Lord Voldemort had a bad day. Not only were they unable to infiltrate Hogwarts, but they had also had a setback with some of the Ministry Officials. The Dark Lord needed to appease some of the members of the old Wizengamot. A handful of them approached his throne and asked to see proof of his plans in reforming the main governing body of the magical community
Had they not come practically groveling and shaking in their robes, Voldemort would have cursed them where they stood. Either for daring to take back their support or for daring to demand anything of Their Lord. But he had not. He was a merciful Lord and wanted his people to see that he could listen.
Dumbledore and his Order had begun a resistance, taking anybody they could and spreading false lies about Voldemort, as expected. He would rectify it diligently. He would not allow his emotions to get the better of him. So he had conversed with the group of wizards. Answering questions, and pretending not to imagine them strewn across the floor with their entrails behind them.
It had been tedious, redundant. Yet he endured. He had known what to expect when taking over, as most of the higher-ups were imbeciles. Catering to the whims of the muggle prime minister and slowly destroying wizard culture. It was unacceptable. Wizards would once again practice their ways, Dark and Light Magic would be Magic. No one would need to fear when celebrating traditions, dark magical artifacts would be registered, but not illegal. It was a crime to keep magic away from those who were magic.
Some of the Officials expressed concern over the choices, but Voldemort convinced them to think otherwise. Why ban a branch of magic, when every branch could cause harm? They had seen with their own eyes, a death caused by a miscast Diffindo, a charm that was considered Light. Yet, it was a spell taught to those in Hogwarts in their second year.
Alternatively, the curse spell Torpere, a curse that causes severe numbing on contact, could be used in medical practice. He had used it himself with slight adjustments, on Harry that very morning. It was considered a Dark offensive piece of spellwork, yet had the potential to ease pain, and not inflict it. It was all about the intent of the spell.
It had taken the Dark Lord two hours to convince them of this. That was only one of the discussions. After explaining simple observations and obvious flaws of the current system, they had allowed the Dark Lord to move on to his meeting with the Death Eaters.
His followers had become the new enforcers of his chosen laws. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement had no Aurors, only his trusted and marked. Should some of the Aurors they held captive show themselves redeemable, they might still have a place in the department. Yaxley, his third in command, was now head of the department, as he had requested. He had been given the task of taking Hogwarts with means that left the castle and its occupants, the children mostly, intact and unharmed.
The powerful shield spell that encompassed the school currently proved itself to be more formidable than they first believed. Not only had that come to light, but also the fact that students who wanted to leave were not being permitted to. Some children wished to be reconnected with their parents, Death Eaters, and also regular folk, and were being held against their will by their once loved Headmaster.
When made public, parents became unruly, demanding that their children be released. The only good thing to come from this, was that some wizards had come forward offering themselves as bait, to go to the castle under the guise of supporters of Dumbledore to somehow feed information back out. Voldemort was weary of these parents, but the idea was becoming more and more feasible.
He would need to do research into who he'd send, and couldn't risk sending actual supporters. He had an unlimited amount of Veritaserum, and multiple choices for Legilimens to use as a scope for lie and distrust. He, Snape, and a couple of other Death Eaters also had an acceptable knack for the art. Snape's loyalties were still questionable, but as long as the Dark Lord held the winning hand, the snake would do his bidding. He did not doubt that Snape was loyal only to himself, much as Lucius was to his family.
Lucius was a mess because of this. He was sure his son was being tortured, mistreated somehow. As much ire as Voldemort had for Dumbledore, he did not think the man was capable of torturing a student. Not physically at least, perhaps young Draco was being pestered, spoon-fed lies. He was a strong believer in self-preservation, however, and Voldemort could see the young Malfoy playing along perhaps. He relayed his musings to Lucius, commanding him to cease his worried pacing, it was giving Voldemort a headache.
The day had been long, and he wished to go home. A place where only he knew the location of. Where no one could possibly bother him, that is unless he was in the same room with Harry Potter. That child was a thorn in his side, and he wished dearly that things would stop going wrong around him. Harry was the equivalent of Felix Felicis, only the exact opposite. A walking omen.
After waving away Bellatrix, who had compiled a list of the best candidates for the coup, he decided today was as good as over. He barked orders to his second in command and left before anyone could ask him any more idiotic questions. Being away from the manor, Voldemort felt unease simmer under his pale skin. He kept thinking about Harry, and what he could be up to.
Leave it to the Boy-Who-Lived to somehow get past fourteen layers of warding, and the strongest deterrent charm he could place safely inside them. He half expected to arrive at the home in flames, or at least reduced to simple rubble. He was pleasantly surprised to find neither had happened. It seemed Harry had also listened to him about trying the door, as there was no indication that the detection charm had gone off. He would reward the boy if he wasn't a complete pain.
Voldemort was using every ounce of his willpower to not curse Harry for every word that came out of his mouth. He was the definition of insolence, and the Dark Lord was beginning to think it was less because of him, and more the fact that it was a character trait. But the unknown factors between the link, and the need to subdue Harry in a way that worked stopped him from casting. He could not rely on the torture curse to cure Harry's attitude. He would need a different tactic.
Perhaps play on Harry's need to save his loved ones… He had Arthur Weasley in a cell currently, waiting for his fate. Should he need immediate leverage, he would use it. It would be a lesson that would kill two muggles with one spell. Consequences of actions, and how love only held one down, chains that could be cut or slowly rust away.
Voldemort walked through his quiet home. It was one he had acquired when he needed another safe house. One that only he knew the location of. Riddle Manor was too well known, and he didn't want nor need the memories of the manor that only confused him. Malfoy Manor was a place he called home, but no longer after Lucius disappointed him when he found out about his diary. The first Horcrux he had made, was destroyed. Given to a child in an attempt at an immature powerplay.
He had been very proud of his first Horcrux, it was an amazing feat for a sixteen-year-old to not only complete but master the technique. He had, of course, played around with attempts. He killed early in life, first at age fourteen. They had a gardener, a foreign man, who tended to most of the manors during that time. Tom had lured the man into a wooded area, claiming there to be a problem 'my grandmother fell, we were just trying to gather berries!'. He led him to his spot and ended him.
His wand still had a trace, so he used muggle means. This was before he knew about Horcruxes, the kill was only for the experience and thrill of it. Voldemort does not claim to be sane, he recognizes that not everyone enjoys killing. What he does claim is that he is the only one with the ability to bring the Wizarding World back to its glory, and his sociopathic tendencies will help him achieve this.
He had learned his lesson in killing without regard, and he was able to learn, to adapt. His need to save wizardkind outshone his bloodthirst. It just happened that sometimes circumstances would happen, and he'd almost lose control.
One of these circumstances is when he entered Harry Potter's bedroom the next morning, only to witness the wretch try to hide something from him.
He had just finished breakfast(lunch?) and was staring at the new fork. It made him want to keep trying to beat his record. This morning had started similar to yesterday, however, he hadn't had a grumpy Dark Lord come to his room to heal him. So it was already worse than the previous day because it didn't start with a magic show.
He watched his empty dishes vanish and convinced himself that Voldemort wouldn't visit today. There was no need to unless he wanted to gloat about something, or maybe monologue a bit. He had better things to do than come to Harry's room, surely? So Harry found himself walking to the bed, he refused to call it his bed because it wasn't his. Just like how this wasn't his room.
He had just begun to pull out the utensil when the door to the room opened and Harry hurriedly shoved the fork further into the mattress. Unfortunately, this meant it took him longer to pull his arm out, as he had gone out of his way to stuff his treasure. Voldemort's eyes were on him as he pulled away. Harry took a step back and put on his best 'I was up to nothing' face. It didn't work.
"What. Was. That?" Harry bit his lip and did what he was best at, playing dumb.
"What was what?" He didn't think he'd ever seen Voldemort move so fast, as the man used pure strength and rage to rip his mattress off the boxspring and chuck it like it weighed nothing. Harry had taken hasty steps back, feeling like he did when Vernon went to grab him. The silver fork lay in the middle of the bed, sitting embarrassingly out of place. "Oh, that."
"Yes, that." The white sheets and blankets were strewn across the carpet. Harry felt his face heat up, and he stared at his feet. "Were you planning on stabbing me, Harry? Perhaps in the neck? How barbaric." The Dark Lord sounded exceedingly pissed off. Harry looked up quickly, needing to defuse the situation.
"No- it's not like that!" He held his hands up in a nonthreatening way, shaking them.
"What could you possibly need a fork for other than as a weapon?" He hissed, very, extremely upset. Harry's scar started to burn as Voldemort strode forward and picked up the offending silverware. He held it like one would something dirty, pinched between his finger and long thumb.
"I was throwing it up into the ceiling for fun." Harry blurted before he could help himself. With the link open, the burn was quickly coupled with distrust. Voldemort's eyes searched Harry's for lies. "I've been so bored." He felt like he had suddenly adopted a serious case of word diarrhea. He couldn't shut up if he wanted to. "And I realized after dropping the fork, that it didn't vanish with the plate-in primary school some of the boys would throw pencils into the ceiling… I just wanted something to do." He finished lamely.
The link halfway through his explanation had changed to disbelief, and utter confusion. Voldemort stared at Harry as if he'd never seen him before. It took too long for the silence to be broken.
"You've been throwing.. a fork.. into the ceiling," Harry nodded vehemently. Voldemort finally looked up, above Harry's head. The Dark Lord hadn't taken notice of it before because why would he need to look up at the ceiling? But there they were, a collection of small holes in an isolated patch. Most were spaced out, indeed matching the four prongs of the fork.
Harry was mortified. He couldn't remember ever being so embarrassed. He was almost sixteen for Merlin's sake. The Dark Lord slowly looked back at Harry, he was a lot less upset now. He was feeling mostly impressions of incredulity, bordering disappointment.
"No more holes in the ceiling, Harry," The teen nodded again, his black locks flying all over the place. That was a sentence he never thought he'd hear anyone say, let alone the Dark Lord.
"No more holes in the ceiling," He promised. He was still a bit shaken from the similarities between Vernon and Voldemort, and couldn't think of anything but to keep the peace at that moment. Voldemort sighed, exasperated. Looking very much like a Professor who had just had to take points away from their favorite student. He closed his eyes pensively.
"I... will be leaving reading materials for you on the desk each morning. Starting today. Read them." Harry's eyes widened. "Don't make me regret this gift." With one last disappointed look at the abused ceiling, Voldemort promptly turned on his heel and stalked out. The door slammed behind him, leaving Harry to clean up his bedding.
He had taken the fork.
Staring at the fork that now resided on his desk, Lord Voldemort let himself laugh at the absurdity that was Harry Potter. He sat back in his newly transfigured chair, chuckling lowly every time he gazed at the silverware. How was he to get any work done with that memory?
"I like Master when he is happy. He pets me more," Nagini came around the desk, and Voldemort rubbed his face, trying to hide his smile.
"Not happy," Her eyelids blinked. "Merely...tickled,"
"You need to eat something. You are pale,"
"I'm always pale," He countered. She lifted her heavy head and began to move slowly onto the Dark Lords' lap. He moved his arm to accommodate her.
"Don't argue. Pet me."