The breakfast room was much cozier than Harry had expected. Instead of an almost comically long dinner table in a massive dining hall, made up with six forks and cloth napkins and porcelain plates under diamond chandeliers, Malfoy led them down a short set of stairs, through a sort of greenhouse and out onto a balcony overlooking an impressive flower garden, complete with a hedge maze, fountains, and statues.

The balcony itself had flowering vines climbing about its railing and hanging off the walls, filling the small open space with a pleasantly sweet scent. It also held a round table large enough to comfortably sit six. Indeed, there were six places set, though not in the elaborate manner Harry and his friends might have feared. The table did have a cloth over it, but it was an unadorned white one that didn't turn out to be made of anything more exotic than cotton, and the silverware was set in a familiar and comfortable arrangement with no more than one fork, one spoon, and one butter knife per person with a white cotton napkin neatly folded beneath the fork on the left. All in all, it was posher than they generally went for at breakfast time, but not as posh as they might have expected in such a manor.

Malfoy sat himself with his back to the view and Harry sat down across from him. Hermione and Ron immediately took the chairs on either side of him. It felt surreal. Yesterday at this same time, Harry had been a bundle of nerves preparing for the final task. Yesterday, he had been certain he understood the basics of the war that had ended thirteen years before. Yesterday he had been absolutely certain that Voldemort was evil, that Voldemort killed his parents, and that Dumbledore was kind and good. Yesterday felt like at least a decade ago.

Now he was sitting at the same table as a confirmed death eater, while Voldemort roamed somewhere nearby and he was questioning everything.

Breakfast appeared in much the same manner food always appeared at Hogwarts, filling the small table with simple but appetizing foods. There were French baguettes, fruits, yogurt, eggs, sausage, beans, and lightly toasted slices of bread, all steaming hot or properly cool according to the item. Ron started serving himself at once, as did Malfoy, though Ron paused when he noticed his friends hesitating.

"It's not poisoned," Malfoy said. "What would be the point? If I wanted to poison you, I would, and there's nothing you'd be able to do to stop me."

This was so completely true that even Hermione started to pile some fruit onto her plate. The food, as Harry discovered when he finally did taste it, was good. It helped that whatever ailments he had been healed from the night before had left him with a ravenous appetite.

Harry took the time in-between bites to try and formulate his questions into something more sensible than 'What the hell is going on?!'. If his mom and dad had followed Voldemort, why was everyone else so certain they had fought against him. Didn't Voldemort hate people like his mom, like Hermione? Didn't Voldemort and his followers kill and torture and terrorize good people? What was this about Voldemort not being the Dark Lord?

And then, while they were still finishing up their plates and before Harry could decide what to demand first, Malfoy looked past them towards the balcony entrance and an odd look came across his face. It was something like concern mixed with surprise before it smoothed into mere respect and the man stood up.

Harry startled to his feet as well, spinning around to see who had so startled the unflappable Malfoy.

It was Voldemort.

He looked slightly less pale than he had in the graveyard, though he still seemed ill. He also looked powerful, and, somehow, human in a way Harry had never associated with Voldemort before.

"My Lord," said Malfoy from behind them. "You are feeling better?"

"I know you thought it best to talk with the children yourself," Voldemort said, his voice stronger than his body appeared, "But there are some things that must be addressed directly. Please, do sit down. I'll join you."

Malfoy sat at once. Harry and his friends stayed standing, watching warily as Voldemort approached them, circling the table to take the seat directly next to Hermione. Of course, he had to sit next to one of them; there were only six seats and their avoiding sitting directly next to Malfoy only left two options.

It was only after both Malfoy and Voldemort were sitting that Harry started to feel a bit silly hovering over them and sat down as well. Ron and Hermione had a quick but mostly silent battle when Ron suddenly wanted to switch and put Hermione further away from Voldemort's side. Hermione won by simply sitting down and ignoring Ron's attempts until Ron gave up and took his own seat back.

Voldemort didn't seem to notice; he had already started piling food onto his own plate. Harry was mildly surprised to see him go for the French baguette and the fruit; it was probably a bit silly but the sort of man Voldemort had become in his head over the years was the sort who would go for meat first, and raw meat at that, while drinking the blood of the innocent. A Voldemort who calmly ate bread spread with cheese and fruit dipped in yogurt somehow just seemed wrong.

Ron started to continue eating as well, his eyes firmly locked upon Voldemort. Harry cautiously ate the last of his sausage, his stomach starting to feel uneasy and suggesting that more food might not be the answer. Hermione seemed to be done as well, but then she had always been a light eater when it came to breakfast, so that might have nothing to do with who was sitting next to her.

Malfoy, who had up to that moment seemed more or less finished eating, nonetheless deigned to take up a final strawberry, perhaps to stop his lord from having to dine alone. The strawberry finished, however, he patted his face with his napkin and settled his silverware across his plate. The plate instantly vanished.

Hermione instantly copied him and her plate vanished as well. Harry stared at their empty places, half wondering if this was some sort of wandless magic spell that Hermione had picked up somewhere to banish her plate while most of his mind was occupied with his questions and so left no room for proper reasoning about dinner plates. Otherwise, he might have caught on before Hermione gave him an exasperated look, whispered, 'It's the way the French signal to waiters that they are finished,' and aligned Harry's silverware for him so that his plate, too, would be vanished. Ron clutched his own plate possessively and carefully slid his spoon away from Hermione's reach.

"Do go ahead and begin, Lucius," Voldemort instructed.

So, while Voldemort and Ron finished their meals, Malfoy finally began to do just that.

"To begin with, I am afraid all three of you are probably under enchantments, and heavy ones at that. Are you familiar with the memory curses?"

"Lockhart tried to cast that on us second year," Harry answered. "He was using obliviate to change people's memories to take credit for their achievements."

"Ah, yes. Another one of Dumbledore's…interesting choices for a suitable professor. I believe Dumbledore had a certain soft spot for the man who shared in his aptitude and inclinations, if on a smaller scale."

"You're saying we've been obliviated," Hermione said, her voice calm but her body held rigid, her hands neatly folded over the table. "Not just that. You're saying the headmaster is the one who altered our memories."

"It's one of his favorite methods," Malfoy answered. "It's how he's managed to stay in his power as long as he has. Why paint a target on his back as a Dark Lord, when he can transfer that target to someone else and style himself as the head of the Light? He can do as he likes and his own name is never tarnished. And this way, his own enemies become his followers. It's hard enough to fight a man like him before he surrounds himself by good people as a shield. Can you imagine having a person you know, who you may even love, who has been convinced you are evil incarnate and is acting accordingly, throwing curses in your direction? The only way to stop yourself being hurt is to react in kind, and yet, how can you?"

"So you're saying Dumbledore is the true Dark Lord, but he changes people's memories to make himself seem good?" Harry demanded.

"You've heard the darkest tales, have you not, of the terrible acts committed by the death eaters? Of those we killed, those we tortured. How we'd leave our mark in the sky over a house we'd been to?"

"And those were all done by Dumbledore?"

"No. He has worse spells than obliviate. Sometimes he uses imperio. And he has a knack for finding the truly villainous."

"If you're telling the truth, if my memories have been altered, what have they been altered from. Did you give Tom Riddle's diary to Ginny? Did you torture your house elf. If my parents were on your side, why do Sirius and Remus, their best friends, seem to think otherwise."

"Excellent questions," said a voice that didn't belong to Lucius. It seemed Voldemort was ready to participate. "And I have a rather good one of my own. My dear friend Lucius, you are enlightened, are you not? You and my followers have failed to be blinded by the Dark Lord. You know how truly manipulative he is, the atrocities he has committed against others, against children. You know this quite well, do you not?"

"I do. I've never strayed from my belief in you, my lord. Not once, the entire time you were…gone."

"I'm sure you haven't," Voldemort replied. "But answer me this. Knowing everything you know, why did you choose to send your son to a school run by such a man?"

There was a very long moment of silence while Lucius's calm façade broke into a pale, wide-eyed look of confusion, then shock.

"I…Hogwarts is the best wizarding school…"

"You sent your eleven year old son into the hands of a psychopath. And so did all my followers who had children, every last one of you. You, who knew the truth, still sent your children, alone, to Hogwarts."

Malfoy didn't seem to know what to say. He seemed to even have forgotten how to form his usual mask of calm and disdain that had seemed permanently welded to his face. Voldemort turned to look at Harry and his friends.

"The Dark Lord has positioned himself as the keeper of the keys to the wizarding world. There isn't a magical child in Britain who doesn't pass through his school. He has seven years with each and every one of them. Even those who now recognize him for who he is, even those who know his evil, are still not immune to his influence. I'll bet if you asked any one of my followers why they sent their children to that school they'll give you the same response; Hogwarts is the best wizarding school."

"I thought about sending him to Durmstang but… Narcissa said it was too far away, and of course Draco needed to go to the best school…"

Malfoy sounded a bit lost, a bit like he was in shock himself.

Oddly enough, it was this bit of humanizing of Malfoy, the reminder that the man was the father of Draco, that also reminded Harry that he was in the presence of the supposed enemy and that he couldn't just take everything they said as the truth. Draco, after all, got his superior attitude towards muggleborn from somewhere.

"You gave Ginny Tom Riddle's diary in our second year," Harry said again, trying to sound factual rather than accusatory. "She was a first year, eleven years old, and that diary made her release a basilisk on other students. It made her kill roosters and write messages in blood. In the end, it tried to drain her life so that Tom Marvolo Riddle could return to life. His diary…your diary that you gave into Malfoy's keeping, tried to kill me with a basilisk, just as he…you…had already killed a young girl many years ago and framed Hagrid. I met your house elf, Malfoy. He had to injure himself for disobeying you. He was so happy when I tricked you into giving him my sock. Are you going to tell me that my second year was a lie? That you didn't give that diary to Ginny? That the diary wasn't Tom Riddle's? That your own son doesn't going around calling people like Hermione 'Mudblood'?"

With each word, Harry almost felt like a fog was clearing in his head. What was he thinking, trusting Voldemort, trusting Malfoy? Sure, what they had said might be plausible, and Dumbledore had always seemed a bit strange to him but…evil? The Dark Lord? Why look for a complex explanation when there was a simple one; Voldemort was doing right then exactly what he accused Dumbledore of doing, trying to manipulate them into believing he was actually good.

"And what about my first year?" Harry went on, his focus on Voldemort. Voldemort stared calmly back. "You were on the back of Quirrell's head! You tried to kill me. You told me there was no good or evil, only power, and those too weak to take it."

"Actually, what I said was, 'There is no light or dark magic, only power, and those who abuse it'. If you agree to allow us to attempt to untangle your false memories from your true ones, you shall see for yourself."

Harry stared, not sure how to answer that.

"Let me see," Voldemort continued, a far off look in his yes. "Your first year…my first great attempt at returning to life. Quirinus found my disembodied spirit and attempted to help me. Your good and admirable headmaster hid a dangerous object, guarded by still more dangerous and deadly traps, in a school full of curious children. My spy had been left alone too long in the headmaster's power to be of much service."

"You cursed my broom during the quiditch match," Harry said. "Snape stopped you. Except we thought Snape was the one cursing me; Hermione set him on fire and he stumbled into you."

"We weren't trying to kill you," Voldemort answered. "How stupid is that. We had a million and one chances to get you alone in a much less obvious place than a Quiditch match. We were one of your teachers, after all. Getting you alone and unguarded would have been easy."

Harry had to admit that Voldemort had a point; all he needed to do would have been to give him detention. Or, if he had wanted to be less obvious, just pull him aside one day as he walked down the hall. Harry wouldn't have dared to run away from a professor, and they hadn't even suspected Quirrell enough to think him dangerous; they had all suspected Snape.

"So you weren't cursing my broom?"

"Oh, I was. I just didn't want to kill you. Dumbledore was planning something with you and I was trying to remove you from his games. If Severus hadn't cast the counter curse, I'd have secretly cushioned your fall then cursed you with a sleeping curse, to make it seem you had some sort of head injury."

"Well that was stupid of you," said Ron. He had finally given up the pretense of devouring the table to join in the discussion, calmly placing his silverware so that his plate would be removed. Voldemort actually jumped slightly in his seat, though not in anger at his words. It seemed that he had been staring so intently at Harry that he had forgotten his friends were even there.

"Was it?" Voldemort asked, turning his gaze towards Ron. Harry looked at him as well, trying to figure out where he was going with this.

"If you wanted to protect students, I mean. Because Harry has a lot of friends; and if he had been down for the count we would have been ten times as motivated to find out more about the philosopher's stone. And if Dumbledore really were manipulating us into a confrontation, do you think he'd have backed down because Harry was sleeping? He'd have used one of us instead. You don't take down a pawn with your queen when the other pawns are in position to defend. That's a good way to lose your queen."

"An interesting analogy. And how would you play a game of chess when half your opponent's pieces consist of people you couldn't bear to take down, and the other half are truly evil, and they all wear masks to hide which is which so the only piece you really dare to take is the king himself?"

"Are we talking some sort of zombie chess?" Ron asked, sounding suddenly intrigued.

"The fact is, you can tell us whatever you want," Harry said, before his best friend could enter into a surreal conversation about chess with his supposedly greatest enemy. "Either you're lying, or you're not. What we really need is some form of proof. Can you prove that our memories have been altered, without going into our heads and trying to alter them further? Can you prove you are who you say you are and that our headmaster is who you say he is? Because at the moment it's your word against my actual memories of the past four years. It's your words against my memory of the death of my parents."

Voldemort looked thoughtful.

"There are three memories you've named that you have been most concerned about, three memories that contradict what we have told you," Voldemort said. "There is the night your parents died, there are the events of your first year, in particular the day I went after the philosopher's stone, and there are the events of your second year involving my diary and the release of a basilisk on the students of your school. Is that correct?"

"For now," Harry agreed. Those, at least, were the times he directly faced Voldemort, and if his memory of those moments had been tampered with then he needed to know. Those memories were the most damning evidence he had that Voldemort was, in fact, evil.

"And I suppose our actions to you so far, which have remained civilized, as you noted by the lack of chains and torture, won't be enough to convince you that we are, in fact, civilized? What reason would we have to trick you?"

"Not being able to see someone's end game is not the same as them not having one," Ron answered.

"And the fact that I haven't simply gone into your heads, as I claim Dumbledore to have done, and altered your memories that way?" Voldemort asked. "Does that not suggest, by the very fact I'm using words and not forcing the issue with magic or potions, that I am sincere?"

"There are ways to resist magic and potions," Hermione answered. "Harry already proved adept this year at resisting the imperio curse. But if you get someone's heart, you have them."

"I can't give you back your memories of those events, but I can show you mine. I warn you, it may be painful; your own mind will be fighting to make two conflicting memories match up. Or it may simply be like watching a film and feel disconnected from your own experience of the events. However, will you accept my memories as a form of proof?"

"They might help," Harry said. "But I don't know if we'll believe them."

"I thought as much. What we really need here, in this situation, is a death eater you can trust."

"That might help," Harry agreed. But of course there was no death eater he could trust. How could there be? Even if he produced Snape, Harry didn't really trust the man enough believe him, even if he had saved his life. And who else could Voldemort call on? The mother or father of another Slytherin at his school, another student who he probably disliked if not outright hated? "It seems we're at a bit of a stale mate."

"Not quite," Voldemort answered. "I will prepare to share you my memories, and in the meantime, perhaps you can reacquaint yourself with an old friend.

Someone walked through the door towards them. It was not anyone Harry recognized. He glanced towards Voldemort in confusion, but the other man was merely giving the newcomer a questioning look with a raised eyebrow.

"My lord," said the stranger. "Master Snape has awakened."

Harry only saw it because he had been looking at the man so intently, but something in Voldemort's face somehow softened and tightened at the same time, a bit like a flinch in the face of pain except more painful: hope. Voldemort stood, only for the newcomer to hole out a restraining hand.

"My lord…we believe you shouldn't…we believe…"

"I'm still a trigger," Voldemort answered, holding himself stiffly. "Of course. I must…I must retrieve my pensieve. Now, Lucius, you can see our guests to their room, and allow Remus his visit, before the man breaks down another door. Excuse me."

And before Harry could ask any more questions, or make any remark about 'Remus' and did he mean 'Remus Lupin', Voldemort had swept from the room with far more style than his weakened state suggested should be possible and was gone.