25
In the quiet days following the equinox celebration, Alice found her thoughts drifting back to the Minister's warning. "Remember your duties," he had said. "Protect your people." The words haunted her now in the stillness of her study.
Protect them from what?
The question struck her suddenly as she sat with a half-translated text before her. For all her time here, for all she had learned of magic and politics and pure-blood society, she realized she had never truly questioned what threat her people might face. Was it Voldemort himself? The thought felt strange now, after all these months under his guidance.
She paused, quill hovering over parchment. What kind of ruler was he, really? She knew him as a teacher, as a guardian of sorts, had seen glimpses of his sharp humor and brilliant mind. But as a ruler? She had no real idea.
The thought nagged at her until she found herself wandering toward the throne room, drawn by the sound of voices. It was one of the days he held court, she realized. The massive doors stood open, and she slipped inside, taking care to remain unobtrusive as she settled into a seat partially hidden behind a cluster of minor lords and ladies.
For the next several hours, she watched as the most significant matters of the magical world came before him. These were not common disputes, but weighty issues that would shape their society – matters of international relations, challenges to ancient magical laws, and cases that threatened the very fabric of their world.
His judgments were swift and precise, each decision backed by a deep understanding of magical law and tradition. When a dispute arose about ancient magical territories, his ruling was cold but undeniably fair. When questions of dark artifacts came before him, his answers showed a keen understanding of both their danger and their historical significance.
Then Lord Fawley was brought before the court, held between two Death Eaters, his once-proud bearing now broken.
"You refuse to yield the ancient wards of your family seat to our cause," Voldemort stated, his voice carrying easily through the suddenly silent chamber. "Wards that could strengthen our borders tenfold."
"They are bound to my bloodline," Fawley said, his voice hoarse but defiant. "I will not see them twisted to serve—"
"Your cooperation is not required," Voldemort cut him off, rising slowly from his throne. "Merely... preferred."
"Then kill me and be done with it," Fawley spat. "I won't help you destroy everything our world stands for."
"As you wish."
The green light flashed without warning or ceremony. Lord Fawley – head of one of Britain's oldest magical houses – crumpled to the floor. The court barely paused to draw breath before moving on to the next case, though Alice noticed some spectators' grim expressions. This, she realized, was also part of who he was – not just her mentor, not just the occasionally playful guardian, but a ruler who would not hesitate to destroy any who opposed his vision.
As the afternoon wore on and the court began to empty, she remained in her seat, lost in thought, until she was one of the few left in the chamber.
"Did you find our proceedings... enlightening?" his voice carried across the now-quiet hall, tinged with something like pleasure at her presence.
She approached the throne, offering a respectful nod. "Very much so, my Lord."
"And yet you seem troubled." His eyes studied her carefully. "Perhaps by our more... decisive moments?"
"I understand the necessity," she said carefully. "Though seeing a person… the head of an ancient house, no less, fall so suddenly..."
"Such are the realities of power and rule," he replied, his voice turning cold. "What will you make of it, I wonder?"
Alice felt the weight of his gaze, understanding that her answer in this moment would shape how he viewed her going forward. She chose her words with care.
"That true power lies not in the ability to take life," she said carefully, "but in the wisdom to know when it cannot be avoided. Lord Fawley's death was... harsh, but I noticed you gave him a choice. He chose his path."
Something like relief flickered in his crimson eyes, so brief she might have imagined it. "You're not... disturbed by such necessities?"
"I believe a ruler's motivations are more critical than their outward displays of emotion," she replied carefully. "While some might find such decisive action unsettling, I recognize that true leadership often requires difficult choices to be made for the greater good. Your focus appeared to be on the outcome, not the act itself."
His lips curved slightly. "Well reasoned, little scholar. Tell me, what brought you to my court, this particular day?”
"I realized I knew very little about how you actually govern," she admitted. "It seemed... an oversight worth correcting."
"Indeed." His eyes held that peculiar gleam they often did when she surprised him. "And what did you learn?"
"That justice, even when harsh, requires wisdom," she replied carefully. "That ruling is more complex than simply having the power to do so. I noticed you only seem to handle the highest matters," she ventured carefully. "The most significant cases."
"An apt observation," he replied, looking pleased at her perception. "Did you think I personally ruled on every petty dispute and minor infraction in our world?" His lips curved slightly. "The Ministry remains intact, with its own court system. Most matters are handled there."
"The Ministry?" Alice hadn't realized it still functioned so independently.
"Of course. Lucius oversees it quite effectively." He gestured for her to walk with him as they left the throne room. "What reaches me are only the highest matters of state, cases that have been specifically escalated, or..." his eyes gleamed dangerously, "those who dare to directly oppose our vision, like our friend…the late Lord Fawley."
Alice absorbed this information, thinking of how efficiently the magical world must run with such a clear hierarchy of authority. "And Lucius decides what cases reach you?"
"Among other duties," he confirmed. "Though I suspect he occasionally allows certain cases through purely for his own entertainment.
He rose from the throne. "Join me for dinner. It's been a rather... taxing day of judgments."
Alice felt the tension ease slightly. "Will you actually eat this time, my Lord, or simply watch me while pretending to appreciate the wine?"
"Careful," that easy, amused look crossing his face. "I might begin to think you're growing bold after witnessing court proceedings."
"Not at all," she replied innocently. "I simply wouldn't want to dine alone after watching you dispense such... decisive justice."
"Ah," he said, his lips curving further. "So this is about Lord Fawley? Are you concerned I might find your table manners equally offensive?"
"My table manners are impeccable," she countered. "Though I suppose if you actually ate something, you might be able to judge for yourself."
He made a sound that might have been a laugh. "Very well. I shall make an effort to 'appreciate' more than just the wine. Though," his eyes glinted, "I do hope you handle your cutlery with more grace than you managed during our dance at the equinox celebration."
Alice felt her cheeks warm at the memory. "I believe I've sufficiently demonstrated my ability to injure you for one season, my Lord."
"Indeed you have." He gestured toward the private dining room. "Shall we?”
The private dining room held an intimate warmth that seemed at odds with the afternoon's stark display of power. Crystal-wreathed candles cast a gentle glow over the dark wooden table, and the subtle fragrance of evening jasmine drifted in through the open terrace doors. Alice watched, fascinated, as Voldemort actually lifted a fork to his lips – true to his word, making an effort to do more than merely appreciate the wine.
"You seem surprised," he noted, his red eyes catching the candlelight. "Did you think I was incapable of such mundane activities?"
"After witnessing court today, I'm beginning to think you're capable of anything," she replied carefully. "Though I admit, watching you actually eat is somewhat... humanizing."
His lips curved slightly. "Careful. We wouldn't want anyone thinking their Lord has grown soft."
"Of course not," she agreed, though her mind drifted to the whispered conversation she'd overheard at the celebration. The northern project. The equinox energies. Something about overlooked resources. "My Lord," she ventured, "may I ask you something about magical governance?"
His expression shifted subtly – the teacher emerging behind the ruler's mask. "You may."
"How do you balance it all? The court, the Ministry, the various projects across Britain..." She kept her tone casual, hoping to draw out some hint about the northern endeavor that had been nagging at her thoughts.
"Delegation," he replied simply. "Though I suspect that's not really what you wish to know."
Alice took a deep breath. "At the celebration, I overheard Lord Greengrass and Lord Selwyn discussing something. A northern project that was proceeding 'according to schedule.' They mentioned equinox energies and... overlooked resources."
His expression didn't change, but something in the air seemed to sharpen. "Did they now?"
"Yes." She met his gaze steadily. "Lord Selwyn said something about seeing how 'the theory translates to practice.'"
"Eavesdropping, little scholar?" There was a dangerous edge to his amusement. "I wonder what you imagined we might be planning."
"I didn't imagine anything specific," she replied carefully. "But it seemed... significant."
"The northern territories hold some of Britain's oldest ley lines – magical currents that run through the earth itself," he explained, his tone taking on that familiar teaching cadence she'd grown to appreciate. "We're studying their potential for strengthening our magical infrastructure."
"And the overlooked resources?"
Something flickered in his crimson eyes – approval, perhaps? "Ancient stone circles. Dormant vessels waiting to be... awakened. The modern magical community has forgotten how to properly utilize such conducting materials." He paused, studying her with that penetrating gaze. "The library has several fascinating texts on magical conductivity theory. Third floor, eastern wing, behind the bronze dragon bookend."
Alice felt a familiar thrill of excitement – the same one she'd experienced when he'd first granted her access to the restricted sections. In the muggle world, she'd been denied even basic education at times, treated as nothing more than a commodity at the estate. But here... here she had access to knowledge beyond her wildest dreams.
"You're giving me permission to research this?"
"I'm pointing you toward some academic reading that might interest you." His lips curved slightly. "What you do with that knowledge is entirely up to you."
The trust implicit in that statement wasn't lost on her. "Thank you," she said softly. "For allowing me to learn. To understand."
"Knowledge, when properly pursued, should never be restricted," he replied. "Though I suggest starting with Blackthorn's 'Theory of Magical Conductivity' before attempting anything by Ravenclaw herself."
A comfortable silence settled between them as the house-elves cleared away their plates. Alice expected him to dismiss her, but instead, he seemed lost in thought, those crimson eyes focused on something distant.
"When I first discovered the true depth of magical theory," he said suddenly, his voice taking on an unusual quality she'd never heard before, "I was not much older than you are now. The restricted section at Hogwarts became my sanctuary." A ghost of a smile played across his features. "I would spend hours there, piecing together fragments of ancient magical theory that others had overlooked or dismissed."
Alice sat very still, hardly daring to breathe. He'd never spoken of his past like this before.
"The professors called it an unhealthy obsession," he continued, his tone carrying a hint of old bitterness. "They couldn't understand why I wasn't content with the standard curriculum. Why I needed to push further, to understand the very foundations of magic itself."
"What drew you to it?" she asked softly.
His eyes refocused on her, sharp and considering. "The same thing I see in you when you discover new knowledge – that hunger to understand not just how something works, but why." He paused. "Most are content to accept magic as it is taught to them. Few ask the deeper questions."
"Like why some can channel it and others can't?" The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Something flickered in his expression – surprise, perhaps, at how close her question cut to his current research. "Precisely. The fundamental questions that the magical world has grown too comfortable to ask."
He rose, moving to the terrace doors where the evening air carried the scent of night-blooming jasmine. "You'll find, as you study those texts, that many of our accepted limitations are simply... assumptions that no one has thought to challenge."
Alice felt the weight of this moment, understanding that he was sharing something rare and valuable – not just knowledge, but his perspective on it. The way he saw magic itself.
"Thank you," she said quietly, "for sharing that with me."
He turned back to her, and for a moment, she caught a glimpse of the brilliant student he must have been, driven by that insatiable need to understand. "Knowledge, properly pursued, can reshape worlds." he replied simply.