AN:As stated in my other story, I am not a particularly good writer, especially when it comes to creative writing. I tend to write in a dry manner befit of after action report which means dialogs, flair simply escapes me. Not much I can do really. And, I haven't really focused on fixing the grammar that much, mainly the tense (paste or present) – my bad. I tried to write by imagining the character's thinking and well, as you might imagine, the past/present/future got mixed up and getting them cleaned up appeared to be somewhat impossible. This story was somewhat inspired by "The Game of Lord Voldemort (Barbasulrico)" but has nothing to do with it. Didn't even realize this fact until after seeing the said title on the update list - hadn't read that one for a long time but the idea was apparently stuck deep in my head.

I am Lord Voldemort. I was the greatest dark lord Earth had ever seen. Harry Potter was the only one who had managed to bring me close to death.

If you have read the books and thought, "What is so great about a dark lord killed by a teenager using a disarming curse?", then you should know this – the author of the book, some stupid old biddy named Raling, Roling something used to be my low level death eater.

That right you worthless muggles – Baling was a death-eater who thought writing a book about the greatest dark lord being destroyed by teenagers would raise hopes for all you filthy bastards. The poor woman was deluded to believe that I would let myself be insulted even if it would mean an easy victory. Ha – I finally figured out a way to crucio via. my eyes. Caling still lives getting a daily dose of crucio and as a testing board for any torture techniques I come up with.

Anyway, it had been over 100 years after I completely wiped out the muggles when I finally realized my folly – without muggles, there wasn't anything worth killing ! At least for fun anyway. The world had grown to be a very boring place. But again, after killing over 1 billion people by my own hand and the rest either by death eaters or through magical means of mass destruction, killing had lost it's charm.

Before you worthless pussies shout about where did all the special forces go? Where did all the nukes go? You should know one thing – I offered magic to the best muggles there are. A shitload of your best scientist jumped to get magic. Just about all your special forces were happy to have magic – PTSD and compulsion charm work so well together. As for the nukes, we wizards have created counters for them almost from the get-go.

So, 100 years after conquering the world, here I am, bored. After a lot of study in runes, arithmancy and space-time physics (never say you muggles had nothing good), I had designed a way to travel to a new dimension. Unfortunately for me, I couldn't take anything material with me but that didn't truly matter because with all my rituals, I had the sum total of all magical knowledge inside my soul. Just to be on the safe side, I had also consumed the brain (in spiritual sense, not physical sense you cannibalistic moron) of several martial artists. My magic would go with me but you never know how strong it would be – so, a bit of martial arts to help myself is always a good thing.

It takes almost 1 week for the ritual to complete but, in the end I wake up as a new-born. I am not sure where "this is". What I know is that, I must not more then six month old. More importantly, my mother is lying next to me and she doesn't seem to be good – perhaps a few weeks left in her. Infection probably. Lack of proper food definitely. Do I let her die or do I save her? Conundrum.

I always thought how different I would be if I had a mother – perhaps I should try that. I check my magical reserves and find they are almost as strong as they were when I did the ritual. Dragging my tiny infant body towards her, I slowly heal her, not fast enough to raise suspicion but enough to return her strength. As my usual mo (justified by need for survival), I learn her name and everything about this world.

Her name is Lyanna Stark. She was supposed to marry an oaf called Robert Baratheon but instead ran off with a Targaryen prince, who she thought she was in love. However, it turns out the prince simply wanted her for some prophecy. I could sense her anger for being used as a brood-mare. The targ king had killed her father and brother for the hell of it. He younger brother and the oaf had started a rebellion. When the Targ prince, a formidable warrior had walked off to fight, in an act of defiance she had sabotaged his armor. Not just that, showing a cunning worthy of Salazar himself, she tricked him into falling down the stairs causing his ankles to sprain. The end result? Targ prince couldn't fight for shit. And now, he is dead.

No matter what, she loved me. I had none of the targ features. I was 100% Lyanna. The next thing I learned was she did not want to return and be forced to marry the oaf who might just kill me for being a Targ spawn. So, I planted a minor suggestion of creating a different noble name, Lady Slytherin. Since her younger brother was coming to this desert to retrieve her, she might be able to convince the lad to go along with it – or I could fuck with the muggles mind. No sweat of my back eh?

Tired, I feel asleep. Never saw the slight smile that finally graced her face, nor did I see Lyanna hiding a knife under her dress.

The next day, I woke up to the sound of swords clashing. I could hear mother praying that it be her brother coming to rescue. She was praying extra hard for the death of all the kingsguard. Apparently, she didn't like them too much.

Soon enough, Ned Stark strolled into our room and greeted her.

"Lyanna – it seems you are all right. You were never kidnapped by the Targ, were you?" - he is a bit frosty.

"I am sorry Ned. I did not want to marry your friend who was eying me like a piece of meat. After seeing his conduct, I was already devastated. Then the targ came with his honeyed words and I just didn't know. Forgive me please !" - Lyanna.

Instead of understanding where his little sister is coming from – even I a dark lord would have understood that – the fool roars, "You should have done your duty! You were ordered to marry my best friend. You will do so. You will not insult him. It is your fault father and Brandon are dead !"

Lyanna is now truly sobbing and says, "What about my son? What will he do?"

Ned seems to cool down and replies, "I will take him as my bastard and once he is old enough, he shall join the nights watch"

Lyanna pulls out her knife and growls, "No – you will not do that. My son will not suffer the fate of a bastard. Nor will I suffer that oaf."

I am not sure what she plans to do but I know neither of their plan is good. Ned's idea of forcing my mother (funny how I, the greatest dark lord am thinking of this woman as mother – did the ritual had some side-effect?) to marry my mother to that oaf was simply unacceptable. So, looking into the brute's eye, I strike with my Lord Voldemort's patented legilimency.

Riffling through his mind, I start planting ideas of how both mine and mothers existence should be kept a secret. Mother's new name as Lady Slytherin and mine as Lord Voldemort is cemented inside him. I start instructing him on how to handle the secrecy and soon enough, he is my puppet.

He is frozen for a second and then, he replies to Lyanna, "OK – I understand what needs to be done. I will tell Robert you died here at the Tower of Joy. We will go from there, OK?"

Lyanna gives him a nod and then smiles at me. She rubs a playful finger around my

"And who will I be?" - Lyanna.

At this, things go a different way – sometimes, magic has a will of it's own.

"From now on, you are Miriam Stark, born Slytherin, wife of my long dead brother Brandon. You son will be named as, Brandon "Voldemort" Stark. If anyone were to ask, we shall tell them Brandon married you days before the tourney at Harrenhal. You have been living in the Crofters village by yourself and a few servants because you were afraid what the mad king might do. Only myself and Benjen know what happened. I will have Lord Reed escort you to Winterfell with a letter to Benjen – from there on, you will be the Lady of Winterfell and your son will in future, take over as the Lord of North." - Ned

Hot damn – I didn't even have to phrase all that into his mind. Just setting his mind on what to do had the poor muggle dancing to my tune. Lyanna is ecstatic, she jumped to her feet and hugged him, "Thank you Ned."

"Don't worry – Brandon will be safe. We will make sure that he becomes a true Lord Stark." - Ned.

Lyanna simply cradles me but I manage to catch her stray thoughts, "Fool – what do you know of being a Stark? Raised by a southerner. All you know of north are just stories, nothing more, nothing less."

As we all walk out of the Tower of Joy, I look around the dead bodies. These medieval muggles truly know how to enjoy a bit of bloodshed. My death eaters would have loved it here – should I create them here? The potions needed to provide a muggle with magical core needs some very rare ingredient and I am not sure whether it can be found here.

Lyanna however, is smiling. The dead kingsguard seems to be making her day – sweet – my mother has a sadistic streak. Let's cultivate that a bit more.

Ned looks solemn as he confers with Howland Reed regarding the fate of Lyanna and myself. Reed, ever the loyal one, is on board of the plan but regardless, I hit them both with a secrecy charm. No need to take any chance.

The two muggle were planning to travel by land all the way to North. Apparently, Ned had to visit Riverland to gather his wife and yet unnamed son. Of course, the poor woman would think of herself as Lady Stark until they arrive Winterfell, but that should just make things funny.

The first step of our journey saw us arrive at Starfell. It seemed Ned and Ashara Dayne had been in love but given Ned's impromptu marriage, Ashara was more then heart-broken. Everyone knew Ashara was on the verge of death and there was nothing to be done.

Mother, who it apparently hated the Tullys, turned towards me and asked, "Son – I hate to ask you this, by is there anything you can do?"

Playing the role of infant, I wrapped my hands around her head and placed images of what I could do inside her mind. Basically it amounted to keeping Ashara alive until Catelyn Tully suffer an accident. Mother gave a laugh unlike that expected from a noble lady and said, "That will do my son, that will do – let's work your magic."

Quietly, I entered both Ned's and Ashara's mind and gave her a dream. It was pretty much me pretending to be those Old Gods and saying, "Ashara – we know you love Ned. Ned loves you. He is bound by his duty to his Tully wife who we do not like. Soon, that duty will be no more. If you wait some more, the two of you will be together for all eternity." Muggle minds are so easy – if it were a wizard, things would have been difficult (only a little bit, after all I am Lord Voldemort).

The next day, Ashara was up and running. She promised Ned that she would always wait for him and Ned gave her a smile that said, "I am yours but I do not know how that can come true.." Filthy sentiment they call love. As promised to Ashara, I did a few things to Ned – the next woman he fucked would suffer the most stupid, deadly accident during her breakfast when Ned is not there. Just to be sure, I added a geese so that he would fuck only Catelyn Tully next. Ashara would get her dream soon enough.

Myself and mother took a boat towards North. We would sail through stony shores and then trek towards Winterfell. A few more compulsions were needed on both Ned and Reed for them to agree to this rather risk plan. The other two would travel via. land so as to collect Tully, the kid (Ned and Catelyn's son) and also, return the remains of the other Northern lords that came to the Tower. The last one was actually my compulsion. Simple minded fool was planning to return only the horse of one of his bannermen. Dumb ass.

Month 12, 282 AC – 2 month later, Riverrun (Neutral POV – just for fun of it)

Ned Stark and Howland Reed had arrived in Tully's castle without much fanfare. The welcoming party was large enough. Hoster Tully knew Stark wasn't particularly happy with how he was forced to marry without any consideration. So, giving a large feast was his idea of "hugs and kisses".

Given Voldemort's spell, Ned fucked the living shit out of Catelyn Tully. Apparently the whole castle heard of it and thought that Stark was busy making another wolf to fill his depleted wolf pack. However, the very next morning when Catelyn was breaking her fast along side her mother and sister, she ended up swallowing her fork by accident – was something like that even possible? The smallfolk tell how the maesters attempted to pull the fork out but instead, it first tore her throat, then it tore her belly.

Even an indirect hex by Voldemort has the most grisly result. The Tully's were devastated, Ned acted suitably devastated even if, internally he was howling with joy. It meant the poor, repressed, honorable man would be able to marry the woman he loved sooner then he thought. Reed the ever loyal bannerman, spread rumors of how the old gods punished the Tully's for badgering an old, Northern House into marriage. It must have worked because within days of future, Ned was politely asked to leave along with his infant son, now named Robb in honor of the oaf.

Month 12, 282 AC, Same time Winterfell (Voldemort POV)

We arrived at Crofters village, which was thankfully empty given the onset of winter. Benjen came within days of our arrival to escort us, myself and mother to Winterfell. He had a long heart-to-heart talk with Lyanna, now known as Miriam. Her identity had been magically changed thanks to me – basically no one would ever associate Miriam with Lyanna unless I were to let them. Something akin to fidelius.

Apparently, Benjen had let the people of Winterfell know about what we had cooked. Brandon had married a previously unknown house of Slytherin and due to the situation with Iron throne, his widow and his heir were in hiding. But, with Robert's accession to the throne, Miriam was free to take position of Lady Stark and myself as Lord Stark with Ned as my regent.

Winterfell was a great castle – nothing in the league of Hogwarts. No castle in this world – nothing made by filthy muggles would ever compare to Hogwarts, but Winterfell was still great. However, I could feel the magic in here. It was tiny – suppressed even. Almost as if someone had dropped of a great big stone right into the river of magic. That would not do – I was going to change that. Add some wards even. But first, I had to grow up. Retaining full faculties while being an infant was damn difficult.

Month 1, 283 AC (Winterfell)

My mother, Lyanna was a true wolf. She had fangs and wasn't particularly afraid to use it. The moment she arrived, she quickly took over as the Lady of Winterfell – unlike traditional lady of the castle, she was more like owner of the castle.

The first thing she did was move into the Master suite – the only reserved for the Lord of Castle. The Maester tried to object, but much to her brothers delight, she just said, "Watch your tone old man – you serve us. Your job is simply provide advise nothing more. If we don't like your advice, you will keep your mouth shut or I might just have you replaced!"

The poor maester replies, "My Lady – you can't do that. Only the citadel can do that. It is just not done."

Quick as a snake, she slapped the impudent old fool and seethed, "You think you can tell me what to do and not to do in my own god-damn castle? Perhaps a night or two in the dungeons will teach you a lesson, eh? Benjen – throw this fool into the lowest, filthiest dungeon there is."

With a shit eating grin, Benjen drags the Maester off towards the dungeon. A quick look into her eyes shows plenty of amusement and also, there is satisfaction for justice long served. Curiosity piqued, I look a bit deeper and see the reason. The maester was the one to suggest grandfather for all the poor choices and most importantly, mother's betrothal to that oaf. In a way, mother was coming along as this world's version of Bellatrix except the fucking part. The whole "incest" thing had hurt purebloods back in the magical world and I wasn't going to repeat that here.

Month 2, 283 AC (Winterfell)

Ned, the new regent lord of Winterfell (in his head – we all knew Lya, or Miriam wasn't going to let him do anything), arrived with son. Immediately after the usual greetings, he started asking about the Maester. Mother responded, "Why do you need the old man now brother? You have just arrived?"

Somewhat annoyed, he replied, "Well Miriam, Didn't I tell you Catelyn Tully is dead? It means I have to send raven to Starfell for Ashara. The moment this whole mourning thing is over, I am going to her."

Benjen happily responds, "My brother! I can do the raven for you. The maester is indisposed and we have already written to the citadel for a new one. But, no need to worry – we will write a raven to Starfell now."

When he tries to run and get the stack of parchment, Ned grabs him and, "Wait wait – what is this about the Maester being indisposed? Also, what do you mean you can do the raven?

Lya replies with abundant mirth, "Well, the maester ran afoul of a she-wolf. Apparently, he tried to separate the she-wolf from her pack and for that, he paid the wolf. And, every noble child is taught how to work the raven here in North. Please tell me Arryn taught you that."

Irritated, Ned says, "No – Only the Maester are supposed to handle raven. That is what I was taught."

"Oh – and what were you taught about the Northern way? What does honor mean to us?" mother asked in a scathing voice.

Ned replied, "Not much to be honest. Northern way is to always do the honorable thing. Like follow your oath, do your duty. That is what honor means to us Stark."

Before mother can say anything, Benjen drops the stack of parchment he is carrying and says, "Shh hell – Arryn did a number on you Ned. The Stark way has always been that of Wolf. A wolf is a hunter, a predator of the first degree. There is no honor when it comes to hunting. You hunt to provide for your family, to keep your family safe. That is the Stark way. Nothing more."

Mother is quick to jump in, "Didn't father teach anything to you about us Starks?"

Ned quietly says, "No. Nothing. I know nothing about Stark. I am a Stark in name only."

Mother hugs him and tells him, "It is not your fault Ned. The fault lies in Jon Arryn, father and that maester of ours. We will teach you the Northern way. I am going to make sure Arryn suffers for it – do not worry."

Disgusting – that's what this display of mutual affection was. But, mother's word on making sure Arryn suffer did put off some of that disgust. At least my muggle mother wasn't completely useless.

I can tell Ned wants to speak on behalf of Arryn but he knows Arryn failed to educated him properly. Benjen drops a think tome that lacks any name. "This is the history of Starks before Torrhen bent his knee. This is our way – after that we all started to hide our true way, but now that the targs are truly gone, it is time for our way to return again."

Ned slowly points towards me, "Isn't he of the Targ's seed?"

Lya laughs and says, "No – why do you think he looks almost a year and half old or even two years instead of only a year? I became pregnant right before running off with the dragon. I had a dream where a bunch of trees said how a wolf with snake's heart would make the North free again, and next thing I know, I have my sweet Voldemort here."

Ned looks around and says, "Don't tell anyone but, I had the a similar dream. Ashara also had a similar dream. Trees said we had to be patient and that they would remove the Tullys"

Benjen claps him over the shoulders and crows, "Brother – gods are smiling again. It is time for North to rise. Your so called best friend is on the throne, we can do pretty much what we want and he won't even notice. With how much that oaf drinks and whores, he will be dead before you know it."

Ned gives him a hard look but can't deny it. "At least don't insult my friend"

"hah – you didn't deny Robert being an oaf and drunk and whore-monger." - laughed mother.

With that, they all stood up. However, it left me with a conundrum – the dream for Ned and Ashara was created by myself. But, the one for mother was real. So, the old gods are actually real – I might have to tread carefully. Three things would have to be done:

Make sure my occlumency is better then ever – kind of tough when there is no one to test it against.

A hideout with fidelius.

Something to threaten them with. Perhaps conjure a shitload of chemical weapons muggles are so fond of and kill all weirwood trees? A few gateways for the demon realm?

No tree huger is going to threaten me or my mother. Great I am starting to think about one of those environmentalist muggles. I had a lot of fun using cutting curses against muggles chained to trees. And, why do I love my mother? It is irritating. Next thing I know I might fall in love with a woman and have a bunch of kids. Unacceptable. Fucking is fine. It is great. It is beyond pleasurable. But, loving a woman is just not worth it. Kids are even worse.

Month 6, 283 AC (Winterfell)

Mother has solid control over Winterfell. Not sure about the other Lords – we would have to call a Lord's gathering and it was costly; we were planning to wait until I could speak properly.

Month 7, 283 AC (Winterfell)

I was now about 2 years old and could walk around slowly. My speech was coming along fine – still had trouble with some words but good. My occlumency was now even better then it was back on Earth. If it wasn't for this infant body, I would be casting battle spell left and right. At least compulsions and now, the imperious was much easier to cast.

Month 8, 283 AC (Winterfell)

Not much to say. Mother estimates I will be ready for presentation amongst Lords within next 6-8 month. On a more interesting note, we received a letter from Hoster Tully decrying me as the Lord of North. Apparently, the old fish wants his grandson as the future northern lord. Unfortunately for him, that wasn't going to happen. Firstly, both Ned and Benjen were firmly on my mother's side. Secondly, I was making sure Robb would be my fanatical supporter. The only thing that old fish could do was seethe.

Month 10, 283 AC (Winterfell)

Mother had started my reading/writing lessons. With my legs much stronger and now, capable of exploration, I had found my way into the crypts. I had been told repeatedly that Starks had magic in their blood due to us being the off-springs of First Men. The crypt was definite proof of that – the whole place was oozing with magic. This would be the ideal location to place wardstones, after all, my home would have to be well protected.

Month 6, 284 AC (Winterfell)

At 3 year old, I was deemed ready for a meet-and-greet with the Northern lords. So, now we had every lord coming down here to see what the little Lord Stark looked like. As usual, these medieval buffoons were taking their time to trickle in. Mother expected one more month for them all to arrive. Until then, it was all about waiting.

Month 7, 284 AC (Winterfell)

Just about all the lords of North have assembled here at Winterfell. Everyone were in a frenzy and a suppressed excitement. Mother had done an excellent job of keeping then all under control. Any lord who dared to question my Slytherin heritage were quickly brought down with scathing comments. The sigil of slytherin, a wicked looking cobra embedded upon a dark shield was shown as the proof of my legitimacy.

Getting all those morons convinced that I was strong enough wasn't easy. But again, the idea of a 3 year old trying to talk with 40 year old Lords isn't exactly normal either. Things started working out when Umber decided call me a snot-nosed little brat. At that point, instead of giving up, I forced my body to move and knifed him straight into the jugular. Everyone knew pulling the knife out wrong might led him to bleed like a pig.

Lyanna then spoke in the coldest voice I have ever heard, "I trust my lords that you are all satisfied this is the son of Brandon Stark, worthy of the name Stark from tales of old?"

All the Lords looked at each other, the phrasing, tales of old had them worried, excited and concerned. Starks of the old weren't nice, caring or kind – they had their morbid sense of honor wrapped in a delicate flavor of cruelty. They only thing they ever cared about was North and Winterfell. Anyone who fucked with either would be butchered. Lyanna or Miriam as they knew her as, was giving them a warning of what might happen.

Then, in a show of mercy, mother approached Umber with some rags, kept them right on the base of where I had buried the knife. With a quick motion, she pulled out the sharp thin knife without letting a drop spill. Umber had a relived, grateful look on his face. The fear in his eyes would be something I would forever cherish.

Month 8, 284 AC (Winterfell)

All the Lords had left, oaths of loyalty firmly renewed and our not so veiled warning firmly embedded in their psyche. Ned had embarked towards White Harbor. Manderly had finally let us know that 3 war galleys/trade ships commissioned almost a year ago was finally ready with full crew.

Ned would be taking those ships towards Starfell to get Ashara Dayne now that the customary 1 year mourning period was over. However, during his return, as per mother's suggestion, the newly wed couple would make a number of pit stops in the free cities to have fun and also buy some "exotic" supplies. The whole voyage would take upwards of 6 months.

Month 2, 285 AC (Winterfell)

I am now 4 years old and can now actually run around Winterfell. Mother has assigned me a what these muggles call a sworn sword. Having a backup never really hurts even if the idea of Lord Voldemort needing a body guard is laughable at best. But, this does reminds me of one thing – I will have to perform all my rituals again. Originally, my body was for all point and purpose indestructible. I could stand in the epicenter of a nuclear explosion and come out fine, but now a simple dagger might kill me. In this strange world, I do not have access to many ingredient that are needed. But, if I were to do those rituals while still a child, there wouldn't be any negative side-effects – namely, virtually zero sex drive, infertility, anger management issue and so forth.

Ever since I got my sworn shield, Jason Snow, I had been working on changing his perspective to reflect mine and that of a death eater. Back in earth, one of my inner circle developed what we started calling "Generic Death Eater Mind" - basically it was a spell which would drop a bunch of memory designed for a perfectly loyal death eater. I created and used a variant of that spell, thus making Jason my newest Death Eater of this world.

During my sojourns in the library, I discovered the White Walkers – ice inferies. Everyone were telling me they were long gone but my instincts told me different. I did not become the greatest dark lord by ignoring my instinct. The books seem to indicate they could be harmed only by fire or obsidian. Fire I knew, after all inferi has always been my specialty. The look on your enemies face when their own loved ones eat them alive is simply divine. The obsidian was unknown to me and from Nan's story, Dragonstone was the only place you could get obsidian.

I would rather have the weapon handy near me then travel all the way to Dragonstone ruled by a surly jackass of a man called Stannis. My solution? Cause a volcano nearby – plenty of obsidian for us.

Cause a volcano you say? Oh yes. It was my favorite method of killing muggles. A few simple spells and in about a year, there would be volcano exactly like I specified. However this time, I wasn't planning to kill anyone. Instead, I would cause a small mini-volcano erupt near Winterfell, right at White Knife river. That way, I was going to have a steady supply of warm water which could be used for the much larger glass gardens I had in mind.

So, with the volcano in mind, myself and Jason we decided to take a joy ride towards the nearest point of Kings road to Winterfell. Then I performed the spells using a makeshift wand made out of weirwood trees. Within about the next six months, the volcano would erupt with a minor splash – no huge earthquake, no dust cloud, nothing particularly exciting.

Truthfully, I meant to cause the volcano right at Castle Cerwyn, given that it was just a day's ride from Winterfell and half a day from White Knife, it would be a perfect location. But, somehow I ended up near the upper end up the river, just at the edge of Wolfswood. It seemed something was truly preventing me from killing Northerners – wiping out the Cerwyns would have been glorious. Potential threat removal and all that. Regardless, the volcanic dust will force them to move anyway letting me do an easy takeover.

Month 3, 284 AC (Winterfell)

Ned and his new wife, Ashara have finally arrived. The two look particularly happy. On top of it all, Ashara appears to be a few months pregnant. The cargo they bring is even more exciting. As per Lyanna's orders, Ned had bought 100 unsullied. Not just that, they had an excellent supply of various exotic plants and their seeds. A cursory look revealed to me some of those could be used as potion supply. Rituals, here I come.

Month 8, 284 AC (Winterfell)

We all fell a slight tremor go through the walls. Everyone thought it was one of the rare earthquakes but only I knew the difference. It was only two days later that we received news regarding the volcano. As per my behest, mother organized a search party to find what happened.

All of us, except Ashara, who was now at the late stage of her pregnancy raced towards the site of the volcano. Once there, we Starks were silent while everyone started talking rapidly about death and destruction.

Eventually, mother screamed, "Quiet you fools! This volcano is neither death nor destruction. It could have erupted right into Winterfell and cooked us all alive, but it chose to erupt here of all things. Far away any humans. It is too small to cause us damage. Instead of getting afraid, we all should start thinking how we can use this. Start thinking now or I might just start flogging you !"

Did I tell you that mother's sadistic streak has grown a mile wide? She has taken to flogging anyone who disobeys her. Not just that, she has taken the Stark motto of "He who passes judgment should wield the sword" to heart. She chops people's head with a grace unseen since last few generation. Her justice system has taken a whole different turn – rapists get flogged anywhere between 50 or until her hands get tired after which, chop their head.

When no one points out anything useful, she turns to me and says, "Well Son, you must have something. Speak up?"

Then I start my talk. "The volcano – if you can call it that, isn't particularly massive. However, it is useful, it is rather tame. As you all know, the glass garden of Winterfell gives us just about enough food to live by – not enough to eat by our heart's content, nor to sell. This volcano however can be a blessing from the old gods. We are going to dig a canal from White Knife, all the way to this volcano and use it to make our very own hot spring. After that, we can simply start building a new, larger glass garden. A smaller version of Winterfell dedicated solely to produce food won't be remiss – after all, more food is always good."

The foolish muggles are pretty happy with my idea. They actually start chanting my name. "Voldemort, Voldemort" they shout. To my utmost shame, it is in love and admiration instead of hate and anger. Seems the ritual might have changed something about me – it seems to have reduced my cruelty by a bit and added a degree of attachment to mother and worse, to North. At least I am certain people will die during the canal construction.

Month 1, 285 AC (Winterfell)

It has been almost 4 month since my rousing talk about starting glass garden in the volcanic site. The muggles have already started digging a canal from the river. They truly have smaller brain then us wizards. If it weren't for mother's and my own intervention, they would have started digging without plotting the best possible path or anything similar.

The mapping didn't take too long. It was mostly me drawing the map and mother doing the cherry picking. As much as I wanted to see muggles die in this beautiful project of mine, North didn't have enough muggles for me to kill for sport. So, I used magic to soften the brittle Northern soil. I am guessing that with my magical help and mother's not so gentle pushing, these muggle filth will complete the canal within a years time.

Right then Ashara called our family meeting. She was the Stark Family accountant so to speak – being dornish, she knew more about money then anyone else. And, according to her our coffers weren't doing particularly good. Mother questioned, "I thought with my new tax system our income has increased? Is that not so?"

Ashara replied, "True, our income has increased but at this moment, it is simply not enough. The whole canal project is eating gold. Also, our new war galleys have been costing us plenty. We are docking them in White Harbor and so, we have to pay Manderlys for it."

Ned opened with, "Nothing to be done about the canal – it will be finished soon enough anyway. As for the expense on war galleys, why not give them to Manderleys on lease for say patrolling the sea? And in return, they won't charge us for use of harbor."

Benjen jumped in, "I have a better idea. Instead of giving them to the Manderlys, lets set them up as a somewhat independent mercenary outfit. For example, the trade fleet of Bravos and Vale need protection against pirates right? So, our war galleys will provide it to them in return for coin. We might even bring the Manderlys in, join both our ships together to make a single fleet. Make coin during peace time and when war comes, the fleet will see to Northern interest."

Mother speaks, "And one of us have to be in charge – I am not going to let someone outside of our family take control of what could be the first Northern fleet in how many hundred year. Ben? You like ships right?"

"I do my sweet sister – a bit of sea would be good for me I think." intoned Benjen.

After that, seeing Ashara's inquisitive face, mother asks again, "Ashara – even with this our immediate problem won't be solved will it?"

Ashara shakes her head, "If we were to wait around a year and let the new taxes flow in, we might work something out. But right now, it will be tough."

They all grumble and so, I speak, "There might be a way – you all know I have been exploring Winterfell a lot right?"

"Yes – what about it?" asked Ned.

"Well I have found a number of interesting things. There are old silver jeweleries hidden in some of the dungeons. I have also seen a few artistic pieces in there. None of them have any marking, so I am thinking perhaps we can sell them over at the free cities?"

Of course those things aren't completely true – I did find a few artistic pieces but they were completely broken. A few reparos saw them to mint condition. The silver however was my own creation – I transmuted old, rusty steel to silver. Pillaging Nicolas Flamel's somewhat immortal mind taught me many many things.

Mother asked, "When you said a few, how few did you mean?"

I smiled and grinned - "A few like in a few hundred thousand gold dragons. I think some of the ancient Starks might have hidden treasure just for times like these. We just need to find them."

Ashara grinned and said, "Not we – you, you need to find them. If we adults were to start rummaging around Winterfell, then people might get a clue of what is going on but you running around is nothing new. Do not let anyone know about this, OK nephew?"

"Of course Auntie – may be I will take Robb and little Arya someday but no-one else."

Mother grins and says, "Atta boy"

Again, something truly went wrong with that ritual – I should have started tossing crucios almost an hour ago. Instead, I am here happily eating praises from my aunt and mom.