Today in the news, the return of the dark lord, but we don't care, our team is in the World Cup final POPOPOPOOOPOPOPOPO

Author's note: Volume 4 is rated M partly because of a chapter that contains child torture. So that you can skip this chapter if you wish, I will add a summary of what happened at the beginning of the next chapter.

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Harry/Voldemort put down the day's Daily Prophet with satisfaction. That idiot Fudge had finally followed the advice he had sent him via his faithful Lucius Malfoy.

Voldemort still couldn't believe that this wretch had managed to stay in power for so long without understanding that slandering his opponents was doing them a favor. Especially when it was obvious to any sensible person that they were right. How did he hope to convince the population that a double murder marked with his dark mark was the work of the order?

When one cannot suppress a matter, one must create a matter within the matter and then another until people forget the initial matter (note from the author: in reality, this is a probably apocryphal quote from Pasqua). First by passing on to his incompetent journalists the investigative work of his Death Eaters and his idea of accusing Dumbledore of embezzling an inheritance based on the curious arrangement that made him the hidden owner of the house where the double murder took place. Then by revealing that after the war, some of his Death Eaters had used the same goblin lawyer to hide their own properties from ministry seizures.

In one week, everyone had forgotten the brand and was only talking about corruption, inequality within the wizarding world, and war criminals remaining in positions of power. These rarely discussed themes were seized upon like hungry dogs by progressive forces (much to Dumbledore's dismay, who found himself all alone). Thus, this frightening parenthesis for the British wizarding economy that Dumbledore's warnings had been seemed to be closing. Harry/Voldemort exulted at the stupidity of his contemporaries. Now, the entire newspaper was devoted to the upcoming World Cup final. Even foreign wizards had stopped worrying about the situation, and the hotels were once again full.

He looked up at the room and was pleased to see that it was starting to become too small to accommodate all his Death Eaters. Yes, he had worked well over the past week, Voldemort congratulated himself. But there was still much to be done if he wanted to make up for his initial neglect.

Seeing that his master was available, Peter Pettigrew bowed before him:

Master, Karkaroff informs you that his mission is a success. He has placed the object in the agreed location.

Perfect. You will confirm to him that as promised, I am definitively forgiving his betrayal. But it's the last time. Ask Rosier to make sure the message is impactful.

Master, without meaning to offend you, many are wondering what Karkaroff could have done for you to (…)

Oh! They wonder? I didn't know you had the skills to ask yourself that kind of question, given your chronic inability to satisfy me. If you really have such intellectual skills, thenUse them to carry out my orders and not to question them. He shouted at the crowd gathered in front of his throne, which shrank under his gaze.

Well, thought Voldemort. Now that he had refocused on strengthening his forces, he realized that he should not have forgiven Karkaroff so easily for his double betrayal. If the few loyal followers he had left began to think that they could betray him without facing consequences, he would soon find himself alone. But Karkaroff had proven surprisingly useful, and to succeed in his plan, he desperately needed a contact in the countries of the former Soviet bloc.

Peter continued, trembling, with the agenda and the order of the day:

Lord Nott is waiting.

Good. Let him in.

The large doors of the immense Malfoy manor's drawing room opened to reveal Lord Nott in his Death Eater attire and his 14-year-old son in ceremonial clothing that alone must have cost more money than Tom Riddle had ever possessed. But what did money represent compared to power? He got his answer when, at a gesture from his father, young Nott bowed so low to the ground that his head touched the floor.

My lord, it is an honor to finally meet you. Said the young man.

Before responding, Voldemort took a moment to scrutinize him. Despite his submissive posture, his gestures and aura betrayed his combat training. Nott Senior had done a good job. Despite his young age, he would no doubt have had no trouble standing up to his new recruits in a duel. There was no doubt that as he grew, he would surpass his father and become his best assassin. At least, if he was truly loyal to him:

I am happy with his arrangements. The memories of my host are like muddled, diluted in a marshmallow of love that prevents any serious introspection. But certain reminiscences made me fear a lack of eagerness to serve me.

Master, if you are talking about the article (…)

Endoloris

The young Nott began to scream in pain without any restraint on the cold floor of the house.

You will learn that one does not interrupt their lord when he is speaking.

Yes master.

And also not to insult my intelligence. Only a fool would give the slightest credit to what is told in this rag.

Of course, master.

On the other hand, I have a clear memory of you stating that our side was doomed to defeat. Do you still think so?

Theodore, what is he saying? Asked his father furiously.

Endoloris. I did not authorize you to intervene. Declared Voldemort while Nott's father writhed in pain on the dusty floor.

Young Nott got up and looked at Harry/Voldemort and in a calm voice said:

Yes

Harry/Voldemort waited for more, but nothing came. He lifted the Doloris from his father and asked.

What just yes? That's a bit short young man. What could make you fear such a dire outcome? Maybe you fear that I am not as strong as Dumbledore?

He saw the men all around him tremble at his words.

Dumbledore could barely resist you in his prime. Today, he is old and tired. He will be powerless against your might.

You know how to flatter your lord. But you won't get away so easily. Why are you so sure of our defeat?

I would not insult your intelligence, as the reason is laid out before your eyes. The magnificence of this room cannot hide our weakness. It has now been several weeks since you returned, and you are still able to gather all your followers in a single room. Only their masks allow us to believe that it is an army and not the bridge club of a retirement home.

Everyone shuddered upon hearing this and prepared for a terrible punishment to make them forget the audacious words. Even Nott senior discreetly moved away from his son. But to their astonishment, Voldemort began to laugh.

Ah ah ah! I did not expect this interview to be so entertaining. But you are absolutely right. In my absence, the pathetic efforts of Lucius and your father barely managed to slow down that old lemony lover of Muggles. In a very short time, the wizarding society has converted to his ideas of openness, and now, in public, even the most convinced of my followers are forced to rally to the new cult.

Before continuing, he cast a hard look over all the men in the room, who had the good sense to lower their eyes in shame.

Perhaps I could seize power, but I couldn't govern for very long a mass radically opposed to our noble ideals by relying on this aging assembly of cowards. That's probably what you're thinking?

My lord, you have summarized my thoughts better than I could ever have done. He replied, bowing very low.

And that is why for this war, we will radically change our strategy. This time, we will not do things by halves. This time, we will no longer hold back our strength in the name of morality or honor. End compromises for the sake of gaining power. We will strike a big blow while they do not expect it and completely destroy the wizarding society. Then we will gather the survivors under our yoke to rebuild it on new foundations, free from the impure blood that taints it. Gentlemen, in a week, from the ashes of the old world will emerge a beautiful and pure society that will finally recognize your worth.

As his speech progressed, a clamor rose that swept the entire audience into jubilation. The entire audience except for Théodore, who was still in the center of the stage. But this did not seem to bother Voldemort, who continued.

To realize this vision, I would need fresh blood, with new ideas. Despite your young age, you demonstrate outstanding qualities and your blood is among the purest that can be found. And as you pointed out, I need to bolster my ranks. Exceptionally, I have decided to grant you the immense honor of being marked. Roll up your sleeve and extend your arm.

Still without showing the slightest emotion, Nott stepped forward a few paces until he was within arm's reach of his lord and knelt down. He rolled up his sleeve and was about to extend his arm. Then his lord looked him straight in the eyes. He hesitated, then after a few seconds stood up and spoke in his eternal calm and emotionless voice:

No

This simple word resonated in the large silent room like a cannon shot. No one dared to speak a word, but everyone wondered if they had heard correctly. No one had ever even considered refusing the mark.

My lord, please forgive my son, he is (….)

Endoloris! I thought I already told you not to interrupt me. And you, you better provide me with an explanation containing more than 3 syllables. Voldemort finished in a threatening tone.

I have already explained my reasons to your host. And I hate repeating myself.

Please make an exception for me. Or your father will pay the price.

My father made his choices and I make mine. I am a Nott and I place the honor of our name above all else. Including my own life. I would never accept the mark of a half-blood.

Some will consider these to be brave words. Endoloris! But these are just the actions of an immature personality. Endoloris! What a shame, you had such potential. Caveapulso! Atakunto!

Immediately, Nott's ribs broke one after the other with a disturbing noise before he was thrown against the wall.

But you are lucky. I know how to be merciful. Apparently, you wish to die. I will therefore grant your request. But first, you will entertain my troops. Let each of you use it to let off steam. I will reward the one who shows the most creativity. We will see what remains of the famous Nott honor after that. Nott, you start!

He said, pointing his finger at Nott Senior, who was struggling to get up after the last Cruciatus he had received from his master. He took out his wand and without the slightest hesitation pronounced: Crucio

Hmm. A bit too classic for my taste. Next. Voldemort simply commented.

During the following hour, Theodore endured the destruction and repair of each of his bones multiple times, including some he didn't know existed. Every part of his body was stabbed with knives and lacerated. He wanted to scream, but his jaw had long been completely destroyed. At first, he set himself a single goal: not to beg to be finished off. He knew he couldn't help but scream or try to flee, but he hoped to retain that last shred of pride. Alas, very quickly, any thought vanished from his mind. He no longer knew who he was or where he was. All he wanted was for it to stop. When a Death Eater asked him to lick his shoes so he wouldn't cast a spell on him, he complied without thinking. But immediately after, the Death Eater went back on his word and cast the Cruciatus Curse on him to the applause of Voldemort, who crowned him the champion of this morbid competition.

The part of his brain that could still think was relieved. Finally, he was going to die. Then in an explosion, a slab lifted, and a huge smoke spread. No one could see anything anymore, but Theodore felt himself lifted. Then a bubble appeared that pushed back the cloud of smoke. Theodore then saw next to the person carrying him, Justin Finch-Fletchley and Blaise Zabini. He turned his head and saw in the center of the bubble Harry/Voldemort blocking their only way out.

No! What were they doing here? Thought Theodore, before telling himself that it was probably just an illusion to torture him further. But how was it possible for an illusion to hurt so much?

He watched indifferently as his friends cast spells on the dark lord, who deflected them with a negligent wave of his hand. A second later, the wands ofHis friends were flying towards the lord of darkness who destroyed them in a burst of sparks.

They then rushed towards the exit in a desperate attempt to escape. But already, the dark lord raised his wand and then stopped in the middle of his gesture. He remained frozen, his face clearly showing his incomprehension. After about twenty seconds, he regained control and launched a bombarda that propelled him and his bearer into the air.

But it was too late. They were now outside the boundaries of the spells that Voldemort had personally placed with the Elder Wand, to prevent any untimely apparition or disappearance. They shouted: "DOBBY." Immediately, an elf dressed in a pastel-colored ninja outfit appeared and with a snap of his fingers transported them a few kilometers away. The elf would have liked to put them completely out of danger, but the Dark Lord's anti-apparition spells were so powerful that this simple journey had exhausted him. They would have to do the rest on foot.

Before fainting, Theodore tried to scream. But in his state, he could barely murmur:

Justin, you idiot, can we know what you're doing here? I told you to leave the country.

First, I leave if I want to. Second, if you keep complaining, we'll turn around and take you back. Declared Justin without noticing that his interlocutor was no longer in a state to hear his response.

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A few hours later

Through the hole in the throne room, Peter Pettigrew contemplated the garden where peacocks frolicked carelessly. After receiving his punishment like the others for letting the young adolescents escape, he had been tasked with repairing the wall. But he couldn't concentrate on his task. So, even a Slytherin could be brave. His master was right. Young Nott had been quite immature to rebel so openly. He just had to accept a darn tattoo. It wasn't much. And yet, one question obsessed him: Was he really wrong?

He was pulled from his reflections by Lucius Malfoy moving in a princely manner towards the exit of his estate.

Lucius, can I talk to you for a few seconds?

Lucius stared at him with a condescending and contemptuous look.

I have a lot of work. The master has entrusted me with a mission of the utmost importance. Maybe another time.

It will only take a few seconds. Just enough time to dispel a certain rumor.

What rumor?

It seems that you have misplaced the diary that the master entrusted to you. It would be a shame for such trifles to disturb our lord's peace.

Lucius turned considerably pale.

Yes, very unfortunate, indeed. Perhaps we should have this conversation in my office on the third floor.

Finally, the Sorting Hat had been wrong. Peter thought as he followed the Death Eater.

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Author's note. This chapter is heavily inspired by a chapter of the fanfic:Le droit de choisir .