There was a beat of stunned silence as Lucius froze in the doorway.

Tom relished both the conflicting emotions on his future follower's face and the feeling of taking control of a flesh and blood body once more. His other… future? Past? Self really had done an excellent job of instilling terror in the wizarding world.

"No…" Lucius stammered before his mind caught up. "It can't… Impossible…"

Apparently not good enough. Unfortunate.

"Well, I did try to be polite," Tom sighed.

The ruby soul shard took a metaphorical step back. It was one thing to play his part in Harry's charade, but it felt impolite to order the young Lord's Circle around. Best not to irritate the insane demon child who held the chains threaded within his phylactery.

Harry's eyes flashed green as he returned to the driver's seat. The look on Malfoy senior's face was hilarious.

"Daphne, if you would, please."

She smiled. "My pleasure."

Lucius' eyes widened as Harry's lovely Blade moved without hesitation. In one smooth movement, she smashed the expensive wine bottle against the edge of the mahogany table with a jarring explosion of burgundy rain and stepped into the dark.

Reappearing directly behind the floundering pureblood Lord, she stabbed the wicked, broken glass spike deep into the center of Lucius' lower back.

The blond Death Eater choked as the breath was driven from his lungs and he crumpled to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut, his spinal cord severed by the bloody shards.

Harry's eyes burned crimson as Tom took control once again. He stood from the plush chair behind the desk and stalked towards Lucius' bleeding form.

"I had hoped that you would remember your manners, but I see that I should have… lowered my expectations," Tom sneered.

"My Lord…" Lucius gasped, trying to drag his torso upright despite his unresponsive lower half.

Tom stared down his nose at his broken follower with a heavily lidded glare.

"Eleven years, Lucius. For eleven years, you languished in luxury and comfort. For eleven years, you held your extravagant galas and drank your overpriced wine and celebrated my fall."

Despite the role he was playing, Tom's anger was authentic. How dare his other self's followers fail him so completely. How dare they allow him to become the shadow of himself that he now was.

Sweat dripped down Lucius' pale face as his blood soaked into his velvet dress robes. "Never, my-"

"Do not lie to me!"

It was glorious, to feel his magic flow through flesh once more. Even within his chains.

"Crucio!"

Lucius clawed at the hardwood floor as he writhed. To his credit, he didn't scream.

Tom ended the curse and knelt next to the panting Death Eater.

"You are lucky… that you remain useful. You are lucky… that I am merciful. You are lucky… that your son is both more competent and more loyal than you."

Draco managed to keep his face blank while his father cringed at his feet.

Tom gripped Lucius' long blond hair and roughly wrenched his head back. "Say 'thank you', Lucius," Tom hissed.

Draco met his father's watery eyes.

Lucius' voice was hoarse. "...Thank you, my Lord."

"If I heal your spine, will you remember how to kneel properly?"

There was a moment of silence as the blood and wine continued to drip.

"Yes, my Lord," Lucius whispered.

There was a sickening squelch as the broken glass bottle was torn from Lucius back in a shower of ruby rain.

Tom stood while the ragged hole in Lucius' spine closed.

Lucius managed to pull himself into a kneeling position with his sweaty forehead resting against the cool wood floor as Tom returned to his chair behind the desk.

"You are also lucky that the last eleven years have put us in an extremely advantageous position." Tom drawled.

Lucius remained silent. At least he was learning.

"We now have an unprecedented opportunity," Tom continued, "that was not available to me during my initial rise. We have the potential to spark a new conflict, a return to our glorious crusade, while simultaneously paving the way for an absolute victory that we could never have previously achieved."

Tom leaned forward on the heavy wooden desk. He could feel Harry dancing with glee in the back of his mind.

"Look at me, Lucius."

The cowering man finally raised his head to meet his Lord's crimson gaze.

"On one side, my faithful Death Eaters led by the Dark Lord Voldemort. And on the other… the Circle and the Order of the Phoenix, led by the prophesied champion, the Boy-Who-Lived."

Both Tom and Harry could see Lucius putting the pieces together. It was lovely to behold.

"It will not matter who wins. It will not matter how fate twists and turns. Our war will be a grand comedy, the outcome chosen before its genesis. Dumbledore has already lost, and from this moment forward the ivory and onyx chess pieces will all be moved by the same hand. My hand."

Well, Harry's hand, but Lucius didn't need to know that. The Circle knew that Tom was just another piece to be moved by their Lord.

"Soon, the wheel will begin to turn again. The pieces will move once more and this time, I will not be confined as a terror in the night. I will be both the steadfast hero and the dastardly tyrant, two sides of the same coin on which the wizarding world will unknowingly gamble."

Silence fell in the wake of his declaration.

Daphne's smile was radiant and hungry from her position guarding the door.

Draco maintained his mask, but there was an air of satisfaction about him. Despite his father's pain, this was what he wanted. A return of the blood and power in magic, the downfall of Dumbledore and the ministry.

Tracy still looked unsure, but kept silent on the table behind him, even as the wine dripped onto the floor covered in shattered glass.

Tom let the silence stretch before continuing.

"Which brings us… to our first steps."

He pulled the diary out of Harry's suit jacket and laid it on the desk. Lucius' eyes widened further.

"If the situation had not unfolded in such a beneficial way, I may have flayed you alive for throwing such a valuable object into harm's way," Tom sneered coldly at Lucius. "As it is, we have yet another opportunity. I have continued the Diary's work of petrifying students in the name of Slytherin as I did fifty years ago, with the goal of discrediting Dumbledore within his support base."

Tom steepled his fingers.

"You do not need to know the full extent of my plans at this time, Lucius, but be aware that I will not tolerate any meddling at this stage. In order to usurp control of the Order from Dumbledore, he must remain Headmaster of Hogwarts. I must control his fall from grace carefully if I am to be his spiritual successor. Do not inform the ministry of the attacks unless I order it. Do not speak of the Diary unless I order it. You will tell no one of the nature of my return unless I order it. Do I make myself clear?"

Lucius nodded slowly. "Yes, my Lord."

"Good," Tom said. "I will make myself known to more Death Eaters as it becomes beneficial. You are dismissed."

Lucius stood shakily and left his own office as quickly as he could without making it obvious.

Tom spent another long moment relishing the feeling of being flesh and bone before sighing and retreating back into the diary, keeping a small tendril of magic connected to Harry's soul in case he was needed.

Harry's eyes glowed green once again and he cackled maniacally.

"Oh, that was fun," Harry's laughter petered out. "Did I manage to keep the event entertaining, everyone?"

Daphne laughed with him. "You never disappoint, my Lord," she said. "So, we're taking over the Death Eaters and Dumbledore's sycophants? Ambitious."

"I'm nothing if not overenthusiastic," Harry's smile widened. "I promised all of you power, control, and freedom. We will achieve it all and more, together. Together, we will sow delicious chaos and rise above it to sit atop an unshakable throne. We shall arrange the board so that when checkmate occurs, it is absolute and everlasting."

Harry stood and let the eyes open in the walls, his laughter echoing in the night.

He could feel his beautiful Circle, chains of loyalty and obligation and love connecting the dancing stars in the endless dark.

Ginny, far away in Romania, torn but certain of her path.

Hermione, content but lonely in her childhood bedroom.

And Luna, standing atop the dark stone spire of the Rookery, her hair and mismatched eyes glowing silver in the moonlight as she met his matching eyes and smiled, as though she knew he was watching.

Of course she did. His perfect Alice.

"Together, our symphony will echo throughout the world, unshackled and eternal."

He was so excited.

…

Hermione Granger felt a brief moment of surreal disconnect as she grabbed some sandwich ingredients out of the refrigerator in her parent's kitchen.

It didn't feel like her kitchen, anymore.

Every time she came home from Hogwarts, the feeling of disconnect intensified. She barely belonged here, anymore. The regular, normal lives of her parents felt so…small, when compared to the magic and power she commanded.

They didn't know that she could walk within the palace in her mind, the Looking Glass that was both real and imaginary. Even if they did bother to pay attention to her, which was rare, they could not possibly understand the nature of her Lord's existence.

Her existence.

And yet here she was, making a sandwich. It was bizarre.

A polite knock on the front door pulled her out of her reverie.

She considered ignoring it. Her parents were at work, unable to drag themselves away from the clinic even for the holidays. Even for the brief two weeks of the semester that they could spend with her.

Whoever was here to see them could come back later.

She sighed and relented as another knock sounded and she stood from the kitchen table, walking through the tastefully decorated hallways to the foyer. Her parents' interior decorator chose the furnishings well.

Heaven forbid they actually have anything personal on display.

Hermione stood on her tiptoes to see who was on the other side of the ornate front door and almost fell over backwards in surprise.

Harry was here. Harry was here. Her murderous Lord, in the deep red suit that she bought for him, was standing on her parents' front porch.

She couldn't quite decide if she was happy about this or not.

At least her parents weren't home. To think she had been lamenting their absence just moments ago.

She opened the door and briefly fell into his mismatched eyes as he smiled, languishing in the feeling of his power casually warping the world around them. She wondered if the neighbors would have nightmares.

"Good morning, Harry," she managed to keep her scattered thoughts together as she returned his smile. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure? I thought you would be torturing Malfoy or camping with Luna."

"I'm actually on the way from the former to the latter," he said. "Lucius was fun fun fun and Tom played his role perfectly. However, I have to do some preparation before I pick up Alice's Christmas present and I know you've been feeling a bit out of touch."

Hermione was hesitantly pleased. Despite how broken her Lord was, she knew there was some part of him that cared for his Circle. Whether it was out of compassion or pragmatism didn't really matter at the end of the day.

"Would you like to come in, or are we going somewhere?" She asked.

Harry's smile widened. "We're going on a field trip!" He chirped, bouncing on his toes in a way that she was certain he had picked up from Luna. "We have to see a man about a thing. Not that he'll see us, of course. However, that's no reason not to dress for success," Harry giggled and waved his hand in her general direction.

Hermione jumped slightly as she felt his power flow over her. Looking down, she realized that her muggle t-shirt and jeans had been transformed into a matching blood red suit and tie.

She actually liked it more than she should. It felt nice, to be valued. To feel useful. Less like a child playing games.

"Off we go!" Harry said and snapped his fingers.

The world around them flickered and changed and suddenly they were standing in a bustling marble atrium.

Hermione looked around curiously, quashing any instinctual insecurity at being suddenly surrounded by people. She could already feel Harry's power at work, the eyes pulling hundreds of witches and wizards into her Lord's Looking Glass. Their eyes slid over the two children without a second glance, their presence edited from their minds before it was even processed.

Offices lined the high walls of the wide hall, the ceiling arched many floors above them. A grand golden statue sat in the center of the room, depicting the magical races in their perceived glory.

The Ministry of Magic. In a different life, Hermione could imagine herself dressed in official robes and walking to her office to manage a department that all felt very important. Just another cog in a barely functional machine.

It felt silly, standing here with her Lord. This machine that felt so important to all of these people was just a plaything in the face of Harry's power.

Her power.

She cautiously let her magic follow the established pathways through her Lord's Looking Glass, getting a feel for how he slipped into everyone's minds. She let her power expand along with his, latching on to soul after soul through his eyes until she shared the control with him.

It was an incredible feeling, this power. She could see herself from hundreds of angles at once, like a god sitting on a balcony above them despite still being herself within her prison of flesh.

She saw Harry nod approvingly through so many eyes as he ceded control of the crowd to her, letting her manage the Looking Glass and delete their presence from the minds of the ministry workers around them.

It was intoxicating.

To think that a year and a half ago she had cried because Ron Weasley said mean things about her. What was he, compared to this control, this power?

Harry chuckled and she knew that he had picked up on her thoughts. He always knew, and she couldn't quite bring herself to care.

"We're here to toss a couple little pebbles so that the ripples collide at the correct times," Harry said as he started walking across the polished floor. "Rufus Scrimgeour is the head of the Auror office and a workaholic. Something as inconsequential as Christmas won't keep him from his duties."

Ahead of them, a man with hard eyes and a mane of graying blond hair stepped out of the lift. His occlumency shields were steadfast, but Harry and Hermione's combined power was more than sufficient to slip under the battlements like oil on placid water.

"Now, we need to set some dominoes to fall with the right rhythm," Harry said as they casually fell into step beside the man. "Too fast, and the Aurors will arrive before the scene is set. Too slow, and we'll miss out on a useful opportunity. What case is our Head Auror planning to review after lunch?"

Hermione took a moment to surreptitiously sort through Scrimgeour's well-ordered mind.

"An ongoing potions smuggling case, by the look of it." Hermione knew that her Lord could probably have done all of this himself, but it was fun to be involved. Like they were on a secret spy mission or something.

Harry smiled again but didn't comment on her errant thought. "Perfect," he said. "And where did he leave the file?"

"It's in the cabinet behind his desk. Third drawer, under Major Crimes."

The world once again flickered with a snap of his finger and they were standing in a tidy, bland looking office overlooking the atrium. Hermione immediately recognized it from Scrimgeour's memories.

Harry waved his hand and the drawer in question opened, the file for the ongoing case floating out.

"Just a couple names changed here, a few incriminating bits and bobs added there…" Harry hummed to himself while he worked.

Hermione walked over and looked out the window over the open hall, seeing the silhouette of herself through countless eyes even as their owners saw nothing out of the ordinary.

"Aaaaand done!" Harry crowed, bouncing over to stand next to her.

He picked up on her conflicted train of thought. "They do seem ever so small, don't they? Such insignificant notes in such a grand symphony."

She nodded. "It seems so… pointless," she mused aloud. "They have the power to edit reality with a thought, and they still get up every day and go to work."

"They can't help that they're just Things," Harry shrugged. "Dull and gray and lifeless. Empty. You see why I search for music in a silent world, for any splashes of color amidst the sea of gray fog."

"Yes," she said quietly. She still didn't necessarily approve of her Lord's cruelty, but she understood. When magic was so readily squandered, wasted on countless souls that failed to appreciate or utilize their birthright, what did it really matter if they wove a horrific symphony with their lives?

She thought of her parents, toiling away in their offices. They, at least, had the excuse of being powerless. They had done well for themselves, in the muggle world. They studied hard to become doctors and helped people, even if they ignored her. She wondered if they would have risen above the status quo if they had magic, or if they would still be just another cog in the machine.

She would rise above them all, had already done so. With her Lord, she would be free of their pointless expectations.

He smiled wider and took her hand as they stood in silence.

Hermione felt Scrimgeour approaching when Harry finally spoke up again.

"Now that we've completed our dastardly espionage, would you like to get lunch? I know a place that has French onion soup that's positively to die for," Harry smirked as she rolled her eyes at him.

Her capricious Lord.

But still, she never got to eat her sandwich. She nodded and the world once again flickered around them, spiriting them away from the puppets that unknowingly danced to her Lord's tune.

…