Copyright and Intellectual Property Issues: This is a work of fanfiction. Characters and elements in this story are the intellectual property of JK Rowling and her publishers.
Fear of the Name
A black shadow darkened the doorway of Morgana's Milk, but nobody looked up from their mugs of watered down firewhiskey or leprechaun lager. Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort, sneered in disgust as he entered the third rate wizard's pub. Riddle had never been one to socialize with lesser wizards, failures, so it was a new experience entering one of Knockturn Alley's dive bars. So, he took in the dilapidated décor, the tattered curtains, dull colors, and worn out furniture with fresh disdain. It was beneath him, much like the pathetic patrons who inhabited this bar, some of whom were his former followers.
The treacherous fools wouldn't know what hit them.
"Did you not think I would come for you when you did not respond to my call?" the Dark Lord said, the menacing tone carrying through the room, announcing his presence, his return.
Nobody even turned around. Voldemort blinked. The imbeciles were still drinking their swill and nattering to each other!
"Macnair! Plummer!" the dark wizard yelled. "Were you so foolish as to think you would be safe from my wrath because you were of lesser importance?"
"Wha—?" a drunken wizard said, standing up and facing the Dark Lord. Ammon Plummer. An incompetent fool, but a sadistic one, and therefore had been useful. He had joined Voldemort willingly the first time, hence why he had received the Dark Mark. "You wuh talkin' ta me?" Obviously too drunk to even recognize his own master.
Behind him, Macnair rose as well. Walden Macnair was another of his marked Death Eaters, one more competent than most, not a member of his Inner Circle. He was, however, well enough known that disciplining him would send the right message to his wayward followers.
"You should have come when I called you," Voldemort hissed.
"Who the bloody hell are you?" Macnair demanded.
Voldemort stood there dumbfounded for a second. How in Merlin's name did anyone, much less two of his former followers not recognize him?!
"You had better take your pale, noseless face and piss off, berk," Macnair growled, "before you make us mad."
Voldemort's red eyes blazed in fury, and in a heartbeat his wand was in his hand. "AVADA KEDAVRA!"
The green beam of death flashed out from Voldemort's wand and permanently ended the wizard's impertinence. There. Now they would fall in line.
There was a brief moment of stunned silence before someone swore and then half the bar cleared away while the other half drew wands (with various levels of competence).
Tom Riddle's eyes widened as he was suddenly faced with a bar full of opponents. Fortunately, most of them were inebriated to one degree or another, so most of the curses coming his way were off the mark. With a snarl, Voldemort shielded against those few that were actually on target and responded with a reductor curse that turned Ammon Plummer into an explosion of gore which also served to screen him from the left back quadrant of the bar.
Two minutes later, Voldemort cleaned the blood from his robes with a simple charm as he walked out of the remains of the pub. More than half of the wizards had fled, those capable of it disapparating away, the rest making use of the new holes in the building to escape. That had not gone as planned.
With a shrug, Voldemort decided that a bit of terror announcing his return might even be better than the slow recruitment he had first planned on. Sure, the Ministry of Magic would be alerted to his presence, but the added fear his public return would instill would only aid in re-forming his Death Eaters. A thin smile played on Voldemort's lips as he lifted his wand in the air and sent up his Mosmordre sign before he disappeared with a crack.
**fear of the name**
In a small rented room, Tom Riddle clutched the day's edition of the Daily Prophet with unmasked anger. He had expected to see reports of his return splashed all over the front page. Instead, the headline story was about Zonko's joke shop protesting the opening of a new branch of some store called Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes in Hogsmeade. Reports of his return were nowhere to be seen. He did see a brief article about his attack, but that was on Page 5. Page 5!
Unidentified Madman Attacks Pub
Aurors arrived outside of Morgana's Milk, a popular bar located on a street off of Diagon Alley, after reports of an attack reached the Ministry of Magic yesterday. Dozens of patrons of the bar were killed in an attack that witnesses described as the act of a deranged madman.
"He was a nutter, that one was," stated Mr. Belford Buttons, a street cleaner who had witnessed the event. "Just came in and started cursing people."
An investigation of the attack is underway. DMLE Head Amelia Bones stated that there was no reason for the public to be alarmed.
No reason for the public to be alarmed? He was the most powerful Dark Lord of all time! They should be panicking, not covering this up.
Unless…Lucius. Voldemort disapparated with a loud crack.
**fear of the name**
Lord Voldemort waited impatiently outside the gates to Malfoy Manor. He had been angered when he had initially been thrown back by the wards when he first attempted to enter, but he quickly calmed himself. He would punish his errant servant for daring to revoke his permission to enter the grounds after he had re-established himself. For now, he needed the economic and social influence of the Malfoys in order to regain his former following.
There was a small cracking sound, and Voldemort looked down to see the house elf who had gone to deliver his message had returned.
"Mippy is being sorry, sir, but Master Lucius is saying he don't want to see you today. If you is needing an appointment, you can be coming by during business hours. If you will pardon Mippy."
Voldemort's hand shot out and gripped the house elf by the neck and lifted it up to eye level. "You will go back and tell your master that HIS MASTER has commanded him to come out at once!"
The shrieking elf left with a pop while Voldemort waited outside the gate. Riddle stewed in his anger, considering what punishment to level against the man for that offence. A couple minutes later, the lord of the Malfoy estate exited from the front doors and strode through the walkway at a brisk pace. A severe look of annoyance was plastered on the Death Eater's face. As he approached, Lucius Malfoy continuously rubbed his arm.
"Lucius…" Voldemort began.
"HOW DARE YOU!" Lucius Malfoy immediately interrupted. "You have threatened my property and insulted the House of Malfoy! I will not stand for such impertinence!"
Tom Riddle stared at one of his formerly most trusted servants in total shock. Was…was he attempting to deny having ever even KNOWN Lord Voldemort? It was one thing to pretend to have been imperiused, but to have the gall to…
"I will have your name, scoundrel," Malfoy demanded, glaring daggers at the snake-faced wizard at his gate. "Who are you?"
Voldemort's eyes blazed. "I am Lord Voldemort, you fool! The master of the mark you bear on your arm!"
Malfoy snarled. "You are responsible for this burning I've been having all day? I WILL HAVE YOUR HEAD FOR THIS!"
"You forget your place, Lucius!" Voldemort retorted, drawing his wand.
Lucious Malfoy snorted. "No, you are the one who forgets YOUR place. I don't know who you are, or what makes you think you can come to my home and make demands of me, but this ends right now! You will be gone from this place, or you will die where you stand." Lucius drew his own wand.
Tom Riddle was completely stunned. It was incredible. Impossible. Lucius Malfoy would never dare to stand up to the Dark Lord. Even in his own home, protected by powerful wards as he was, Lucius would know that he could tear them down in a matter of hours and absolutely would torture him and his family for days before finally killing them.
For three tense seconds, they stood, gazes locked. Tom Riddle wasn't in the mood to be gentle, so Lord Malfoy's scream of mental agony was terrible. One of the great benefits of legilimency was that at such short distances it transcended typical barriers and protections once a connection was made.
"Confringo!" Lucius unleashed a blasting hex through the gate, but in the pain he felt it was poorly aimed, only managing to kick up the ground around him. "Madman!"
Voldemort let the long blond haired man use the distraction to retreat back into his home. He stood there, outside the wards, considering whether to destroy the Malfoys or not. To not do so would seem weak, but then, Tom really could not blame Lucius for his actions, not after having seen what as in his head.
There had been no sign of any memory of Voldemort within Malfoy's mind.
**fear of the name**
Tom Riddle popped into the room and collapsed against the chair, breathing heavily. He was in worse shape than he could remember ever being after a battle. His cloak was mostly burnt off. There was a long gash along his stomach from where a cutting curse had managed to clip him. His ear was dripping blood, a piece of it had been torn off. He would need to cut it off and completely re-grow it before the curse set in too deeply.
There were just too many aurors.
He could easily handle two or three, but a dozen? Voldemort had achieved immortality, it was true, but he had learned the hard way that while he couldn't be completely killed, he could be destroyed and made all but powerless for decades. That wasn't an outcome he much enjoyed.
The Ministry had finally gotten serious about stopping him, it seemed. Perhaps it had been a mistake to attempt to break his followers out of Azkaban. Or rather, his former followers, Voldemort thought bitterly.
They didn't remember him. Not one of them. Even Bella, his most ardent of Death Eaters, had only looked at him with vacant eyes and no recognition.
And it hadn't been the dementors, no. There were enough painful, horrifying memories of Lord Voldemort in all of them that it could not have been exposure to the dementors that had stripped away their memories of him.
But now they were gone, their souls sucked out by the dementors. They had not attempted to flee with him when he came and his pact with the creatures was somehow no more. His former Death Eaters hadn't even fought back as the guards of the Azkaban prison descended on them all.
Voldemort had fled. And then been forced to flee again just now. A few killings and a few Dark Marks left over his victims had failed to rouse any support for him.
Tom finally caught his breath and walked over to where the bottle of Bansherry he had taken was sitting and poured himself a glass. It was impossible. Nobody remembered Lord Voldemort. It was as if he had never risen to power. The single most terrifying name in Britain, if not all the world, and it wasn't even ringing a bell.
After a few minutes and a couple glasses of sherry, a knock came at the door. Tom frowned. Housekeeping wasn't due to clean the room now.
"Who is it?" he demanded.
"The last person who remembers the name Voldemort," came the reply.
The door opened, and bold as brass, in walked Harry Potter.
"Hello, Tom," Harry remarked. "Long time no see."
Voldemort rose, his blood red eyes burning in hatred, but before he could move, Potter raised a warning hand.
"Ah-ah, Voldemort, no touching," he said calmly, "you do still remember what happened to poor Professor Quirrell, don't you?"
Remember? How could he not? It was that fool's blunder that had cost him another half dozen years of powerlessness before he had managed to ensnare another new host and finally manage to resurrect himself with the blood of an enemy. Unfortunately, by then Potter was out of reach else that blood protection would no longer be an issue.
But it mattered little. Potter would come of age shortly, and then that would no longer be an obstacle for his revenge.
"What do you want, Potter?"
Harry smiled. It was an evil smile. Voldemort was slightly impressed.
"Nothing, really. To be frank, I'm here to gloat now that you've lost."
The dark wizard narrowed his eyes. "Lost? I hardly think so. I am reborn, as powerful as I ever was."
Harry shook his head and laughed. "Oh, you have returned, Lord Voldemort, but hardly as powerful as you were. You're barely a fraction as strong. You're no longer a threat to Britain, much less the whole world. In fact…you're hardly a lord of anything anymore."
Voldemort seethed at the boy's word, ready to see just how much protection the boy had from his magic.
"You see, Voldemort, what really made you so dangerous was how everyone feared you. It was your name that made you so powerful. People cringed at just hearing it. Not even the government dared to oppose you directly, and you drew the power-hungry and the dark to follow you in numbers not seen since Grindelwald rose to power, and with even greater dedication.
"As an individual, you're certainly powerful, don't get me wrong, maybe even the most powerful dark wizard alive. But without your Death Eaters, there's only but so much damage you can really do. Without them, you're just one lone murderer. Without you, they are too divided and unmotivated to act.
"Which is why I made them and everyone else forget you," Harry said smugly.
"CRUCI—"
A force like an anvil struck Voldemort in the stomach and he was thrown back into the far wall of the small room. Wordless, wandless banisher. Potter had grown as strong has his father had been, it seemed.
"No unforgivables," Harry said with a glare.
Picking himself back up from the ground, Voldemort matched the glare with an evil smile of his own. A few seconds later and the smile turned into an angry frown.
"You really did it," Voldemort gasped, turning his head away and breaking the mental connection. Not only had the boy managed to repel his mental assault, he had pushed specific memories forward for him to find. Memories of Potter's planning to remove the memory of Lord Voldemort from the world and the moment of triumph when he had succeeded.
"I had a good Occlumency teacher," Potter smirked. "But it was actually my worst teacher of all who gave me the idea of how to defeat you. I have to thank you for that. If it weren't for your curse on the Defense Against the Dark Arts post at Hogwarts I might have tried to beat you using conventional means, and maybe lost.
"It was my second year. Gilderoy Lokhart, worst teacher in the history of Hogwarts, and between you and me, that's saying something. But there were two lessons I learned from him. The first, was on the importance of managing fame. The second was how powerful memory charms were. And that was it really. I knew the way to beat you. Then it was only a matter of how to accomplish it, which was no small task. Luckily for me, I had the brightest witch of our Age to help me on it," the young wizard said with a wink.
"It doesn't matter!" the dark wizard snarled. "I will rebuild my reputation! Rebuild my name!"
Potter shook his head. "You still haven't figured it out have you? You don't find it odd that people aren't mentioning the name of the wizard who has been killing people, even though you have been loudly shouting it in your attacks? That despite the murders and battles, you don't get mentioned in the papers? Don't you wonder why nobody is talking about you?"
The dark wizard paused, his mind working over the problem. It was true, he hadn't heard…his name…
"You see," Harry continued, "at first I thought of using charms or some kind of curse to accomplish the task, but that was a dead end. A charm strong enough to change the entire world? Doesn't exist. Probably doesn't, anyway. And any curse that strong would require an enormous, dark sacrifice to cast, not my sort of thing. But the answer was in front of me the whole time. I didn't have to change the world, I simply had to hide something from the world, make the thing I wanted to be forgotten hidden. Forever."
Potter pulled out a silver flask. "A potion of oblivion. Not exactly the same as the Fidelius, but it works on the same principles. Just ten minutes after having one dose, someone looking right at you won't remember who you were and will forget your existence 48 hours after having met you again. Even those people who know you best will be unable to recall any memory of you.
"So, you see, you won't ever build up a reputation. There won't be any more Death Eaters, and those you already marked now just wonder what they were drinking when they got that crazy tattoo."
The dark wizard shook his head in denial. "Not possible. To hide something like that you would need the spirit of the one being hidden, and they would need to never reveal themselves or the charm would break."
Harry laughed at him. Again. "Yes, that was a stumbling block for a while, but once again, YOU provided me with the solution." Harry tapped his forehead where there was a thin, faded line. "And that, thankfully, solved my fame problem. I was once known as the Boy-Who-Lived because YOU killed my parents but I survived. Without you, what am I famous for? You marked me as your equal, your infamy was my fame, but what happens when your infamy is reduced to zero?"
"The last problem was logistical. How to spread my potion to the world?" Harry walked over to the dark wizard's table and took the empty glass next to the bottle of Bansherry. He tipped the silver flask over and poured into the cup, but there was nothing there that Voldemort could see. "Ever wonder what forgetting tastes like? What it looks like? Feels like? The funny thing, is, you already know, but have already forgotten. I guess it goes really well with alcohol. And butterbeer. And candy. I really have to thank Dumbledore for helping with all of his ICW connections, but alas, his fondness for lemon drops…he wouldn't remember what I was thanking him for. Fred and George Weasley were supposed to be in on the joke, but they couldn't help pranking each other. So, you're the only one left I can share the joke with. Oh, what was your name again?"
The dark wizard's eyebrows shot up. He didn't know.
Then Harry Potter downed the cup of nothingness in a large gulp. "Goodbye, He-Who-Doesn't-Have-A-Name. Even-You-Don't-Know-Who."
And the boy shut the door.