Tony/Voldemort
When the time came for Tony to eventually write his autobiography, he was going to be sure to dedicate an entire chapter to how he single-handedly cracked the method behind a Pensive worked. Granted, he hadn’t in the five days since he had taken his first trip into one, but all the same, he was more than sure he could figure it out. Perhaps he would find a use for that proposal that Beck had left behind. Or rather was forced to leave behind. A man who was mentally unwell and deranged shouldn’t be around any sort of technology as far as Tony was concerned.
Not that he was the shining standard for mental health but that mattered very little.
It had been disconcerting, being thrust into the memories of his former lover, to watch things from such an odd perspective. It had been ages since he had seen Laci’s face. Rather, seen Loki’s in such a new light. Seeing those small twitches and quirks to his lips as he talked. The faint smile as he thought about certain things. To see him alive and breathing in some sort of way had been rather cathartic in its own way. Even if the entire situation still left him confused and worried.
“So,” Tony looked over at Severus as he poured what the man claimed to be memories into an almost mercury-like substance that was in a floating silver disc, “If I understand this correctly, we are gonna stick our heads into this pool of wizard memory soup and hallucinate someone else’s memories,”
“No, you overqualified simpleton. The process is far more involved than that. You will be slipping into someone’s memories as a bystander. Everything they see, so shall you. Including their self in the memory,”
“Okay, now that makes even less sense. How can I see someone in their memory? For that matter, aren’t memories subjective? Can you even be sure that the-“
“I swear, you and your son have the same propensity for annoying me with questions that could be answered simply by accepting that some things are beyond the grasp of your meager minds,” The sneer that Severus leveled at Tony had reminded the hero of his father. The utter disdain on display for being bothered by someone trying to gain a grasp on something.
“Well you are presenting me with a concept that fundamentally changes everything I know about memories, I think I’m entitled to a few questions here or there,”
Severus said nothing, merely returning to pouring in the last of the memories before gesturing towards Kingsley,
“The memories within are ones from Loki himself, specifically from the night he made James and Lily the surrogate for his child. Afterward, I have ones that I would prefer only Kingsley and Madame Bones to view alone,”
“Hopefully you aren’t keeping secrets from me. Not when I thought we were becoming good friends,” Tony quipped as he hovered in the back
Severus paid Tony no mind, fully turning his back to continue addressing the two magical cops in the room. Tony didn’t trust law enforcement on a good day at times, however, both Kingsley and Madame Bones had been more than helpful. At the very least they hadn’t started blasting at them with wands or anything.
“-and we shall go from there but I doubt we could file charges,” Tony tuned back into the conversation just to hear Madame Bones finish talking to Severus, who looked mildly perplexed and annoyed.
“Albus, in his asinine bid for the greater good endangered a child by placing him into the care of Muggles without the consent of the Welfare for Magical Children Department or the DMLE either. Considering that he had a living parent that could have been found with a simple heritage test, there should be some consequence for his interference,” Severus all but shouted
“Be that as it may, we do not know the full story as to why he did so. I find it highly improbable that Albus would do something without just reason, nor do I understand why you would not bat for a man who has saved your own life, Severus,” Kingsley had a voice that commanded respect and he used it to its fullest as he stared down the lankier man.
“Just what do you mean by that Kingsley,” came the venom-laced retort, which only gained the attention of not just Tony but Madame Bones as well.
“What I am sure Kingsley is trying to say,” came a diplomatic interjection at the behest of Bones, “Is that you seem rather keen on turning on Dumbledore after he stuck his neck out for you. It just seems rather odd, especially when the man is claiming He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back and you were once a part of his order,”
“I’m sorry, you mean to tell me you sided with a literal Dark Lord? Did the fact he was a Dark Lord not click that he was the bad guy here,” Tony jumped in, “You don’t just join The Empire by accident, you sign up for the shit,”
Tony could see a vein throb in Severus’s face as the man pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance.
“What I may have done in my youth should have no barring on the welfare of Potter. If he has a living family then he should have been placed with them, regardless of what the whims of Albus Dumbledore may have dictated. Do not turn this into a judgment of my character when we all have blood on our hands and ill memories in our minds. I recall several ‘raids’ the Auror Department conducted on families that had no ties to the Dark Lord but were investigated all the same,” Severus had a steely-eyed look on his face as he glared down at Kingsley and Bones.
At that moment, Tony felt his respect for the man rise just a little bit more.
“Right, well with that settled, how about we take a peek at these memories and see what we can do about getting my son back,” Tony walked over to Severus and clapped the man on the back, earning him a baleful glare.
“Yes, let's. The sooner this is done, the sooner my obligation to you and Potter will be completed. Now, if you would please push your face into the Pensive, quietly if you could manage it. I would hate for something to go wrong and end up swimming in your memories instead, Stark,” Severus intoned as he gestured towards the Pensive.
Tony, with restraint he didn’t know he was capable of, clammed up and bit his tongue. It was bad enough he was about to go for a dive into someone else’s mind, he had no wish for someone to do the same to him. Walking over to the disc with the other wizards, Tony took a deep breath before pushing his head forward and letting the cold fluid overtake his face.
The sensation of being suctioned deep into the disc left Tony feeling ill, his entire body being pulled into the depths of the magical item. Where he expected a hard landing on the ground, Tony was met with nothing, his body slowing to a stop as the other wixen joined him in what he found to be a grey expanse of nothing. The urge to cry foul play was on his lips for but a moment, before the world around him began to shift like strips of black watercolor. The space began to take shape, forming what looked to be a dusty basement of some kind. The only thing that stood out to Tony was the large lack pot simmering over an open flame, and the figure hunched over it.
“Laci,” Tony whispered, his arm twitching as he felt the urge to reach out and touch the specter of his former love.
“I would advise against that Stark,” hissed Severus who had been watching Tony the moment he joined him in the Pensive, “While I am sure you could not alter a memory with your lack of magic, it is best not to tempt fate,”
“This is…he really is just right there. He looks so real,” Tony, for once, was at a loss for words. While he understood the concept of a memory, seeing Laci looking just as he did when he last saw him was unbelievable.
“Yes, now stay silent Stark. We are here to witness the circumstances around your child’s birth,” Severus hissed, and Tony obliged him. At least just this once as the memory began to play out before them.
Laci was moving now, muttering as he paced back and forth, stopping ever so often to look over in the pot, confusion and worry heavy in those bright green eyes.
“Why is this taking so long,” the memory of Laci hissed as he stood over the pot, glaring as if whatever was inside would finish its process the harder he glared, “Just tell me I’m not with child so I can move on,”
With child. This was the moment his lover found out they had a kid together. Despite the still impossible, at least to Tony, the two of them had made a kid. A product of their love, no matter how brief it may have been.
Just as Loki was about to start pacing again, he was cut off as Lily came rushing down into the memory. The firecracker of a read-head was sobbing, clearly having come back from something painful. Though if he had to hazard a guess, it was probably her first time killing someone. She was young, far too young in Tony’s mind. They all had been. And here she was, a shell-shocked member of a war. It was hard for Tony to watch as she and Laci shared a moment. Tony could see the pain of them both in their eyes and wanted to do nothing more than tell them that things would be better. That things will be better.
“I miss Tony,” the memory of Lily said, and Tony watched as the look on Loki’s face morphed into one of longing. Sadness.
“Yeah…me too,” Loki responded, before looking back at the potion.
“That is a fertility potion. It indicates if one is with a child or not,” Severus intoned for Tony’s benefit
“Yeah, we have these things you just pee on and it does that job. No need for all this ‘toil and trouble’ nonsense,” Tony snarked, enjoying the look of disgust that came across the faces of all the wixen.
Tony would have continued but was cut off as the memory of Loki took his attention. The God himself was ranting, and Tony could see in those eyes as the realization of who he was took hold. When he went from being Laci to Loki, God of Mischief, Lies and way too much trouble.
Yet, even as the demeanor of his lover changed, Tony could still see the man he fell in love with in there.
“Well James,” Loki spoke with every bit of the posh showman he had proven himself to be, “It looks like I’m having a boy,” the God spoke to James.
To his merit, James didn’t hear those words and give Loki a confused look. Instead, he ran over and gave the man a hug, one that was slowly reciprocated as Loki carefully looped his arms around the wizard.
“That’s…that’s great Laci. Though…it isn’t with-“ James started, only to cut off as he looked at the solemn face of Loki.
“Yes. Not only that but it seems I’ve been keeping other secrets from myself. Like the fact, I am a God of Mischief. Well, The God of Mischief,” the last part was said slightly sheepishly
Tony watched as James and Lily looked at one another and then back to Loki, utter confusion on their face. Likewise, that same look was mirrored in that of Kingsley and Madame Bones.
“You mean,” James began, still trying to understand what he was being told, “You are Loki. The actual Loki. Because if you are, Sirius is going to lose his shit when I tell him,”
Loki heaved a sigh before sitting down on the bench, rubbing his temples in mild annoyance.
“If only it were that simple. James, I’m a God who is carrying the child of a Muggle. A demi-God. I can’t give birth to him here with the war, and I cannot go back to Asgard carrying him. My father will kill my child. I know he will,”
“What if you tell Dumbledore,” Lily asked, only to get a withering look from Loki in response
“Dumbledore is the last person who needs to know of this. He found out the truth of who I was back a Hogwarts. I hid those memories from myself so he couldn’t use them for his own gain. If he were to find out just what my child is, I have no doubt he would try to mold him into a weapon,”
Tony caught a look in the eyes of Severus as if he understood just what Loki was saying when it came to Dumbledore. The more about this man Tony heard, the more he disliked him. He sounded like Fury, just minus any bit of charisma and personal reasonability.
“I have been alive far longer than anyone here, and for the first time I am at a loss for what to do in this situation,”
James and Lily looked at each other, Tony having seen them glance at each other like that several times. An unspoken bond as the two of them came to a decision.
“What if you let us raise him,” Lily began, reaching out to put a supportive hand on Loki’s knee, “If you are truly worried about your father or Dumbledore being involved with your child, then we could bear him for you. James and I have been wanting to have a child even though I can’t conceive,”
“Not only that,” James stepped in with a reassuring hand on the shoulder of Lily, “But I’m sure we could get Dumbledore to agree to keep us out of the war if Lily is pregnant. It is probably our safest option,”
Tony watched as Loki’s face twisted through many emotions, all of them looking heartbroken on his face. A pang of grief welled up in Tony. He should have been here. He could have been here. If they had told him the truth, Tony would have moved the literal heavens to protect Loki from the war, from Dumbledore, and from Odin himself. Anything to spare his love the pain he was feeling.
“Okay,” Loki whispered, tears falling down his slightly pale face, “I’ll do it,”
Those memories, watching them, had been at the forefront of Tony’s mind in the days since. Loki, for it was hard to call the man anything other than his rightful name now, looking lost as he chose to give up his child. The cold grasp of regret had yet to let go of Tony, magnified all the more by the fact their son was in the hands of Dumbledore doing who knew what. He wanted to know just what was in those other memories that Severus had shown to Madame Bones and Kingsley. Both Wixen had come out of the Pensive looking shocked from what they had learned. All the same, he would find out in due time. Right now he had other fish to fry.
Tony had set up shop back in the hotel room, busy trying to understand the magical energy he had FRIDAY recorded for him. Nothing about its frequency made any sense, nor the nature of how it even worked. It seemed to fluctuate wildly and Tony was starting to get frustrated with having all this knowledge and being fully unable to understand how something worked.
“Fri can you compare this energy up against what we had on the Tesseract? If the frequencies have any similarities there may be a way for us to work from there,” Tony mused as he played around with a virtual reproduction of the magics frequency. He was almost tempted to reach out to Shuri. Almost. The only thing holding him back was his own pride. That and he highly doubted the Wixen in his company would want their secrets spread out to another country.
“Unless Wakanda has Wixen,” Tony muttered to himself, only to be cut off by a knock on his door moments before it opened.
“Uh, Tony,” Scott poked his head in, looking like he had bad news, which was something Tony had no mood for right now, “We may have a little bit of a situation,”
“Define a situation Micro Machine, because I have a feeling you aren’t quite doing those words justice,”
“Well it’s kind of hard to explain, but Clint got a message from Nat and has been laughing like mad for the past two minutes,”
"And this concerns me how,” Tony asked, though he had a feeling he wasn’t going to like the answer
“Well Clint said ‘Tony is going to lose his shit’ and well I kind of figured that would be more than enough reason to- Oh, okay,”
Scott didn’t get a chance to finish as Tony got up and headed out the door, hearing Clint’s laughter as he entered the living room.
“Alright, what’s got you splitting your sides out here,” Tony questioned, suddenly feeling like a parent scolding a rowdy teenager.
Maybe I should consider this practice, he mused.
“Let’s just say you are about to get a visit pretty soon,” Clint answered, tossing his phone at Tony.
With a grimace, Tony looked at the screen and instead of a message was greeted with a picture. It was on one of the Quinjets already in the sky. He could make out Natacha smirking at the camera from the pilot’s seat with, of all people, Bruce Banner riding shotgun. However, that wasn’t what made Tony’s breath hitch in his throat. Cramming themselves in the picture was Thor, Peter, some goth looking woman, and-
“Loki-,” Tony gasped, the face of the God right there in full color, looking anywhere else but the camera. Just underneath the image was a bit of text reading ‘London Bound’ and Tony felt as if he was just one step away from a heart attack.
“Nat’s pushing the jet to the limits. They will be landing in just a few hours. According to her, Fury was adamant about you getting this baby daddy nonsense figured out without causing any global incidents,” Clint added with a smirk
Tony let out a half-laugh, unable to put any effort into it. Loki was coming here. Loki, his former lover, and father of his child was coming here. Truthfully Tony thought he wouldn’t be seeing the man again. Even with the whole kid thing going on, Tony was sure that the God would have stayed on Asgard serving out a prison sentence or what have you. Instead, he was now going to be faced with the very real reality of sharing space with the only man he ever loved.
It was taking every bit of effort for Tony not to be sick right there on the floor.
“Wait, why is Peter with them? Was there no one else available to go to London with Loki,” Tony finally asked as that fact fully dawned on him
“It was Nat’s idea. She figured you’d be upset, but also it was a better choice than trying to deal with either Steve or Bucky joining up for the ride,” Clint smirked as he peeled an apple with one of his arrow tips with far too nonchalant for Tony’s liking.
“Fair point. Not happy about it, but fair point. Alright, there is no way in hell that we are all going to fit in this place. Lang, go tell the Wizards watching us that we are moving to a new safe house if they want to join us. I’ve got a place that is better suited for extra guests,”
As Scott ran off to do just that, Tony flopped down into a chair and looked at the image of Loki on the phone. His mind was finding it hard at the moment to recognize that the man in the green garb wasn’t the God who set about taking over the world, but the man he loved. It was easier when all he had to see was just a picture of even a memory. Now though, it felt just that bit harder.
“Think I may punch him in the face,” Tony muttered, to which Clint chuckled.
“Yeah, I’ve got a bet going on with Bruce. He thinks you’ll be all cool and collected since Loki and you have a history,”
“And what do you think,”
“That you’ll punch him the moment he opens that mouth of his. At least before I get a chance to get a lick in for the brainwashing,”
Well if there was one thing Tony knew to be true, it was you never bet against a Stark,
The Quinjet touched down with on the tarmac, leaving Tony awash in a burst of heat from the engines as they died down. Moments later the hatch in the back opened and out walked the motley crew of heroes and Gods. Thor was the first one to even notice Tony, running over and giving the man one of his infamous back-slaps.
“Stark! I bring glad tidings and well wishes on your new journey of fatherhood. I must say, I was a bit shocked that the spider child was not yours. He is so much like you, though far humbler,”
“Yeah I missed you too Point Break. And no matter what Natascha or Steve tell you, Peter isn’t my kid,”
Even if I may ground him for coming along for this ride, Tony groused in his mind as Peter walked up alongside Bruce.
“Tony, please tell me you have a working Gamma Lab. Peter here has given me some good ideas that I need to try out,” Bruce spoke as if he hadn’t been gone for ages
“First time I see you since Ultron and you are already talking science. Knew there was a reason I liked you. As for you,” Tony rounded on Peter, arms crossed as he waited for an explanation.
“It wasn’t my idea Mr. Stark. Nat, I mean Ms. Romanoff, said it was a good idea for me to tag along to keep an eye on things. That and I would probably get into less trouble if I wasn’t in New York all by myself. Even though I wouldn’t have been alone, and it's been like a whole week since someone actually managed to shoot me,”
“Slow down there Pete. What do you mean a whole week since you got shot? When did you get shot,” concern filled Tony’s voice.
“Oh, it was nothing, just some mugger with an itchy trigger finger. Nat’s been giving me more training with my tingle so I should be good now,”
Tony was trying to unpack all of what Peter had just said only for all those thoughts to come to a halt as Loki walked over, bringing with him a torrent of new thoughts to fill Tony’s head.
“Well, if this is how you interact with the youngest member of your team I dread to see how you will handle our child,” Loki smirked.
It was supposed to be a joke. Tony knew this. He knew what the sound of a joke was coming from Loki. It was meant to lighten the tension in the air, to give everyone a bit of breathing room. It was just supposed to be a joke.
Tony refused to see it that way.
In the span of two strides, Tony's hand formed a gauntlet over his hand from his watch and punched Loki right in the jaw.
The God stumbled. The metal of the gauntlet vibrated. Tony swore he busted at least a knuckle or two. And Clint silently took a fifty from Bruce.
“You lied to me. You vanished, all those years ago. You knew we had a kid together and you left. I’m sorry, you came back to try and take over the planet and still didn’t say shit to me about our kid,” Tony hissed in anguish.
“Would it make you feel any better if I told you I not only blocked those memories but I was also under mind control at the time? Or would you rather just hit me again, Elskling,” the final word in Norse dripped with emotion from Loki.
A moment flashed in Tony’s mind. Him, cuddled up next to Loki, the pale man whispering the same word to him in that private moment.
With a cry, Tony hit Loki again.
“Guess we know which one I’d prefer don’t we,” Tony growled, before stalking away from the group, leaving a stunned Loki to watch as he retreated.
All Loki could do was stand there, face slightly red from the impact before he let out a sigh and conjured a handful of gold coins to toss to his brother.
“Not a word more Thor,” Loki grumbled, before following behind Tony as they group left the Quinjet.
Voldemort had truly forgotten what sleep felt like. Ever since he created his first Horcrux, the concept of sleep seemed to evade him at every turn. He would lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to rest as the cavernous hole within his soul ached to be filled. It had been, at the time, a price he was willing to pay for immortality. Now, with a portion of his soul returned and the blood of Potter flowing through him, it was a price he would never pay again. His eyes looked over at the destroyed cup of Helga Hufflepuff, the only sign it had once held a portion of his soul being the scorch marks from when he forcibly reabsorbed it.
The Horcrux may have been a path to immortality and immense power, but now he had his eyes set on another way. All he had to do was get his hands on Harry Potter. More specifically, his blood. Voldemort still had no idea what it was he had tasted when the spell had bonded Potter’s blood to his own, but the only way he could describe was as divine. The power that he had gained from it may have been meager, but it was potent all the same.
There was a soft hiss from the foot of his bed, as Nagini uncoiled herself as she felt Voldemort rise. The large serpent regarded her Master with mild annoyance as he shifted under her weight. The ritual used to pull the Horcrux from her had been far more elaborate and taxing on the host, as Voldemort had no wish to destroy his only true beloved companion. She had taken to resting for most of the day, rarely seen beyond the few sunny spots that she could bask in during the day. Beyond asking for meals brought to her as opposed to hunting, Nagaini seemed content to laze about for the most part. A far cry from her Master.
As Voldemort slid out of his bed, his eyes landed on the mirror that occupied a corner of his room. The visage within was striking, a far cry from what he had thought he would be upon his return. Dark Magic had ravaged his original body, turning his flesh pallid and shallow. Life had been stripped away from him as he sought out power and dominion through foolish means. Having been granted a new lease on life, Voldemort better understood how immortality by way of Horcrux was nothing more than a shallow and cursed life. If he were to be the ruler of Wixen kind it would not do to live such a cursed life. A long-lived one, yes, but not a cursed one. The sooner he could absorb the rest of his Horcrux, the closer he could be to being whole.
It hadn’t taken the man long to be ready for the day. Despite the return to sanity as well as a functional body, he was nowhere near as vain as his appearance. That was best left to Lucius and his spawn. Having lived within their Manor, or rather his as he saw it, he had taken note of how particular each member was about their looks. Time wasted in Voldemort’s opinion. Time is better spent furthering their goals as opposed to tending to their personal needs. That being said, he mused as he neared the Dinning Room, Lucius did have his uses within the Ministry. Perhaps there was something to be said for personal care when it came to achieving one’s goals. It was an odd thought to come across his mind, however, sanity had the habit of doing that to him.
The table was already laden with a bevy of foods, many of them being consumed by the closer members of his order. His Knights. The ones that would sacrifice life and limb to see his goals to their end. The Lestrange brothers had proven more than their worth, eager warriors they were. Beside them was the sniveling Pettigrew. It sickened Voldemort to see the man, yet the coward did have his uses, though he was far more expendable than the others. Lucius and his wife were seated as well, minus their progeny. They had claimed the boy had promised the child of the Contessa Zabini that he would spend the summer with him. Voldemort had his doubts, but the child was of little consequence. He was better served as motivation to keep Lucius in line more than anything. Then there was his most sycophantic member of Death Eaters, in Bellatrix.
“My Master, I see you are well this morning,” came the almost mad cackle of Bellatrix. She had taken her attention off of the small rat she had been torturing, at the displeasure of Pettigrew who looked ready to be sick.
“Of that, you are correct, Bellatrix. Today we shall be one step closer to our goal once I retrieve my next Horcrux,”
“Oh Master, let me fetch this one for you. No one else here is worthy enough to hold your soul,” she crooned, dropping to her knees in slavish devotion,
“Let me do it, Master. I promise you your soul will be in safe hands,” she looked up at him, eyes wide in her submission to him as she gripped the hem of his robes, “No one knows your soul better than I. No one could ever hope to protect something as precious as I will. Let me take care of you,” so absorbed was she that Bellatrix failed to notice the flare of anger in Voldemort’s eyes.
“Bellatrix, I did not give you leave to touch me. Crucio,” the words and curse were barely a whisper, but the power behind them was all too potent.
The witch seemed to be torn between cries of pain and cackles of delight as she writhed under the power of the curse. She seemed to bask and revel in the pain of it all, even as Voldemort looked on with utter dispassion at her writhing form. The rest of the table seemed put off their meals by the act, though neither one of them made a move to leave.
“Tell me, Narcissa, how long should I hold your sister under this curse,” came the unexpected and cold question towards the Lady of Malfoy Manor, “Tell me what seems appropriate for her transgression,”
“Whatever you feel is suited My Lord,” the answer was clipped, bare of any emotion from Narcissa as the woman attempted to look anywhere but at the torture taking place.
“Do not look away,” hissed Voldemort, with his free hand he reached out towards Narcissa, the grip of his magic forcing her head to turn painfully towards Bellatrix, “This is your sister. She is your responsibility. I will ask you again, how long should I hold her under this curse for thinking that I would ever require her help,”
Narcissa couldn’t tear her head away, or even close her eyes. All she could see was the contorting body of her sister, her scream echoing endlessly as the seconds ticked on. Every moment of her silence was reflected in the pain being etched across Bellatrix’s face.
“Stop, My Lord,” Narcissa whispered
“Beg me. Beg me to stop,” he retorted
“m-My Lord I beg of you. Stop cursing my s-sister,” Narcissa fought back tears as best as she could, by the emotion was heavy in her throat
With a small smirk, Voldemort ended the spell, paying little mind as Narcissa ran over to tend to her fallen sister who was still twitching violently from the duration of the spell.
“Unless I ask for your assistance, assume it is never needed. That goes for every one of you at this table. My body may no longer look as imposing as it once did, but I assure you, I am far stronger than before. Remember your place,”
Voldemort took his seat at the head of the table, watching as Narcissa helped Bellatrix to her feet and out of the dining room. With finger steepled, the red eyes of Voldemort swept across the table, eyeing his Lucius as he did his best to not appear shaken without his wife there for support,
“My dear Lucius, do not fret, for I still have a need for you and your political acumen. I require you to gauge the current leaning of power in the Wizengamot. Find out which of the families that hold seats have a sympathetic ear to our cause. If we wish to gain a foothold in Wixen culture, then we must start with its head. Shape the rules and laws in our favor. I trust you can do this for me without failing me. I have not forgotten the poor care you gave for my diary,”
Subconsciously, Lucius clenched his left arm, no doubt recalling the wounds Voldemort had carved into his flesh upon finding out what happened to his very first Horcrux. He had been sure to impress upon the man that any further failures would result in harsher punishment given to his wife and son.
“Yes, My Lord. Shall I impose upon any holdouts on where they shall place their loyalties,” came the slight whimper from the man
“I would implore you to do so. If we are to overtake the ruling power of British Wixen culture, it would not do to have those that think they can toe the line,” With a wave of his hand, Voldemort dismissed Lucius to his mission, resting his eyes on the three men that were left.
“As for you two,” he leveled his gaze at the Lestrange twins, “I have a different mission for you both. The Muggle world has advanced far greater than I have ever given those filthy creatures credit for. I have heard tales of powerful beings that now walk amongst them. Gather as much information on them as you can. If they pose a threat I want to know about them long before they ever know about me,”
Voldemort had never put much stock into rumors involving Muggles, however, one of his lesser Death Eaters had made mention of it during his return. Tales of flying Muggles with metal bodies. A troll-like beast with unfathomable strength. A supposed God that controlled the weather. Even others who had mastered the elements. If these stories were to be true, Voldemort was not going to be caught unawares when he began the subjugation of the Muggles.
“Consider it done my Lord. Is this strictly a recon mission, or should we remove any threats we come across,” Rastaban questioned, looking eager for an actual fight
“No. you are not to draw any undo attention to yourselves. Collect what knowledge you can and return to me. Now, go, I must speak with Pettigrew privately,”
Both brothers gave the cowering rat-faced man a sympathetic look before taking their leave, the door shutting with a thud behind them.
“Now, as for you, Pettigrew, I have a more pressing mission for you,” Voldemort couldn’t help the dark smile that came across his face, one that made Peter sink further in his chair. A rat caught in the hypnotic gaze of a snake.
“Wh-what can-can I do-do my Lord,” the man stammered, looking anywhere but those luminous red eyes.
“You and I will be returning to Gaunt Manor this evening. There is something there that is very precious to me. You shall be the one to retrieve it, and I would recommend taking great care when you go. I gave you that hand for a reason, use it,” Voldemort sneered, before dismissing the last of his inner circle from the room.
With a slender finger, Voldemort plucked a piece of fruit from one of the bowls, savoring its taste as he mediated over his plans. These courses of action were not like the ones he took during the height of his attempt for power. Spilling blood, while had its place, was not how he wanted to take control. Not this time around. His foolish rush towards war had cost him his entire body and years of his life. It had inspired that fool Dumbledore to fight against him. He was going to change the rules of the engagement. Strike their seat of power from within, before they even knew he was back.
When Dumbledore and the rest of the so-called Light realized he was in control, it would be too late for them to mount any form of resistance. Even more so when he had Harry Potter at his side to provide him with every bit of that hidden power within him.
Capturing Potter was his own task, and he had every advantage at his disposal.
Nightfall came, blanketing the ground of Malfoy Manor in pale moonlight and thick shadows. Within his room Voldemort sat, eyeing the Gaunt Ring upon the table. The dark orange stone, carved to fit upon one’s finger had been passed down the Gaunt line. From what Voldemort recalled, it had been stolen many times over, the stone itself holding power that few had ever managed to comprehend. It represented power and had been the perfect vessel to house a portion of his soul. Now, as he glared at the ring, he was regretting that choice.
The sacrifice of Pettigrew had not bothered him. It was the man’s own fault for attempting to place the ring on his actual finger instead of bringing it as requested. The man was still alive, but with the curse ravaging his weak body, there was no telling for how long that would last. Were it not a risk to his pet, Voldemort would have let Nagini consume the sniveling man.
No, what bothered Voldemort about the ring was the fact it was proving to be stubborn and refused to let go of his soul. When claiming the Horcrux from the cup, it had been a somewhat simple process. Reaching out to the fragment of his soul and pulling it back towards where it came. The ring, however, was resisting him. He could feel his soul there, swimming in the inky orange depths of the ring. However, it would not come back to him. It could not come back to him. The ring held a mind of its own, having laid claim to the soul Voldemort had given it. How he had never noticed it when he created the Horcrux was beyond him, but now there was little he could do about it.
Perhaps there was some way he could pull his soul free, but for now, he was content to have this part of him at least nearby. He would not trust another person with something so precious, not after having lost the diary and the soul within. With a simple wave of his wand, the man conjured a silver chain that looped through the ring. Sipping it on his neck, he could feel a small pulse of warmth from within. It may not have been a part of him, but his soul was rejoicing for having a portion of itself in such proximity again.
Voldemort was keen to muse on the mystery of the ring some more when he felt something touch on the edge of his mind. His mouth turned up into a smile as he recognized the feeling of Harry Potter unknowingly connected with his mind as he slept. It was, as far as Voldemort knew, an unintended side-effect of the ritual. The melding of their blood under magical means giving them a connection of sorts. While he could not exploit it while the boy was awake, once Harry was asleep Voldemort was able to invade the boy's mind.
With a steadying breath, Voldemort shut his eyes and let his mind travel the connection, finding it easier with the boy lacking any form of mental defense. Silently he slipped inside, finding himself settling into the now familiar dreamscape of Potter’s. The area was devoid of light, save a single bulb that hung high above, casting stark shadows on the ground. He had yet to find a way to dive deeper into the boy’s memories, but for what Voldemort wanted to do, the surroundings fit just fine.
Voldemort drifted, an unseen specter, through the mindscape of Harry. Their connection drew him to where the consciousness of the boy waited, sitting in the dark of a cupboard, alone.
“Dumbledore’s Golden child, alone even in his dreams,” hissed Voldemort as the mental construct of his body materialized before Harry, “So unprotected. Vulnerable,”
Harry, or at least this version of him, looked up with frightened eyes as Voldemort loomed over him. The boy fell backward in his dreamscape, scrambling to escape, even as the Dark lord advanced on him.
“No! You aren’t real! This is just a dream,” the boy tried to rationalize, his fear growing by the second.
“Oh, I am very much real, and you have yourself to thank for that. Don’t you remember,” with a wave of his arm, Voldemort molded the dreamscape to fit his needs, contorting the vast emptiness into that of a familiar graveyard. Tombstone rocketing from the ground, encircling Harry to keep him from fleeing,
“Don’t you recall what you did? Gifting me your blood freely. You connected us and now you will pay that price,”
Snakes writhed from the ground and coiled around Harry, lashing him to one of the tombstones. The serpents hissed cruel words into the boy’s ears, making him whimper.
“Tell me, do you know what your blood did to me? The power that it gave me? That small fraction used for the ritual banished my madness and gifted me with more magical strength than I thought possible. Perhaps you knew and you wanted me to have it,”
“I don’t know what you are talking about. You’re just a nightmare! Just let me wake up,” Harry cried, eyes shut as he tried to will himself awake.
“There is no waking up from this Potter,” Voldemort reached done to the prone Harry, lifting his head so their eyes met, “Not from this. Not while I am still lurking around in your mind. I may not be able to reach you where you are now, but that does not mean I will pass up the chance to torment you while you sleep,”
Sharp nails dug into the face of Harry, drawing a few pinpricks of blood. Voldemort longed for the real thing, wishing to drain the boy of all the power he held. Yet here, in the dreamscape, the blood was merely a construct of the boy's mind. A mind that was feeling every bit of pain Voldemort was able to inflict upon it.
“You could make this easier on yourself. Just tell me where you are and I won’t have to hurt you,” his thumb smeared the boy's blood along his face as his voice filled with mock concern.
“Yo-You can’t hurt me here. It’s all in my head,” Harry gritted between his teeth as he jerked his head out of Voldemort’s grasp, “I’ll find a way to kick you out,”
A chuckle left the lips of Voldemort as Harry shut his eyes, clearly trying to find a way to remove him from his mind. The Dark Lord felt a small nudge from the boy’s effort but remained all the same. It was honestly rather impressive for a boy who had no training in the mental arts, yet it would not be enough. Powerful fingers gripped Harry’s hair and yanked harshly, forcing the child to yelp in pain.
“I told you, there is no escaping this Potter. Not unless you give in to me. And seeing as you wish to be stubborn, I shall impress upon you why that is a foolish idea,”
Even without his wand, Voldemort was skilled in the art of torture. With only a few hours he could spend in the boys’ mind before he would have to retreat, the Dark Lord had every intention of making the boy break before that time was up.
“Don’t worry, when you wake up, this will all feel like a dream,”