here as Noctua, a good-willed head editor who was enthusiastic about good causes. Only that thought helped to supress his anger at being so blatantly disrespected to the point of being interrupted. ''No?'' he repeated, tone entirely neutral.
The centaur stamped nervously with his hoof, whereas the satyr whipped her tail back and forth, glancing at the vampire. None of the others moved. Something was wrong, something hung thick in the air… ''One moment,'' the vampire said, grinning to show two fangs that were slightly less pointy than those of a pureblood would be, then disappearing into the next room. When he came out, it was with a struggling, tied-up man. ''This is one of our oppressors. Cay's master,'' he gestured to the siren, who refused to even look up. ''Do you think that a few words on paper would do anything? Silk robes, a gold-plated wand… oh, he might get some bad press, hand over a tiny part of his fortune in fines… then what? You said it yourself, the elite even silences other humans who were willing to help. So. Do you have people? People willing to make a real change? People who can shed blood to intimidate, haunt their dreams when they think of torturing another one of us?'' The being started laughing bitterly. Voldemort cast a glance at the young Delacour, who stood at the side of the room, wearing a look of great concern. This was clearly not what she had expected. Her grandmother on the other hand was a statue, a harsh, half-accusing look on her face.
Words of goodwill and justice were for the humans he wished to support this cause and break their politicians down. The ones he spoke to now did not want justice, they wanted revenge, a thousand times over for that which had been done to them, which was still be done to them. Some even bore their chains at this moment and he respected the sacrifices they might have had to make to reach this place today. Without letting the Vampire finish laughing, Voldemort drew his wand, stepped forward, and slashed open the throat of the siren's master, never breaking eye contact with the oldest Veela's steel eyes. The laughing was cut off by a dying scream and still he didn't look away from her. She stood and went towards him, finally recognising his presence. Her lips were curled in a satisfied smirk.
''I had wondered when I saw my granddaughter's first meeting with you. The magic in that house was even unmistakable in a memory. It was a Lord that freed me, so long ago.'' She placed her fist over her throat. ''We need real help.'' Her eyes flicked away to her granddaughter for a moment. ''My daughter might have not understood but Fleur… Fleur has my fire. We should talk freely… Lord.''
He nodded ever so slightly, then pushed up his right sleeve, revealing the many lines of runes, the inscription that held Noctua's skin in place. He reversed the enchantment, revealing his own pale skin as Noctua melted away into the black tattoos. When he next opened his eyes, he was a head taller, and had to enchant his robes to fit better again. ''Then let us speak,'' he smirked, ignoring the few gasps his presence gave.
''Good. Let me introduce myself. I am Séraphine Delacour, and I invite you in my home.'' Voldemort made a mental note to ask about her surname. He'd thought that Fleur was named after her paternal line as usual. ''Please do take a seat.'' He took his time to conjure up several chairs that matched the rest, gesturing for Harry and Barty to sit as well. As he did so, he took the opportunity to gauge the expressions of everyone else in the room. It appeared that Mrs Delacour hadn't informed all of them about who they were going to work with.
''I wish to know your plan,'' the Veela demanded. ''Too many humans have tried to use us to do their dirty work. Do you care about our cause and freedom at all?''
''Care?'' he asked, slightly disbelieving. ''I do not care about anyone, and you can hardly expect that. Naturally, it isn't for charity that I would move my army.'' She didn't look offended or surprised, so he continued, choosing his words carefully. ''I wish to topple the governments in several countries. Instead of outright attacking them, it is better to reveal the misdeeds they already committed themselves to sow distrust among the people. And once the public is aware of this issue, my people will be the one to do something about it. For you, this would not have negative effects: the slave trade will be banned, the perpetrators killed.''
''For now,'' she spoke. He raised an eyebrow, wondering what she was getting at. ''We have been helped before, and while I will always personally be thankful by the men of the Lord who saved me, it never stopped. They built themselves up again, and as it brought profit, the new rulers turned their gazes away a few years after again, all over Europe.''
''Was this, perchance, a Light Lord?'' he asked.
''I do not know, he only called himself a Lord of Magic. Lysander Vuras was his full name.''
Vuras… Mrs Delacour was indeed a lot older than she looked. Lysander Vuras had been a Greek Light Lord born at the start of the 19th century. He hadn't lived long either, dying in his mid-fifties, betrayed by several of his own men. ''He was a Light Lord, which explains his actions,'' he spoke. ''His task was to ensure the balance in his area of jurisdiction was restored by favouring light magic. Freeing beings other than magical humans might have been a good political move, it wasn't for his end-goal. Out of all of your species, only centaurs have inherent light magic, and even they sometimes use animal sacrifices for divination. So while I do not care much for you, nor do this out of the goodness of my heart, I recognise that you all have your own, unique magic. Magic that I need, that I will continue to need. For those of you not informed, I plan to separate Muggles from us, to build up our own society. Naturally, all who aid in reaching that goal will be rewarded appropriately, and without Muggles to 'protect', it will be much easier to accommodate for the needs of many different beings. Or Beasts,'' he said, nodding to the centaur and the siren, both their species not having wanted to be reclassified by the Ministry.
The half-Vampire stepped forward, only stopping when right in front of him. ''Grindelwald didn't hold his promises and he was a Dark lord too. Why should we trust you?''
''Grindelwald was not a Dark Lord,'' he hissed, incredibly annoyed by the former 'lord'. ''He bestowed that title upon himself. Grindelwald's goal was absolute blood purity of wizards, wiping out Muggles, impure mages, squibs, magical beings and beasts alike without regard for any magical balance. I was chosen while Grindelwald's war wasn't even over yet, to right his wrongs. I am not here however, to speak in detail about myself and my task. I have the means to first cause an public uproar about the slave trade and then end it. This is what you want, is it not? What you would have even wanted had there not been any further aid with the positions each of you have in society.''
''That is true,'' Mrs Delacour said, giving the vampire a hard stare. ''That would be something to discuss another time. So what do you need from us right now?''
''Stories. Detailed descriptions of what your lives were -or are- like, calling out specific names, giving me an idea of where this all happens. For those of you who are at risk when not returning to your masters after today, to spread rumours of rebellion, a rebellion that will start in about three months from now, when there is enough public awareness.''
''One month.'' It was the Satyr who had spoken. It was clear that it was difficult for him, voice raspy as if unused. Or hoarse from screaming. ''You can print these articles this week, people will talk about it already. There's no need to wait.''
''The governments need to have time to react. If I take action instantly without giving them even the opportunity to solve this themselves, it would not have the full effect. They could just shrug it off, say they could not take action before we did, pretend they were unaware. They should squirm, I'll need to record their reactions and put those in a bad light too before my own army shows up to do what the officials wouldn't.''
''We arebeing tortured, used, dying every single day!''
''Three months.'' He would not budge on this carefully-laid out plan.
~Why are they upset?~ Evan quietly hissed. He was surprised that the boy had kept so silent all this time.
~They wish for me to move faster than I am willing to. The politicians who profit from this trade have to show their disregard for the public opinion before my Death Eaters can play the saviours here. Thus, between publishing the article and freeing these people should be a minimum of three months.~ Evan gave him an uncertain look. ~What?~
~Logically maybe, but these are victims who do not know if they'll live to see the next day. Go at this with cold logic, and you might have a bigger problem at your hands.~ Voldemort wanted to scoff at that, then held still and looked, really looked at the people who were asking his help. Even those who had started with desperation and hope now only had betrayal in their eyes. Perhaps the extra time would gain him a more solid foothold in the magical community, he would lose hundreds of possible allies before even starting.
''One month,'' he conceded. ''Do not make me regret it.''
By the way they each dropped their guard after that, it had been the right decision.
Then the stories came, each of the beings coming forward one by one to give him as much information as they could muster. Some could barely get out a word as they choked on anger or tears, others rattled off what they could in a monotonous tone as if entirely distanced from the events that had transpired. The werewolf children would only speak once the half-vampire sat with them and stroked their hair. It appeared that the vampire had broken free a long time ago, and the children had been his replacement as dangerous pets by the same master. He was trying to get them out now.
Evan retreated to a corner to speak with the youngest Delacour, who looked like she was about to chew his head off. At least her grandmother would ensure that no word of his return would be breathed by her to anyone who hadn't been in that room. ''You made a wise decision,'' the aforementioned woman spoke with a satisfied smile after the last person -the dryad- left, then looked over at Evan, who was trying to mutter apologies even now, while pretending to still be busy eating even though he'd finished the plate twenty minutes ago. ''That boy is a blessing. So, do you wish to use our Floo, or a secure apparition spot? I will ensure that the carriage gets send back.''
He considered this for a moment, then said: ''I had hoped to still speak to your granddaughter too, it is in her name that we are publishing all this. I need to know which words the Champion of the Triwizard Tournament would use to persuade the press to care for this cause. After that is done, a secure apparition spot sound excellent.'' It would be good to be home again and discuss the details of today with the others. He instructed Barty to retrieve their belongings while he sat down with Fleur, who avoided looking at his face, clearly afraid of him even as she answered each of his question meticulously. She was indeed a smart woman.
A while later, they stood in the back garden, surrounded by an overwhelming smell of lavender.
''I am looking forward to correspondence about the progress, my Lord,'' she spoke, inclining her head minimally. It was a start.
At long last, they were back home, Voldemort feeling more tired than he had in a long time. Trudging through a village and forest for hours had been nothing compared to the emotional burden of the past hours, everyone expecting him to sympathise somehow. It had been incredibly frustrating. What he wanted more than anything now was to sit down, reflect on the day and sleep soon. The last thing he needed was a Malfoy to be waiting in the hallway, looking absolutely distressed. Of course, that was exactly what he got.
''What are you doing here Lucius?'' he growled.
''My Lord… it's Rosier. I… I don't know what has gotten into him but…''
''Stop blabbering before I hit your tongue with a Cruciatus Cruse! What did Rosier do?''
''He went to the Ministry,'' Lucius whispered, white as a sheet. ''Spilled to the Aurors that you have resurrected.''
''What?'' he asked after a moment of stunned silence.
''I think he disagrees with your current plans and…'' Lucius looked at Evan for a second. ''That you have made questionable decisions.'' Voldemort was itching to throw out a torture curse so much. One of his followers just having stabbed him in the back and Lucius for once being man enough to fess up was the only thought that stopped him.
''How much damage has been done?''
''He went straight to the Auror office, at least four witnesses. He was able to tell them you have been back already for a year and are gathering followers before the Mark drained his soul.'' He neglected to correct Lucius on the exact terms of what the Mark did, and started pacing in the hallway. His move to stop betrayal with the Mark wasn't good enough, he'd have to find a better solution.
''Anything else?'' Rosier had been thankfully unaware of his day job, just like anyone but Barty and Evan. ''Did he name any Death eaters? Did he speak of Evan?''
Lucius quickly shook his head. ''Didn't get the chance. However, he showed them the Dark Mark on his own arm, and they watched as it reduced his mind to nothing.'' Voldemort swore out loud now. He hadn't expected any of his followers to have that little regard for self-preservation. Rosier had hated his recent decisions so much to even commit suicide over it? Why? It didn't make any sense.
''We need to move now. Even if Fudge is an idiot who'll want to cover this if I know him well enough, Dumbledore won't be so lenient. Bartemius, Dumbledore will hunt down Evan to keep him safe at the Headquarters of the Order early once he receives word of this, I am sure. We've already lost precious hours. Get his belongings and come up with a plan on how to get him there. Evan…'' he whirled around to look at the boy.
''I know, don't look in Dumbledore's eyes, pretend everything's fine,'' he replied in a dull tone that betrayed none of the desperation that wafted off him in waves.
There were so many other things Voldemort wanted to say. Evan's visit here being cut short felt wrong, and he was very displeased over it. There had been so many things left unspoken, so many conversations were still to be had, so much magic shared between them… He placed his palm against the boy's cheek. ~I will see you at night still,~ he hissed, knowing fully well that it wasn't the same. ''Now, Bartemius, move. I will need to leave and do some damage control.''
In the chaos that ensued, Evan moving out and Voldemort trying to both control what the press said about Rosier's revelation and how his Death Eaters reacted, he entirely forgot about the birthday present that still stood neatly packed in his room.
And so ends Harry's stay prematurely... Next up, Harry finally gets introduced to the Order!
Please Read and Review!
xx GeMerope