Lord Voldemort inspected himself critically in the mirror before him.
Smooth skin, a shade too pale to be entirely natural.
A head of hair, thick and rich waves of dark brown with a touch of grey at the temples.
Rounded pupils, onyx irises, masking the crimson that once shined through.
Voldemort ran a hand over his face, marveling at what magic was capable of. He was no longer the spitting image of his disgusting muggle father nor was he the gruesome and feared Dark Lord that made his followers cower from a single look.
He appeared as someone else altogether.
Marvolo Gaunt, the previously unknown heir to the Gaunt line that could be traced back to Salazar Slytherin himself.
Marvolo Gaunt, the newly instated Minister of Magic through a nearly unanimous emergency vote of the Wizengamot.
Marvolo Gaunt, whose first order as Minister was to establish Martial Law and disband the Wizengamot until the evil Lord Voldemort was found and peace was brought back to their country.
It was a bold move, and not one he would have dared taken while the fool Albus was alive. Now that he was dead, at the hands of Lord Voldemort's horcrux no less, and the country floundered and feared where to go for help as their leaders continued to fall and the Boy-Who-Lived was operating from the shadows, it was a perfect opening for Voldemort to step forward and seize control.
None but the old fool and the first of his followers could definitively tie a half-blood named Marvolo to the greatest wizard to live.
Lord Voldemort sat back in his office, his fingers steepled beneath his chin, as he stared out the window and contemplated the situation with the Boy-Who-Lived.
Lord Voldemort had given him his chance to join him willingly, as partners. The boy rebuked his offer and mocked his attempts to curry favor with him through the death of the muggle family and the attacks on his enemies.
It may have still been a fruitful avenue to pursue. He could offer Potter the position of Minister, as he coveted it, but Voldemort knew now that his offer would be futile.
In his last attempt to persuade the boy to join him, to partner with him, Voldemort had unintentionally killed the mudblood child that Potter considered a brother in a fit of rage.
He knew then that Potter would now refuse to join him willingly. There would be no offer great enough to entice him, no threat strong enough to force him.
Which required Lord Voldemort to re-evaluate his best course of action regarding his horcrux.
Potter could not be harmed; it would be the same as harming Lord Voldemort himself and any who dared would be killed instantly.
Potter needed contained though. He was a thorn in Lord Voldemort's side and could not be allowed to run amuck. Through Potter's use of muggle incendiary weapons, further proof that his horcrux was resourceful and cunning, Lord Voldemort had lost seven followers. Nott, Avery, Pettigrew, and Bellatrix made it eleven. Fenrir, who had not been seen in weeks, made it an even dozen.
A dozen lives taken directly by the Boy-Who-Lived, a dozen lives taken by Voldemort's horcrux.
It was a small concern that the boy had outstripped Lord Voldemort himself in his levels of creative cruelty and ruthlessness. Not a true concern though, as Potter would be an excellent weapon to wield once he was reigned in and controlled.
But how to do such a thing…
Lord Voldemort was still contemplating it when there was a knock on his door.
"Enter," he called with the deep voice of Marvolo that was so different from the sibilant voice of the Dark Lord.
A bespeckled redhead opened the door hesitantly, perspiration shining on his forehead as he undoubtedly feared to intrude upon the Minister who ordered to be left alone.
"Sir?" he said quietly as he pushed his glasses up on his nose. "You asked me to do an inventory of the Hall of Prophecies?"
Lord Voldemort gestured for him to step inside, though not to take a seat as he would prefer to not have the stench of his anxiety assaulting his senses for long. "And?"
Marvolo Gaunt was curt. He was professional. He was cold.
But he could hardly afford to be cruel.
Not yet.
"And- and one is missing, sir," the man said hesitantly. "One labeled 'SPT to APW—"
"Enough," Voldemort snapped. He knew which prophecy it was. His horcrux had not been feigning when he said that he had stolen it. It was clever of him to ensure it could not be traced back to him. It was a curiosity, to hear the prophecy, but Lord Voldemort had eradicated its importance the instant he placed a piece of his soul inside the infant. "Dismissed."
The man sighed quietly and it was in that moment, in the slump of his shoulders and the angle of his face, that Voldemort realized he had seen him before…
"What is your name?"
The man turned back to Lord Voldemort and pushed his disgusting glasses up the sweaty bridge of his nose. "Percy Weasley, sir. I'm the Senior Undersecretary."
Weasley…
Lord Voldemort waved a regal hand for Weasley to sit in the hard backed chair across the desk from his own lavish seat. "Have a seat," he said, his voice deep but soft and inviting. "Tell me, Percy Weasley, why are you not at your brother's wedding today? I believe I heard he was marrying Harry Potter at your mother's home?"
It had been a nuisance, being forced to rifle through paperwork for requests off and listening in on conversations held between coworkers, but undoubtedly worth it when Lord Voldemort had one of his marked followers report to him that a Hit Wizard of the name Ritters, a known follower of his little horcrux, requested the day off for 'a family affair'. Ritters then mentioned to his partner that he had purchased his youngest son new robes for a wedding. Another followed was able to overhear Ritters and a Weasley man discuss 'Harry and Fred's' wedding.
His little horcrux was cunning, but he was a mere part of Lord Voldemort. His power, his intelligence, his charisma were all but a part of the whole.
This Weasley, one that Lord Voldemort's little horcrux had clearly written off, fidgeted on his seat. "I don't speak to Fred much," he said slowly, choosing his words with obvious care. "And- and Harry and I don't get along." He dropped his head and smoothed the robes on his lap. "I didn't receive an invite."
Neither did Lord Voldemort, though that hardly stopped him from reminding his little horcrux about his presence three hours after the ceremony was meant to start. He kindly gave him the opportunity to marry his betrothed, as poor of a choice as he was, then he ordered the DMLE to raid Molly Weasley's home and bring Harry Potter in for questioning on the disappearance of Albus Dumbledore.
Lord Voldemort had no intention of sending his little horcrux back to the prison that had broken him so beautifully- he had intended on revealing his position to him and seeing if they could come to an understanding.
His horcrux's followers could live, aside from the traitors Snape and Malfoy, and Lord Voldemort would protect them- if his little horcrux publicly accepted his place at the side of Minister of Magic Marvolo Gaunt.
And if his little horcrux would not listen to reason, then Lord Voldemort was prepared to move against him in ways he would never have been able to prior to this position.
His little horcrux, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, would learn that death was off the table for him. The two of them would live forever.
And, quickly, Lord Voldemort would drag the boy to his side. He no longer cared if he was willing or not. The boy belonged to him and it was time to return.
Lord Voldemort studied this Weasley his horcrux found useless curiously over his steepled fingers. "Percy Weasley," he drawled. "Tell me everything you know about Harry Potter."