Disclaimer: Nope.

Author's Note: Thank you so, so much for the incredible reviews! I'm really glad you liked the chapter with the Hufflepuffs in the spotlight. I decided that they were the most important House to use to show the reaction of the student body once McGonagall told them about the governors' meeting.

Yes, I do agree that Nancy is pretty dumb. She is definitely looking for a scapegoat, and I do very much agree with the comment that she, Louise, Amy, and anyone else who is still blaming Harry have some deep underlying issues they need to work out. I love the insight that Hufflepuff is suffering from survivors' guilt and Amy, Nancy, and Louise are escaping their grief by blaming Harry. Counseling is very much needed for a lot of people in the wizarding world. Dixon is already helping Sirius and Dumbledore - you never know what I might do in the future.

I'm glad you like my comparison between Ben Podmore and Draco Malfoy, and you're right. Ben is completely unlike Draco. He doesn't brandish Sturgis's name like a weapon or use it to get out of trouble. His love for his dad is pure, and he's a joy to write. I love children, and Ben is truly one of the best.

I also agree about parent-teacher conferences. It is usually the parents who don't attend who have the children who really need help. Thankfully, I have amazing parents, so they always showed up to those and made sure I was doing well at school.

Of course, in college they don't have those anymore. I've always been absolutely dreadful at math, and one year when I was in college, I was too humiliated to tell my parents I was failing a math course. It was only when I was told that if I didn't pass, that then I'd have to repeat it, that I took action. Thankfully, my parents were both very understanding and supportive, and my dad, being really fantastic at math, helped me work my butt off before the final exam. Because of him, I did very well on the test, and it at least brought my grade up to a C. Even though that wasn't a great grade overall, I was very relieved that I didn't have to take the class again. Phew! That experience showed me that it's truly not a weakness to ask for help. Granted, I'm not prophesized to slay any villains (hopefully, lol), but still, I would totally despise retaking a math course.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter. This one was very difficult to write, especially the second part - writing from a villain's perspective is extremely difficult, as I literally have to try and think like them. I really hope I did it justice.

xxxxxxxxxx

The room inside the Ministry of Magic was one that almost no one could visit. It was layered with wards and charms so thick that it would take an enormous amount of power for an intruder to breach them. There weren't even that many people who knew where the room was located.

The people that did, however, were told to hold the valuable information extremely close. It wasn't an exaggeration to say that these certain employees were willing to take the secret with them to their graves. If this information found itself in the wrong hands, the results would be truly catastrophic.

This room in the Ministry was home to those who studied the darkest of objects, and how to destroy them. Magic could be used to achieve so much good in the world, but, unfortunately, as was true for all things, there were people in wizarding society who abused the gift they'd been born with to such an extent that they created objects that were too repulsive for words. The lengths they had to go to to create such abominations ... it made even Alastor Moody, who had seen too much bloodshed in his life, shudder.

It was because of Alastor Moody that Jonathan Henderson was moments away from destroying one of the most filthy, wicked things he had seen in a long time. Lying on the desk before him was a locket that was almost breathtaking, but for all the wrong reasons. There was an air of mysteriousness about it that called to the senses, but there was something so ... unnatural and wrong about it that it literally caused shivers to crawl up his spine.

Horcruxes. They were the darkest, foulest, most sinister form of magic. He shuddered again as he remembered the research he had unfortunately done on how to make one. Jonathan Henderson was a hardened man, but after discovering how to make a Horcrux, he'd lost everything that was in his stomach. The process was so revolting that he never, ever wanted to think about it again.

Know thine enemy. It was a phrase that Jonathan knew all too well, and one he lived by. He did not, in any way, research making Horcruxes because he had any interest in creating one. Rather, he researched the procedure because he needed to know what he was dealing with.

He had attended Hogwarts at the same time as the young Slytherin named Tom Riddle. He, himself, had been in Ravenclaw, and he'd been unfortunate enough to be in the same year as Riddle. The boy had been charming, charismatic, and affable, and he'd excelled in all his classes. Jonathan was pretty observant, and he saw how most of the professors, especially the then Potions Master, Horace Slughorn, took to him like a duck to water. He had Slughorn eating out of the palm of his hand, and he had the same effect on others as well. The only one who did not react like this in any shape or form was Albus Dumbledore.

Jonathan couldn't say that he'd sensed that Riddle was bad news right from the beginning. He conducted himself in such a way that he had fooled many, Jonathan included. It wasn't like he interacted with him much - Riddle had a group of Slytherin peers that followed him around, looks of hero worship on their faces. At the time, Jonathan had thought it rather immature and childish that anyone should look at someone like that, but honestly, who was he to judge? But he still didn't understand it. Riddle was smart and knowledgeable and said all the right things, but he was just human. He wasn't the paragon of perfection.

It shocked him, yet didn't, when Alastor Moody had broken the news that one of his peers had turned into the monster who decimated Muggle families, took the heart out of wizarding ones, and started a civil war in the magical world that very nearly caused its destruction. It would have been very easy to live in regret, constantly thinking that he should have known that Riddle was an evil megolomaniac. But the truth was, he hadn't, and there was no use dwelling on something he couldn't change. What he could do now, though, was destroy any dark object that was put in his path that had anything to do with that madman and his minions.

He had once asked Moody why it was that the wider wizarding world wasn't aware of precisely who Lord Voldemort was. He didn't think the explanation was very satisfactory - of course his supporters wouldn't believe it. Of course they'd say it was bullshit, garbage, and filthy propaganda spewed forth by those who wanted to ruin the reputation of the greatest sorcerer of all time. Jonathan had snorted - of course they'd think that, they were part of a cult and did the monster's bidding no matter what it entailed. They didn't care if Voldemort made them feel like dirt or punished them to within an inch of their life for some perceived infraction. Of course they wouldn't believe that their Dark Lord was anything less than a God - but why should that mean that the rest of wizarding society shouldn't know that he was once a mere boy named Tom Riddle?

Jonathan stared at the object on his desk. Being one who was fascinated by historical research, he was very interested despite himself in the origins of the locket. Why did Riddle make it into a Horcrux? It was obvious the madman hadn't just chosen some random thing to store his soul. It had taken a bit of digging and poring through books, but Jonathan Henderson now knew that this locket had belonged to one of the four Hogwarts founders, Salazar Slytherin. And now, this historical artifact lay in front of him, corrupted beyond all recognition by evil the likes of which Jonathan still couldn't wrap his head around.

A huge wave of sadness suddenly crashed over him. Salazar Slytherin, even though he'd turned out to be a pretty awful human being, was still one of those legendary figures that was, and would be, featured in many history books. Objects belonging to him should be kept as relics. It wasn't like they belonged on the streets or in plain view for all to see, but Jonathan had always been interested in creating a magical museum that would contain many tales of the past, both good and bad. If humans wanted to learn from history, they needed to understand it.

But this locket needed to be destroyed, and Jonathan knew he had to be the one to do it, even though he hated it. Something like this couldn't exist in this world anymore. Leave it to someone like Riddle to take an ancient relic and selfishly use it in his barbaric regime to destroy the wizarding world.

The three men in the room with him knew precisely what spell Jonathan was going to use to destroy this demonic thing. It was a spell that was considered extremely dark. It was one of those spells that required skill, precision, patience, and above all, control. There had been numerous stories of witches and wizards who had cast this spell, achieving catastrophic results. If you were in any way overconfident or careless while doing it, you would inevitably get yourself killed, and if anyone was around you, their life was forfeit, too.

Jonathan almost wanted to tell his three companions to get the hell out of the room while he did what must be done. Yes, he knew a dark spell that was nothing short of massively destructive. But he didn't want to kill, let alone hurt, anyone - all he wanted to do was make sure that Tom Riddle was mortal once more.

But he knew the three men would refuse to leave. They stood with their wands at the ready, their expressions deadly serious as they prepared to try and rectify anything that went wrong. They knew they were risking their lives by standing with Jonathan - they were far from stupid or foolhardy. But there was no doubt in their minds that if they did not leave this room alive, the cause would be worth it. Jonathan knew the same - if this was the last thing he ever did, he would die a proud man.

With great care, he picked up the locket by its chain and placed it inside a box. Closing his eyes for a minute, he once again felt a huge wave pass over him. This time, it was regret - not at what he was about to do, but at the fact that a historical artifact would never be seen again.

Opening his eyes again, he gazed at his companions, and they nodded at him, their expressions like ones of soldiers going into battle. Jonathan nodded back, knowing he looked the same as he pointed his wand at the box.

"Fiendfyre."

xxx

Lord Voldemort sat on his throne in one of the many luxurious rooms in Riddle Manor. His faithful snake, Nagini, sat beside him, and many of his followers were on their knees before him. The Dark Lord smirked; this was exactly the position he liked to see them in.

It never failed to amuse him that he had taken up residence in the house that had once belonged to three filthy Muggles, three abominations who he had been cursed to be related to. How dare they live in the lap of luxury while he had been made to live in a disgusting orphanage, with pathetic children who wouldn't stop crying and workers who were wastes of space that didn't know how to care for them. His father had thought he was so high and mighty, but he was nothing more than a mere Muggle with illusions of grandeur.

He'd never forget when he first stepped foot in this mansion at the age of sixteen. The anger had been so fierce, like an inferno that could not be quenched, when he saw his father and his grandparents sitting at their dining-room table like nothing in the world was amiss. He had relished in the pure fear on their faces when he'd walked in - especially his father. From one look, Tom Riddle, Sr. knew exactly who it was that had walked into the room.

Lord Voldemort had made it long and drawn-out. Joy pumped wildly through his veins as his elderly grandparents screamed and howled under the Cruciatus Curse, tears streaming down his grandmother's cheeks while drool continuously escaped his grandfather's mouth. His father's horror-stricken cries of, "Why are you doing this?" had rung through the room as the cold, lifeless bodies of his parents collapsed to the floor, once Voldemort had become tired of playing with them.

Then, he'd made his father's death even more painful than those of his grandparents. As well as holding him under the Cruciatus Curse, he'd broken his fingers, then healed them, then broken them again. The screams had made him feel so wildly alive, so free, so vindicated. Here was this man who had rejected him, who had the gall to not see how gifted his son was, who had abandoned him to filth and squalor while the disgusting man before him ate glorious food and got to sleep in comfort and safety. Well, that had ended right here. Tom Riddle, Sr. would not live to see another sunrise.

As the liberating green beam of light left his wand, ending the existence of this revolting specimen, Lord Voldemort had taken utter delight in making sure that the man's death could forever linger with him, a victory that he would cherish forever. The ring that he had stolen from his Uncle Morfin's shack was a testament to his success in ridding himself of his Muggle heritage. A piece of his soul was now contained within it, making sure that he would never meet the same fate that he had dished out to the people that were truly unworthy of him.

And now, all these years later, he smirked sinisterly as he conducted business in the very manor that his father had once inhabited. It was the best revenge, he thought with great smugness as he relished in the silence of the room. These people before him would not speak unless he granted them permission - they knew full well that if they tried such a thing, their punishment would be swift and extremely ... severe.

"Rise, my loyal servants," Voldemort purred, and all those who called him their Master obediently did so. He reveled in the fear that he could sense radiating from them. Oh, he had missed this, through all those years in exile. Just the thought of that Potter boy filled him with an all-consuming, blinding, endless rage. And it was because of him that so many of his servants weren't here.

His best, his brightest, were locked up in Azkaban. He found Bellatrix Lestrange's total devotion to him exceedingly amusing - he could literally tell her to do anything, and she would do it without hesitation. He could always use that slavish loyalty to his advantage. It was a sin that she was locked in the bowels of Azkaban - it had only been she, Rabastan, Rodolphus, and Barty Crouch, Jr. that had bothered to try and find him after Halloween 1981. He would have to reward their loyalty ... and do it soon. There was no doubt in his mind that she would be beside him once more, as would Rodolphus and Rabastan. Crouch, unfortunately, had been the victim of a Dementor, which angered the Dark Lord immensely. The man had also been almost unhinged in his loyalty, and the Dark Lord rewarded devotion. The loss of Crouch was very ... regrettable.

Lucius Malfoy, though, was another matter entirely. When the time came, Voldemort would free him from Azkaban as well - only to cause him torment. Before the trial of the useless former Minister, where the memory of his resurrection had been shown and Lucius had been arrested, he had summoned the man to him so that they could become ... properly reacquainted. With a little ... persuasion, the entire story about the diary had come out. Needless to say, the gibbering fool had barely escaped with his pathetic life. His very first Horcrux had been destroyed, the one he'd worked so painstakingly hard to make during his fifth year at Hogwarts when he'd used the basilisk to murder that worthless Mudblood. Because of Lucius's careless meddling, that Horcrux was gone. The temptation to provide Lucius with a long, slow, drawn-out, painful death, reveling in the aristocrat's screams and howls for mercy, was almost impossible to resist, but he realized that there were other, more terrible ways to punish his servant. Voldemort certainly had plans for him once he was in his clutches again.

But right now, he needed to focus on the servants he had before him now. "Severus," he hissed. "Come."

One of the masked figures bowed before him, and Voldemort smirked again. He did not trust this man worth an inch - he had only let him back into his ranks as a test. If there was one slip-up, one miniscule reason to suspect that the Hogwarts Potions Master wasn't faithful, then Voldemort would exact his revenge. He would not suffer a traitor. If Snape lied to him, he would certainly know it. His skills in the Mind Arts, after all, were unparalleled. When Aurors and Order members had shown up exactly where the raid on those pathetic Muggles was taking place, Severus had been the one he suspected of betraying him. Upon close examination of his mind, he found no proof of such a thing. This did not mean, however, that Severus was off the hook, and the Dark Lord would stop at nothing to find the traitor. He would punish the abomination until they wished they were dead.

"What is your latest report on Hogwarts?" the Dark Lord demanded. "I am sure the response to the governors' decision has been ... enlightening."

It had been an endless source of amusement for Voldemort when the death of the spare had impacted Hogwarts severely, so strongly that one of the boy's friends wanted Potter out of the castle. He loved the power that he held over so many - it was glorious. His red eyes gleamed with malice as he awaited Severus's response.

"Indeed it has," came Snape's drawled reply. "Such ... hysterics over a mediocre, worthless brat. There has been celebration, and there has been discontent. Your power truly knows no bounds, my Lord, as Aurors are preparing to constantly inhabit the castle to ensure that no harm should befall the students. You inspire abject fear in those who do not understand your power, my Lord."

Voldemort continued to smirk. Severus always knew exactly the right things to say, but it didn't ensure him of his loyalty in the slightest. If anything, it only made him more suspicious. "I already know of the Aurors' plans," he stated, anger leaping to life inside him.

"The wards are also being strengthened," Snape supplied. "Not even an Animagus can get through without detection."

Someone in the Death Eater circle moved slightly, and Voldemort knew that it was that worthless nobody, Wormtail. The man filled him with disgust. Voldemort remembered when Pettigrew had first sought him out - it was pathetic how obvious his reasons were for wanting to join him. It was written all over him - his motivations were fear of not surviving the war, and the resentment and jealousy he felt towards the great James Potter, Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin for being smarter, wiser, and so much more clever than him. He wanted to be important, to be a hero. Voldemort was more than happy to provide him with an outlet, so that he could unleash all those negative emotions on all of those he had come to despise. But he had seen him for exactly who he was - a spineless little worm that would follow and hero-worship anyone he thought would give him what he wanted. "Do you have something to say, Wormtail?" he snarled in a low, dangerous voice.

"N-N-No, my Lord," Pettigrew stuttered.

Voldemort lazily pointed his wand at him. "Crucio."

Pettigrew fell to the ground, screaming and writhing in agony. There was not a movement from a single one of the other Death Eaters as the torture of one of their own continued for about fifteen seconds before Voldemort finally ended it. "You are lucky I am in a merciful mood today," he sneered at the gasping man who was still huddled on the floor. "Now get up."

Pettigrew obediently did as ordered and stumbled back to his place in the circle. Voldemort watched with glee as his servant still shivered and shook convulsively from the after-effects of the curse.

"Now," Voldemort drawled as he thought about what Severus had told him concerning the wards. It certainly was no surprise, but fury bubbled inside him nonetheless. He despised how strong Hogwarts' wards would be now. It would take a very, very long time to plan an attack on the ancient castle, and his need to lash out at this news was almost too tempting.

He wanted to hurt Harry Potter before ending the wretch's life. He wanted to see the boy's blood coating the floor, hear his screams, see his eyes full of pain and despair as his godfather, friends, and defenders fell around him. He relished in the fact that there were still some out there who blamed him for the death of the spare in June. The boy's almost definite emotional anguish always brought a smile to his face. He wanted to see the boy's world truly collapse around him. Above all, he wanted Harry Potter to beg him to end it all. Maybe he'd give him a swift death if he did - the Dark Lord could certainly be merciful, after all.

There were plenty of others he wanted to get to as well, so many Mudbloods and blood traitors he desired to get his hands on. He was determined to find a way to breach Hogwarts - but he would have to plan for that.

Attacking Hogwarts was definitely high on his list, especially after hearing about the fact that Muggles could very well be infiltrating and invading the sanctity of the castle. Hearing that information, provided to him by a Ministry worker who had heard rumblings of it, had filled him with hatred so strong it blinded him, and he hadn't been able to resist hurting the man who had provided him with it. He'd cursed him until he was nothing more than a puddle of pleas for mercy.

How dare there even be a possibility that Hogwarts, the great bastian of magic, could be infested with Muggles! How dare they wander the castle's corridors like vermin, coating everything they touched with their slime! They knew nothing, nothing of wizarding ways, nothing of their culture and traditions, of their world. They didn't know how magic sang in the veins, in the very blood of witches and wizards who knew how the world was supposed to work. Everyone who believed that their taint should spread to the hallowed halls of Hogwarts would rue the day they ever thought of such a plan.

He smirked at the notion that there was such controversy over the issue. Fear of him, of his power, was one of the main arguments against allowing it to happen. The Statute of Secrecy was another. Voldemort could certainly bask in controversy - it was what he lived for.

But there were certainly plans he could make now, after all - Potter remained his top priority. Plus, there was the ... small ... matter of a prophecy.

"Now," Voldemort repeated as his red eyes bored into Severus's once again. "Severus, I would like you to keep a close eye on Hogwarts, and our mutual friend Minerva McGonagall." He sneered. "If you hear any information regarding the method of the warding, you will come to me and reveal it. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, my Lord." Severus bowed reverently. "I will do as you ask, my Lord."

"Good." Voldemort nodded. "Now take your place." Severus once again took his place in the circle.

"Thorfin!" Voldemort barked at one of his other servants. "Step forward."

A huge man with blond hair stepped towards his Master, bowed to him, and kissed the hem of his robes before rising clumsily. "What is it you require, my Lord?"

"You work in the Ministry," Voldemort stated. "I understand that new security checks are mandatory for all workers."

"Yes, my Lord," Rowle confirmed. "All personnel are now required to adhere to them before entering. They are checked for both Polyjuice Potion and the Imperius Curse."

Voldemort's face twisted with rage. "Indeed," he spat. "This means that you will have to achieve this from within, as you have done a masterful job of shielding the fact that you are one of us."

"Master," Rowle said, bowing before him again, and Voldemort detected fear in his voice. "I have heard rumors that even more precautions will be taken soon. The Minister is ..." He swallowed, hesitant to continue.

"Yes?" Voldemort demanded, losing his patience. "Speak, Rowle."

"The Minister is looking into ways to protect the building against anyone who wears the Dark Mark," Rowle said very quickly.

"Crucio." The spell was out of his mouth in a heartbeat. His blood boiled with fury as Rowle lost all dignity and howled on the ground.

"Get up, Rowle!" Voldemort shouted, his red eyes frothing with hate as he ended the curse. "What did you just say?" he asked furiously as he glowered at Rowle.

"TT-That the Minister is looking for ways to p-p-protect the building against the Dark Mark," Rowle stammered, sweat gleaming on his huge forehead. "The Minister is perfectly aware that there were those who worked in the Ministry who were among your servants last time. He does not wish for such a thing to happen again."

"How long?" Voldemort hissed quietly, malevolently. "How long before these ... precautions are put into action?"

"I do not know, my Lord. Research is being conducted on the matter as we speak," Rowle stated quickly.

"Well," Voldemort snarled, anger still pumping through his veins, "you will have to move quickly. You, Rowle, will find a way to infiltrate the Department of Mysteries. I believe you know one of the Unspeakables?"

"Yes, my Lord." Rowle sounded more intrigued than fearful now. "What do you wish for me to retrieve for you, my Lord?"

"Stay after the meeting, and I will inform you," Voldemort stated. "Now take your place."

Obediently, Rowle did so, and Voldemort sensed the curiosity wafting from the Death Eaters. He once again relished in the power he held over them - none of them would dare to demand answers from him, even if they wanted to know. This was truly what the Dark Lord found so thrilling about holding these meetings.

"Sylvanus!" Voldemort barked, and another of his servants came forward. This one hadn't been with him long - he had pledged his loyalty only a few days after his return. Voldemort had put him through some rigorous ... tests to make sure of his loyalty.

This man used to be the Care of Magical Creatures teacher at Hogwarts before he'd retired two years ago. Voldemort found it endlessly pathetic that that old fool, Dumbledore, had hired the likes of Rubeus Hagrid to take his place. He still daydreamed, sometimes, about the day when he'd convinced almost everyone that Hagrid had been the one to open the Chamber of Secrets using his pet spider in 1943.

Kettleburn had realized that his days in retirement were dull and boring, and that he regretted not joining the Dark Lord at the height of his power. Even before his retirement, his life had been one unsatisfying day after another. Well, Voldemort could certainly provide him with some excitement.

Once Kettleburn had stepped forward and bowed, Voldemort demanded, "Is the project ready?"

"Indeed it is, my Lord." Kettleburn nodded. "I believe it will cause maximum confusion."

Confusion. If there was another thing Voldemort enjoyed immensely, it was causing confusion. He obviously reveled in the outright attacks he perpetrated against those he knew were beneath him, but there were other weapons he could wield that were far more subtle. "Where is it?" he barked.

From within his robes, Kettleburn produced a small bottle that contained a blue-colored liquid. "Here it is, Master," he proclaimed. "As you know, I have been studying how to do this for the past two years, and I'm gratified I was able to perfect it."

Voldemort smirked at the man's arrogance. He could only hope that the liquid in this bottle achieved the result he wanted.

Voldemort snatched the bottle from Kettleburn's hand, procuring it within his own robes. "You had best be sure that it is perfect," he drawled before telling Kettleburn to take his place again.

"You know what I ask of all of you, and now it is more important than ever," Voldemort said as he once again thought of the bane of his existence. "Do not fail me. If any one of you sees hide or hair of Harry Potter, you will inform me immediately. You are lucky that I thought to spare you all after your abject failure the last time he appeared in Diagon Alley."

A shudder rippled through the Death Eaters, as they knew their Lord was deadly serious. But they didn't make a sound or move a muscle.

"Now, leave." Voldemort shooed them away with a dismissive hand gesture. "Except you, Rowle."

Quickly, without hesitation, all of his servants left the room, bar one.

And Voldemort smirked again. He would not fail. That was not an option. He may have lost much during the time he was in exile ... but he was back, and he would bring the wizarding world to its knees.

He'd achieved what so many thought was impossible - he was resurrected, driving fear into the hearts of so many.

And this time ... this time, he would succeed.