Voldemort's Return

Arnie took the lead, showing Voldemort around with a cheerful demeanor, despite the castle's dilapidated state.

"I am sorry, Master. The castle is in this terrible state because no one was here to take care of it."

"It's alright," Voldemort replied, waving a hand dismissively. "It will be taken care of later."

"Yes, Master! You will never be disappointed. Arnie will ensure the castle is restored to its prime, even if it means many sleepless nights!"

Voldemort, observing the elf's enthusiasm, asked, "Will your sudden disappearance cause any problems?"

Arnie paused, considering the question. "Master, an elf's life is worth less than dirt on the road. No one will care about my life or death. But if they did try to summon me back, they would fail. My loyalty remains solely with House Veirdent."

Voldemort studied the little creature thoughtfully.

'I can see he resents his treatment. The rags he wears are decades old.'

'It seems he wasn't truly bound to the Ministry, given how easily he left. While he's dissatisfied with his conditions, like many of his kind, he has a psychological need for being submissive..'

'If anyone showed him kindness, he'd likely be fiercely loyal.'

As they walked through the halls, Arnie gestured to the portraits lining the walls. "Master, these are the portraits of the esteemed Veirdent family members. Here is the grand ancestor, Henri Veirdent, and his wife, Marella Veirdent."

"Arnie, I have no interest in them," Voldemort interrupted, his voice firm yet measured. "Let's move on."

"Understood, Master. This staircase leads to the dungeons," Arnie said, bowing slightly as he gestured forward.

"Let's proceed."

According to Arnie, there is a laboratory, a cellar, a storage area, and in the deepest part of the dungeon, prison cells.

Voldemort approached the laboratory with anticipation. 'The lab of a prominent European family should be impressive.'

"Arnie, has anyone entered the castle since the family's demise in Paris? Has anything been disturbed?"

"No, Master. The castle remains unknown to the Ministry, and no one has entered."

Voldemort's expression was unreadable as he inspected the shelves. 'Curious. If no one has been here, how was Arnie forced out by the Ministry? He claims to have been born here, which means they shouldn't even know he exists.'

'He is quite an interesting elf. He said he came to Paris using a vanishing cabinet. I'm sure he didn't use the official ones, as they are guarded from both sides – the British side and the French side. That means he used one of the unofficial ones, which are only used for unholy reasons like spying and sabotage. But how did he know of its existence?'

Voldemort sighed as he examined a bottle. "Another wasted. Many ingredients have fermented. I'll deal with this later. Let's continue."

"Yes, Master," Arnie replied promptly.

Arnie took Voldemort to see the garden, which was in a terrible state due to the weeds.

The garden was so big that it had to be separated into sections. Passing by the medical garden, Voldemort noticed something.

"Manderrake?"

"Yes, Master. It was planted by the previous owner. It should be fifty years old now."

"Don't get close to it. Actually, let's just leave! There's nothing much to see here anyway."

Unfortunately, herbology is one of Voldemort's weak points, but that doesn't mean he doesn't know that the screaming of a manderrake this old is no joke at all!

Voldemort passed by the water garden, which looked incredibly ugly after the ponds and the fountain had dried up. Then, he re-entered the castle through the tea room.

Voldemort glanced around before asking, "Arnie, why do you refer to yourself in the third person?"

The elf seemed taken aback. "Arnie doesn't understand, Master. This is how all house-elves speak."

'He dodged the question,' Voldemort thought. 'House-elves can't refuse an order from their masters. Perhaps I'll only be his true master once I possess the family heirloom.'

"Do they? Earlier, when you were frustrated and started beating yourself, you used 'I'."

The elf froze, eyes wide. "A... Arnie is sorry! Master, please punish this bad elf!"

As Arnie began to hit himself, Voldemort's voice cut through the air, firm and commanding. "Stop that immediately."

Arnie halted, trembling slightly under Voldemort's intense gaze. "I am your master, and only I have the right to discipline you. Do not harm yourself without my orders. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master."

"Now, Arnie, be honest. Answer my question."

"It's as I said, Master. I speak like all house-elves. I don't want to stand out, as it could lead to punishment from other elves and my masters." The elf's voice carried a hint of old pain.

"An elf speaking in the third person seems foolish, and that's expected. Only the master should be intelligent. The elf is meant to be a pathetic creature dependent on his master."

"Do you hate it?" Voldemort asked, his eyes narrowing.

"No, Master. I don't hate serving. I just dislike acting like an idiot."

"Then don't. I'm not so shallow as to deny you the right to speak freely."

Arnie looked at him with a mix of emotions and simply said, "Thank you, Master," feeling a sense of relief.

After this conversation, Arnie showed the rest of the castle: the kitchen, the guest house, the observatory, and many more.

Voldemort ordered Arnie to clean the master bedroom and the study room fi00]0rst, and then the hallways. He could clean the other rooms slowly.

Sitting in his new room, Voldemort was making some plans to move on.

'I don't want to be hated by the magical society. One cannot win against the world all by himself, not in my current situation at least! So, I need a justification – why I was such a terrible terrorist and a leader of extremist criminal organizations?'

Voldemort thought for a bit,

'I was under a curse!'

He smirked sarcastically.

'They will never believe it! How could the mighty Dark Lord be cursed? But that's the only justification I can come up with.'

'I will leave this for later. I have more pressing issues now.'

He got up and moved to the wardrobe. 'What is this?'

The robes were from the 1700s, with an assortment of bright colors, leaving Voldemort cringing. 'Was the previous owner a peacock? I'll have Arnie burn these or donate them to charity.'

Voldemort searched until he found a simple cloak that could hide his face. After using a cleaning spell, he put it on.

"Arnie," he called.

"Yes, Master?" the elf responded promptly.

"Take me to Gringotts."

"Yes, Master."

Arnie gripped Voldemort's robe, and with a snap of his fingers, they vanished from the castle.

They reappeared in front of the French Gringotts Wizarding Bank. Voldemort entered and approached the reception.

The goblin behind the desk was so absorbed in his work that he didn't notice the new client. 'Just like in Britain. One day, I'll deal with these vermin!'

Goblins were small, unpleasant creatures who made their reception desks high to appear taller than humans. No one really liked them.

After a few minutes, the goblin looked up and asked in a clipped tone, "Yes?"

"I came for a heritage test," Voldemort replied. Ewan, once a top journalist, was fluent in several languages, believing it essential for his work.

The goblin nodded curtly. "20 Galleons."

Voldemort had anticipated this and placed the money on the desk, waiting as the goblin counted it.

"Follow me," the goblin instructed, climbing down and leading Voldemort to a nearby room.

He handed Voldemort a quill. "Poke your finger with this."

Without hesitation, Voldemort pricked his finger, allowing a drop of blood to fall. The quill absorbed it and began writing on a piece of parchment.

Moments later, the goblin picked up the paper, his eyes briefly widening before he regained composure.

"You are the heir of the Veirdent family," he stated, a note of respect entering his voice.

He stepped back slightly. "Please wait here. I will inform the manager."

The goblin departed briskly, ensuring he maintained his professional demeanor despite the surprising revelation.

Voldemort picked up the parchment, seeing his true name: Thomas Marvolo Riddle, along with his magical lineage.

A few minutes later, the manager entered with a composed expression.

"Good afternoon, sir. I'm Manager Zirkle, responsible for the Veirdent vault," she said, her tone respectful.

"Good afternoon," Voldemort replied calmly.

"As the sole heir of House Veirdent, I'm authorized to present you with this," Zirkle continued, handing him a small box.

Voldemort opened it to reveal a ring set with a bright green emerald. The family heirloom!

He examined it briefly before putting it on. "Can I change my name?"

"Yes, Your Lordship. What would you like it to be?"

"Voldemort Veirdent," he declared with confidence.