It was only a short while later that they arrived at their destination. Harry felt himself pass through the wards surrounding the Hogwarts grounds, which indicated that they had traveled quite a ways. He wasn't sure if this was a good thing. It meant they could apparate away if they needed to get out in a hurry, and that they could defend themselves. It also meant that everyone else was free to throw whatever spells they wished at them, and no one would know. They stopped in a dark clearing, and the occasional peek of moonlight as it shone through the thick cloud cover overhead did little to illuminate the darkness.
The robed figure standing in the center of the clearing, however, was clearly visible to all. The moment Harry saw the figure, he didn't have to feel the prickling of his scar to know that it was Voldemort. The poise with which he held himself could belong to no other, and Harry hastily erected all of his occlumency shields. Part of him had known that he would meet Voldemort tonight, though part had also been hoping that wouldn't be the case. It would be much easier to deal with one of his lieutenants trying to recruit students than the dark lord himself, but then again, Voldemort had never been one to leave his recruitment to others.
Harry fervently hoped that Voldemort either wasn't as well-versed in legilimency as he would be in the future, or that he wasn't going to probe very deep. If he learned that Harry was from the future, and was planning on stopping him… For a brief moment, Harry reached for his wand, entertaining the notion of killing Voldemort right now, ending the fight before the dark lord even knew there was an enemy in his ranks. An elbow to his ribs stopped him, as he glanced over at Bellatrix next to him, grateful for once that she had brought him back to reality. There was no way he could hope to face Voldemort with his piece of rubbish wand. Besides, Harry wasn't putting down good odds on him succeeding in taking down Voldemort right now, even with a good wand. Even now, decades before they would first meet, Voldemort had years of experience and dark rituals that gave him abilities Harry couldn't fathom-especially since he was still human. Dumbledore had once speculated that his resurrection had actually weakened Voldemort, his makeshift body unable to channel the same energies that his original one could.
Following everyone else, the group arranged itself into a single row facing the dark figure who was watching them attentively, but silently. Harry made sure that he was at the end of the line, down from the Lestranges and Malfoy, so that if he had to make a break for it, the only thing standing between him and the deep forest were a dozen feet of open ground. Bellatrix positioned herself next to him. When the chatter had quieted and everyone taken their places, Voldemort took a few steps forward, eyeing them carefully. Eventually, he spoke.
"Welcome, scions of our race's noble houses."
Harry was surprised that his voice, while unmistakably Voldemort's, lacked the unearthly quality and the hissed, drawn-out syllables that the future Voldemort spoke with. Then again, the Voldemort he knew had been resurrected, and was more snake and demon than man. In fact, he sounded suspiciously like the memory of Tom Riddle from the diary Harry had encountered during his second year. He sounded… human.
When nothing else came after that brief greeting, Harry glanced up to see that Voldemort was approaching Rodolphus Lestrange. Looking straight into the Slytherin student's eyes, Voldemort inclined his head. "Look at me," he spoke, quietly, but with enough authority that everyone stilled immediately. Lestrange cooperated, and looked up from beneath his cloak into Voldemort's eyes. The dark lord held the contact a moment longer, then moved on, apparently satisfied. Lestrange's brother seemed a bit intimidated by the entire thing, but obeyed, as well.
Malfoy, on the other hand, smirked and stared back into Voldemort's eyes proudly, his spine straight and shoulders squared. Voldemort almost seemed to smile at that, and Harry had to wonder if this was where he was going to sort out the grunts from the brains. As the dark lord made his way down the line, Harry fought to contain his growing nervousness. He could tell that Bellatrix had sensed that he was getting agitated, which in turn increased her anxiety. Harry realized too late that he had no idea whether Bellatrix knew occlumency, and if she did, whether she was good enough at it to keep Voldemort at bay. If she wasn't, and he found out that she was up to something and that he was involved…
Before he could formulate a plan, an excuse, anything that might divert attention from his and Bellatrix's investigation, Voldemort had come to a halt before the young witch. She, too, looked straight into his eyes, almost defiantly. Her face was expressionless, but her posture was straight, and she had drawn herself up to her full height, looking every inch the aristocrat the Old Families claimed to be. If Voldemort discovered anything, he said nothing, and simply moved on to Harry.
And then Harry found himself staring into a much younger Voldemort's face. The first thing Harry noted was that the snake-like qualities that so distinguished the dark lord's appearance in the future were not present, yet. Whether they were a result of future rituals, or a remnant of his revival, Harry didn't know, but the person staring down at him right now could have been a carbon copy of the elegant, graceful seventh-year student Harry had originally met as Tom Marvolo Riddle, if slightly older. The only thing that was different were the eyes… where Tom Riddle's eyes had been blue in his seventh year, now they were a shade of red so dark Harry almost thought them black. Their eyes met, and suddenly, Harry felt a sensation he had nearly forgotten as his scar began to prickle.
Voldemort must have felt something, as well, because the dark lord stared at Harry for far longer than he had at anyone else. Finally, he raised a hand to Harry's forehead and brushed away his hair. Catching a glimpse of the pale white, bony, almost malnourished-looking hand and wrist told Harry that despite the normal appearance of his face, Voldemort had clearly already begun his transformation by ancient rituals. "Interesting," Voldemort muttered as he caught sight of the lightning-bolt shaped scar.
Harry was almost ready to make a break for it, his occlumency shields raised and reinforced in anticipation of the dark lord's probe, but it never came. He held himself still and maintained Voldemort's gaze by sheer force of will, hoping that if he acted as if nothing was out of the ordinary, Voldemort would merely dismiss the sensation they were both feeling. Eventually, it turned out Harry didn't have to act on his instincts, as Voldemort turned around and walked back towards the center of the clearing. Facing the crowd, he spread his arms dramatically.
"You are all here today because of who you are. You are the heirs to the most powerful wizarding families in Great Britain. Through your veins runs the purest of wizarding blood, descended from the Old Families. Magic is your birthright. This world is your heritage. Your ancestors fought and laboured for a better world, elevating themselves in the eyes of the wizarding world. Once, they ruled this land, theirs by right. Now, the world they fought for, the world they crafted for their children, and children's children, has been corrupted. Slowly but surely, the taint of muggles creeps into our world, diluting our pure blood and heritage. Our culture is being lost to the masses, to those who could never understand, because they were not born with the same powers as you."
Voldemort glanced at each of them in turn. "They seek to strip you of your birthright. They seek to strip you of your titles and wealth, the titles and wealth your ancestors earned, the titles and wealth which are yours by birth. Our leaders seek to make us all equal. They would have you believe that you are just the same as muggleborn and squibs. In truth, you are not. Does the heritage of the Old Families run through their bloodline? No! Do they have any claims to the same riches and titles that you, who are descended from the Old Families, have? No! They do not know our world . Even many of your parents now sit idle while those who deserve nothing, who have earned nothing, who have rights to nothing, take everything . You have seen the streets of our wizarding world. The streets filled with the muggleborn and even those without the gift of magic. Those who would eventually abandon our world for their own. We cannot let this continue, we cannot let the future of the wizarding world rest on those who would abandon it so easily if it was convenient to them!"
Voldemort had begun pacing, his cloak swirling around him. "This world is yours by right. This world is yours to protect. Our leaders seek to deny you the study of the ancient magics, claiming that it would be too dangerous, claiming that it would tear our world asunder. But what they have really done is cripple our means of defending ourselves against all threats, inside and out. We can no longer stand for the desecration of our world, of our rights as the firstborn families of magic. We can no longer stand for this infestation that permeates every part of our society, festering, rotting away at us from the inside until we are so weak that we collapse. If you neglect to stand up now, to stand up for what is yours, to stand up for what you deserve, then it will be too late. And everything that we have, will be gone."
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