Chapter 6: chapter 6 - Going to London
Voldemort sat motionless, his calm emerald eyes fixed on Arnie as he listened to the trembling servant's story. His long, pale fingers idly twirled his wand – a gesture that sent shivers down Arnie's spine. The Dark Lord's face was an unreadable mask, but the tension in the air was palpable.
Without warning, Voldemort's wand snapped towards Arnie. "Crucio!"
Agony exploded through Arnie's body. His bones felt as if they were shattering and reforming in an endless cycle of torment. This pain surpassed even the worst he had endured at the hands of his previous tormentor, the cook.
Though the pain lasted mere moments, to Arnie, it felt like an eternity.
As suddenly as it began, the pain ceased. Voldemort's cold voice cut through the silence. "Get up."
Arnie struggled to his feet, his body still trembling from the aftershocks. He kept his head bowed, afraid to meet his master's gaze.
"Look at me," Voldemort commanded.
Reluctantly, Arnie raised his eyes. The moment their gazes locked, he felt a foreign presence invade his mind. Memories flashed before him – snippets of his past, his fears, his secrets – as Voldemort sifted through his thoughts at will. When the Dark Lord finally withdrew, Arnie felt violated and exposed.
Voldemort's thin lips curled into a sneer. "You think I was harsh with you."
"I... I dare not question your methods, Master," Arnie stammered.
A heavy silence fell over the room before Voldemort spoke again, his voice dangerously soft. "Actually, I've been lenient."
Surprise flitted across Arnie's face before he could suppress it.
"There are a few things I cannot abide," Voldemort continued, his eyes narrowing. "Betrayal. Weakness. Failure. And above all, lying." He leaned forward slightly, causing Arnie to flinch. "When I ask a question, I expect the truth. A single Cruciatus Curse is indeed merciful of me."
Arnie swallowed hard. "Thank you for your mercy, Master. I am undeserving of such kindness."
Voldemort rose from his seat, towering over the diminutive servant. "I'm leaving for London. In my absence, you will oversee the manor and hire some house-elves."
"As you command, Master," Arnie replied, bowing deeply.
Voldemort's gaze swept over Arnie's ragged form. "And get yourself some new attire. Something more... fitting."
Terror gripped Arnie's heart. "Master, please! Are you freeing me? I beg your forgiveness. I'll do anything—"
"Silence!" Voldemort's voice cracked like a whip. "I'm not freeing you, you fool. You'll choose your own clothes – but you remain bound to me."
With a fluid motion of his wand, Voldemort conjured a shimmering portal. Through it, Arnie glimpsed an empty London street.
"I'll return in a few days," Voldemort said, stepping towards the magical gateway.
As his master disappeared through the portal, Arnie stared in awe. 'Such power,' he thought. 'I've never seen magic like this, despite my years of service to wizards.'
Arnie examined his trembling hands, his emotions in turmoil. His new master was undoubtedly brilliant, creating spells beyond imagination. Yet, the Dark Lord's casual cruelty was terrifying.
A bitter laugh escaped Arnie's lips. "The Dark Lord, nice? What a foolish thought that I had. I've seen what he does to his enemies."
He felt the invisible bonds of servitude tighten as Voldemort donned his ring this evening at Gringotts Bank. Arnie knew then that true freedom was no longer an option – nor did he desire it. His path was clear: obey and survive.
With a deep breath, Arnie straightened his posture. He had work to do, and failure was not an option. Not with Lord Voldemort as his master.
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In a deserted London street, cloaked in shadows, Voldemort retrieved a vial of Polyjuice Potion he had procured from Paris. He drank it swiftly, feeling his features contort and shift. Despite the transformation, he kept his face concealed beneath his hood as he emerged from the alley.
His destination was the British branch of Gringotts Bank. It was nearly closing time, with just ten minutes left before the doors would shut for the night—operating hours being from six in the morning until eight in the evening.
Voldemort approached the reception desk, he requested to exchange a sum of Galleons for Muggle currency.
The goblin behind the counter blinked in surprise at the unusual request. According to Ministry of Magic regulations, goblins were accustomed to facilitating such transactions for Muggle-born wizards entering the magical world for the first time. This typically involved swapping their shining Galleons for the worn paper notes of the Muggle realm.
Muggles need galleons to buy things in the wizarding world. But why would a wizard need muggle money?
Despite his disdain for this stupid move, the goblin was eager to rid himself of the worthless paper money and quickly completed the exchange with a look of disdain.
Voldemort barely acknowledged the goblin, his mind focused on more pressing matters. He loathed the goblin race, and nothing could deepen that hatred further. Instead, he concentrated on the connection he felt to his Horcrux, ensuring it remained secure.
'Fortunately, it seems to still be in its place,' he mused, sensing the golden cup safely ensconced in the bank's labyrinthine vaults, specifically the Lestrange family vault.
The shifting tides of the magical world had unsettled him, raising concerns about the safety of his Horcruxes. Yet, this one appeared untouched.
'Still secure,' he thought with satisfaction as he exited the bank.
He wasn't in a hurry to retrieve the Horcrux. His plan was to wait until he had gathered all of them before attempting to destroy any. Acting too soon might alert the original Voldemort—something he was determined to avoid.
He would not under any circumstances want two Voldemorts to appear in the same place at the same time in front of everyone, it would ruin his reputation and prestige. The original Voldemort is more than capable of causing problems for him, even more so for Dumbledore because it would make his followers doubt and lose their trust in him.
Voldemort had a plan for the Muggle money. He intended to blend in with Muggles for a time, driven by an unexpected desire: to be a good father. He envisioned spending time with his son, hoping to form a bond before revealing his true identity.
Engaging in activities within the magical world was too risky; he couldn't afford exposure.
Yes, Voldemort wants to be good father.
Ewan's obsession was fatherhood, imagining what could have been if his children had survived the accident and grow up.
Voldemort mused that if his son showed promise, he might spare his life. But meeting his high standards would be no easy feat.
His visit to Britain had multiple objectives. First, he needed to assess his son's circumstances, though he decided to remain incognito for a month. Second, he aimed to gauge the political climate of the magical world and refine his strategies. Third, he needed to hire staff for his manor, particularly a skilled gardener to tend the medicinal plants.
He considered seeking help from Lucius Malfoy but dismissed the idea. Revealing himself prematurely was unwise, especially since his power was not yet fully restored. His most loyal followers languished in Azkaban, and those outside served him more out of fear than loyalty.
After completing his tasks, Voldemort left Diagon Alley and ventured into a Muggle restaurant. He enjoyed a surprisingly satisfying meal, then selected a clean, well-appointed hotel room for the night.
Exhausted from the day's transformations—from Ewan to Voldemort + Ewan — he cast protective spells around the room and called it a day, pondering the unexpected path his life had taken.