Chapter 83: Riddle me this.

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Egypt - Cairo 

Ministry of Magic 

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In the marbled halls of the Egyptian Ministry of Magic, the soft clack of polished shoes echoed as Yasif strode ahead of the group with a barely masked air of triumph. The enchanted briefcase was light, but full of the spoils recovered from the tomb, excluding the tomes which were still in possession of Lord Grey, hung from Sherif’s hand like a trophy. However, his steps faltered as Sharif shifted his hold on the briefcase when he tried to reach for it..

With a cold, firm tone, Sharif met Yasif’s narrowed eyes. “Like I said earlier, I’ll be carrying this to Inventory. We need to ensure everything is properly catalogued… and untouched.”

Yasif’s jaw twitched for the umpteenth time since the briefcase was given to the Auror as his irritation bled through the thin veil of professionalism, irritated at the man's insubordination. “I’m headed there myself, Sharif,” he repeated the exact phrase he had tried earlier. “There’s no need for theatrics. Unless you’re suggesting I would tamper with it.”

Sharif raised an eyebrow, unbothered by Yasif’s attempt to make him seem like he was the problem. An attempt that went ignored by the other Aurors walking with them. “I’m suggesting extra precautions. Lord Grey’s, or more likely Dumbledore’s, infiltrator proves that not everyone is who they seem. For all we know, there are more in the Ministry.” 

His implication was clear, but his words did little more than further irritate the Secretary of Finance. Yasif clenched his fists at his sides but said nothing, forcing himself to keep walking alongside Sharif as they made their way deeper into the Ministry’s secure departments.

When the group finally reached the Inventory Department’s large double doors sealed with layered enchantments and heavy security wards, Sharif slowed and turned to face them all. The briefcase moved from his left hand, which was closer to Yasif, to the right. An action that did not go unnoticed by the man it was being kept away from.

“We do not speak of what we saw when the briefcase was handed over to us aside from the fact that it was handed to us,” Sharif spoke firmly, roaming his eyes over his fellow Aurors before settling on Yasif. “Especially not about the bottle Lord Grey’s guardian was carrying.”

All the Aurors shifted their gazes to fall on Yasif. Rolling his eyes with a dramatic flair, Yasif crossed his arms. “I’ll do what must be done to help Egypt prosper,” he said defensively. “Just like I did when I requested Lord Grey’s help in the first place. All that is in the briefcase is going to be used to fund the education of our people’s children, thanks to me.”

Sherif’s second in command deadpanned. “You do realise we were listening in when Lord Grey forced you to add those stipulations, right?”

Even as the other Aurors stifled their laughs, Yasif acted as if she hadn’t said a word as he continued to stare at Sherif — a skill he had long since mastered to elevate his position in the ministry. Results mattered more than anything else after all. Numbers and notoriety above all else.

Sharif stared him down as steel seeped into his voice. “You don’t know who Lord Grey trusts. Or who Dumbledore has watching this region, like he does over the boy. You think you’re being clever… but if you want to end up on the wrong side of people who can trap a soul in a bottle bought from a restaurant a mere hour or so before, then be my guest.”

The silence that followed was heavy. One of the Aurors cleared his throat awkwardly, and another subtly stepped to the side, away from Yasif. Like his stupidity was contagious, and he didn’t want to catch it. And for a moment, Yasif even considered the possibility that one of them might be the one to inform Lord Grey’s guardians or Dumbledore of his tampering, should he take the briefcase from Sherif. 

With a final, silent look between them, Sharif turned and walked into Inventory, letting the enchanted doors open at his presence. His fellow Aurors followed behind him, eager for the job to be over already, so they had nothing else to do with what would happen next.

Yasif merely huffed and followed too, knowing there was no winning. But he took consolation in knowing that he would still get the credit for suggesting Lord Grey and that they would still receive the tomes once they had been checked.

At least they got a formal invite to the opening of the new Bank. Who wouldn’t be happy about a new potential way to make or save money? 

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Ritual Chamber - Unknown Location

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The chamber was thick with the scent of blood, ash, and ancient magic, with flickering torchlight casting shadows against the stone walls. At the centre of the room, the body of a young Witch lay sprawled across the cold floor, lifeless and limp, with her eyes wide open in shock, staring upward at nothing.

From the far side of the altar, Voldemort silently stepped forward, making no sound against the blood-slicked stone. His pale, inhuman face was calm, barely hiding the glee he was feeling at accomplishing what he came to. His red, unblinking eyes swept over the virgin mudblood as he stepped over her cooling corpse, like she was nothing, disregarding the clear signs of unnecessary cruelty he had inflicted before starting the ritual.

There was only power, and those too weak to seek it. And unfortunately for her, she was the latter. But her life had served its purpose. She was useful to the greatest Dark Lord of all time, after all.

Nagini, his new favourite follower, slithered silently beside him, brushing her long form against the hems of his robes while her tongue flicked as he extended an open hand toward her, while speaking in parcel-tongue. "Come, my beautiful Nagini. Our work is only just beginning."

With a sharp twist of space, they vanished, reappearing an instant later within the opulent heart of Malfoy Manor. Voldemort smirked when they were easily let through the wards. Had the apparition failed, he would have had a different type of conversation with the Lord of the House.

Naturally, he was skilled enough to survive such a magical rejection, unlike most of the plebeians he was forced to deal with, so there was no need to prepare for such a worst-case scenario. His plans always came to fruition as he planned them, for his mind was far more advanced than others, and the fact that he was still included in the wards only served to prove that. 

Voldemort moved soundlessly like a phantom through the corridor, subconsciously applying Severus's spell to his cloak, animating it to below with each step on the cold marble. As he entered the high-ceilinged living room, he sent a jolt of magic through the Dark Mark, summoning the Lord of the House.

The Dark Lord didn’t have to wait long. Lucius Malfoy stumbled in moments later with his usually proud posture collapsing beneath fear. His pale face paled further at the sight of his master standing there, radiant in his malevolence, even more than he was used to now that he seemed completely hairless and more… serpentine. At the familiar, biting pain of the Dark Mark flaring, Lucius fell to one knee, head bowed low in the same, long-perfected submission that had ensured his survival in the past war.

“My Lord…” he whispered, barely hiding the terror in his voice, lest he risk his death at the insinuation that he expected to be killed for any wrongdoing on his part. At least he hoped it was hidden.

Voldemort's crimson eyes narrowed as he slowly levitated a cushion off an embroidered chair with a nonchalant wave of his hand and lowered himself into it. “A decade, Lucius,” he spoke coldly, accentuating the ‘s’ in his words. “And not once did you seek me. Not once did you search, or stir, or hope. I find that… disappointing.”

Lucius lowered his head further, trying to stop himself from trembling, for he had seen conversations like these many times as a member of the inner circle. The people the Dark Lord typically spoke to would soon find their end when all was said and done. “My Lord, if I had seen even the faintest sign, heard the faintest whisper, I would have done my utmost best to find you. But the trail was cold. I remained vigilant… for your sake.”

Voldemort’s thin fingers tapped once against the armrest as his magic conveyed his growing displeasure, but his expression stayed the same. “And yet,” he spoke slowly, “there have been whispers. In recent weeks, the signs returned. And I see a man now softened by comfort… and appearances.” His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Like a man who has perhaps renounced the old ways.”

Lucius’s voice cracked as he hurried to answer, “Only a façade, my Lord! I had to appear compliant, for the sake of influence… for the sake of power that might aid you when you returned. Azkaban would have made me useless.”

Voldemort tilted his head slightly, neither confirming nor denying his belief in the excuse verbally. The blonde spoke the truth after all, but it was also good to have them feel the fear from time to time, especially after a long journey away. He knew, unlike himself, some people needed periodic reminders as to where their place is in the bigger picture. 

Sensing familiar magic heading to the room, Voldemort’s gaze shifted from the grovelling man to the doorway. At that moment, Narcissa entered, poised and composed but with the same carefully measured grace he remembered from the sister of one of his most loyal – Bellatrix. Her eyes widened, just slightly, at the sight of his sitting form, but she assumed the correct position when in his presence, like her husband did, stepping forward and lowering into a deep curtsy.

“My Lord,” she greeted softly, much less cowardly than her male counterpart. “Welcome to our home. Shall I have refreshments prepared for you?”

Voldemort studied her for a moment as her features reminded him of her imprisoned older sister, before offering her a thin smile which didn’t even try to meet his eyes. “Tea,” he said. “I assume you have not forgotten how I prefer it made with my time away.”

“Of course, my Lord,” Narcissa bowed her head in acknowledgement and quickly turned to summon the house-elves, reciting exactly how Voldemort liked it. 

Good, Voldemort thought. She knew her place and was attentive enough in her role. A shame she preferred not to be a combatant like her sister. She would have made for a good soldier, unlike the failures he is constantly forced to order around and watch as they blunder his immaculately made plans.

As the elves scrambled away, Voldemort turned his eyes back to Lucius. “Let us speak of loyalty,” he murmured. “And of penance.”

Lucius could hear the faint hiss of the snake’s scales across the marble floor, filling the silence while her massive head circled the edge of the room as though she too were appraising her prey. A part of him was wondering if the Dark lord wanted his death to be by serpent as some sort of joke only he found funny.

Voldemort steepled his fingers as his crimson gaze bored into Lucius’s platinum-blond head. “Loyalty, Lucius… is not proven by words. It is carved into one’s actions… willingly, without hesitation, even when the world turns against you.”

The Lord of House Malfoy swallowed hard. “My Lord, I have never forgotten the cause. Every step I took in your absence was to preserve my position, my resources, so they would serve you when you returned. Azkaban–”

“Would have made you useless, yes yes, I heard you the first time,” the Dark Lord sounded irritated even without a change in expression or inflection of tone as a slow, mirthless smile curved his lips. “And yet in your absence from me, others whispered your name as if you were theirs to command. Whispers of deals with the Ministry. Whispers of respect for Albus Dumbledore.” His voice lowered to a cold purr. “Tell me, Lucius… are those whispers lies?”

Lucius’s heart thudded in his chest. “Lies, my Lord,” he said quickly. “I despise Dumbledore and all he stands for. My only goal was to survive the purge so that I might be useful when you inevitably returned. Dumbledore has been a useful tool, willingly or not, with many of my manoeuvres in the Wazingmot.”

Lucius could see a bare perceptible twitch in Voldemort’s eyes as the snake’s hissing grew momentarily louder, as if verbalising its master's irritation as the man in question spoke. “I would rather appreciate it if my followers didn’t just repeat themselves while rearranging the words as some sort of excuse.”

The hissing only quietened the moment the House Elves popped back into the room with a silver tray in hand, allowing the Lady of the House to levitate everything to the table beside Voldemort before popping away. 

Voldemort’s eyes flicked to her, and his irritation seemed to have vanished. “You married well, Lucius,” he complimented, accepting the tea without looking away from his host. Narcissa inclined her head in acknowledgement but remained standing to the side, respectfully keeping her eyes lowered as Voldemort took a slow sip of tea before continuing. “Still, words and pretty speeches cannot erase the fact that for a decade you lived without me and did nothing to hasten my return. That… must be remedied.”

Lucius dared to lift his eyes, his voice trembling. “What would you have me do, my Lord?”

Voldemort leaned forward slightly to let out a silky whisper. “You will prove your loyalty. You will do something the Ministry would never forgive.”

Lucius stiffened, ignoring the sweat gathering in his palms. “Anything, my Lord.”

A cruel smile stretched across Voldemort’s face as he set the teacup down, almost making Lucius flinch at the sound of the faint clink echoing ominously around the room. “Your task, Lucius… will not be some petty assassination or specific political manoeuvre. It will be the opening move in the game to come. A game the entire world will see.”

Lucius tilted his head slightly with cautious curiosity in his eyes, knowing the pale man in front of him was unlikely to explain what he was referencing. “My Lord?”

Voldemort leaned back, fingers lightly tracing the armrest of his chair. “You will gather those still loyal. Not merely here… but in every corner of the globe. Spread them if you have to. Europe, the Americas, Asia, Africa. My other followers and those willing to join in the shadows, hidden by the Statute of Secrecy for far too long.” 

His crimson gaze sharpened. “And then, you will instruct them to… slip. A little here. A little there. Enough to be noticed, but not caught. Slowly, steadily, they will break the Statute openly, in front of Muggle devices. The ones they use to create their pitiful imitations of moving portraits.”

While he knew the devices well. He was the greatest Dark Lord to have ever lived, and had been for over a decade… not some mudblood half-breed weakling.

Lucius’s eyes widened a fraction. “The… cameras, my Lord?” Seeing the raise… well it wasn’t technically a brow due to lack of hair in the area, but the skin above the eye rose. Lucious went to explain immediately. “There have been several attempts to raid our home for ‘Dark’ magic, my Lord. I overheard the term from one of the blood traitors involved.”

Luckily for him, the cold smile that crept across Voldemort’s lips wasn’t aimed at him. “Yes. Let them watch. Let them film. Let the entire Muggle world see things their fragile little minds cannot comprehend. Wizards in the streets, creatures from their nightmares, spells that rip apart steel and stone as easily as parchment.” He nodded to himself. “The Ministry will scramble. The ICW will panic. And in that chaos, the Muggles will begin to fear again. They will demand answers… and those answers will tear holes in the very fabric of the Statute.”

Lucius swallowed as he played it out in his head. Not the death of muggles, of course, but at the madness he would have to deal with in the Wazingmot. While he would no doubt benefit from muggle deaths, as it would allow him to recruit more in the grey faction to his side, he would also have to spend more galleons to fund security as time goes on.

Voldemort’s eyes gleamed with cruel amusement. “When the killing starts, it will die on camera, Lucius. The more the Muggles see, the deeper the seed of terror will grow. Go. Begin at once.” He sipped his tea again, as though they were merely discussing the weather. “Do not fail me, Lucius.”

Lucius bowed deeply. “It will be done, my Lord.”

From the corner, Narcissa’s expression remained unreadable, though her eyes flickered briefly toward her husband. She knew, possibly more than her husband, what this meant. She was a Black, after all. She had read books upon books of what happened every time a Dark Lord tried this method of ruling. It always failed. As the muggles advanced, it failed quicker in comparison.

Before Lucius could leave, Voldemort asked for one more thing. “I will need the book I entrusted to your care returned to me.”

Nagini hissed softly from her place near Voldemort’s chair, as though sealing the order in the air between them.

“Of course,” Lucius nodded respectfully. “I will retrieve it for you now.”

With that, he left the room. The heavy double doors of the room closed behind him with a muffled thud, leaving Narcissa to whatever fate the resurrected man had for her, standing quietly at the side of the room with hands clasped neatly in front of her.

Voldemort’s crimson gaze shifted to her. “Narcissa,” he said softly, yet with the weight of command, “I would have a word with your child.”

Her spine stiffened just slightly, though her composure never wavered. She had always wanted to keep her boy from the life for as long as possible. He was too impressionable and lacked the ability to think for himself. Too easily manipulated to the point she feared others in the circle would spend more time trying to remove him than actually going against the mudbloods.

If her sister were still here, or Severus, then maybe she would rest assured. But the lack of any word from Severus regarding the Dark Lord’s return indicated he may no longer be one of the Dark Lord’s most trusted. And her sister was currently indisposed.

“My Lord?” she asked carefully, as though each word was being weighed before release.

Voldemort leaned back in the armchair, fingers drumming lazily on the armrest. “I have a personal grievance with the one who goes by the name... Johnathan Grey. A student who I know shared classes with your son.” His gaze was like ice, cutting through any pretence. “I wish to know what Draco has seen, all he has heard. Every quirk, every oddity, every display of magic or unusual influence.”

Narcissa’s eyes flickered with the faintest spark of wariness. “Draco is still young, my Lord. I cannot say if his observations will be… thorough.”

A faint, humourless smile touched Voldemort’s lips. “A child’s honesty can be far more revealing than an adult’s polished lies. If the… creature is what I suspect, even the smallest detail may prove useful.” He straightened slightly as the air in the room tightened while Nagini slid closer to the fireplace, resting her head lazily on the floor but keeping her eyes fixed on Narcissa. “Retrieve the boy. And make sure he understands that withholding anything would be… unwise.”

Narcissa bowed her head just enough to show compliance, her voice even. “Of course, my Lord.”

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“There is only power, and those too weak to seek it.”

— Tom Riddle, AKA Lord Voldemort.

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Hello There

Why be your enemy’s only problem when you could give them a reason to agree with your hatred toward a ‘common’ problem.

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Disclaimer: I own nothing except my original character and ideas. All credit goes to their respective owners.

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Thank you for reading.

As always, stay awesome.

Until next time, Light's out.