Once, I was known as Tom Marvolo Riddle, but the night I first
emblazoned my mark into the flesh of a supporter, that man died.
That night, I began my journey towards the great sorcerer I am now. Feared
by many, hated by all, loved by none. I am Lord Voldemort.
Often it is said that I cackle maniacally at the pain of others, that I take pleasure in their misery. It is not their misery that gives me happiness. It is the satisfaction of ridding the world of another worthless, xenophobic Muggle, or some foolish wizard with his illusions of good and evil. It is the joy of the power I posses, the power to make strong men scream for mercy and bend the weak to my will. There are few people whose tortured expressions in themselves are enough to bring me satisfaction. My worthless Muggle father and his parents, I would have loved to see scream in agony. But alas, that had to be carried out quietly. I was still building my powers then. Albus Dumbledore. I am no fool, and I know that he is more powerful than I. If he chose, he could perform the 'dark magic' needed to destroy me, but with his perception of morals and adherence to the principles of white magic, he does not. Still, he is a formidable enemy, and he knew Tom Riddle better than anyone not deceased. He is the only one I have been unable to kill. Then, of course, there are the Potters.
Lily and James Potter are not merely meddlesome, powerful wizards. They have a wisdom beyond their years, a knowledge and control of the magical arts that makes it almost tangible to them. Perhaps they are foolish for it, but they are undeniably brave fighters, willing to do anything, to risk their lives, to defeat me.
Lily was a spy, a spy of the worst sort. She did not merely manage to infiltrate the society of Death Eaters, become a trusted member of my cabinet, and report everything back to Dumbledore and the Aurors, but she seduced me. Lily Potter seduced me, and all the time I thought I was the one doing the seducing. She was a young, seemingly happy Hogwarts graduate, a Gryffindor, and newly wed to her school sweetheart. It is easy to understand my shock and satisfaction when she was ushered silently into my chamber that appropriately stormy night, her head bowed in shame.
Lily's face was bruised badly, her glorious red hair stringy and wet from the rain. Holding her infant close to her body, she knelt in front of my ebony throne and begged me to take her in, to let her fight against her cruel husband who had beat her and threatened to kill her child, against the order that refused to accept her despite her talent, and against muggles like her spiteful, ignorant sister. She wept, kneeling on the cold stone floor, and pleaded that I keep her son, Harry, safe from his father. She was desperate, bitter, and vengeful, and I thought to use her hate to serve my will. I needed a mistress, a Dark Lady to stand by my side, to help me conquer, and she was the perfect woman. Best of all, her husband was the famous James Potter, a brilliant auror and a hated enemy. It would be enough just to take her from him.
I should have known that this was too perfect. A week ago, I recieved word of her deception, but she was nowhere to be found. Apparently, the whore had her own informant, and had fled the night before, somehow managing to escape with her child. Her story has come unravelled, and I curse myself for believing it. There were no beatings, no threats to Harry's life. She was a full and respected member of the Order of Phoenix. The bruises were a special effect, a particularly ingenious charm of hers. But in my vanity, I was far too occupied with gloating over my new prize to doubt the veracity of her claims.
The night I burned the Dark Mark into her skin was particularly triumphant. Robed in black, her hair softly floating in a cloud about her face, she was beautiful and terrible at once. As with all initiates, a Muggle was brought forth for her to kill before being marked. But, Lily being a very special Death Eater, I had searched for the perfect victim, the perfect test of her loyalty. Lily's mother knelt before her daughter, her eyes pleading for mercy, and Lily killed her without remorse. Good, I thought with satisfaction. Her loyalty is assured.
I awaited Lily in her bedchamber that night, and bowed slightly as she entered. As she glanced up at me with her usual mixture of fear and respect, I saw only the slightest hint that she was startled. Somehow, I wanted her desperately. Silently, I took her forearm , where the newly burned mark was clearly visible, and kissed it tenderly.
I was sure I was in control of both myself and Lily Potter, but she was the one whose will was being carried out. The night she became a Death Eater, she cast a charm over me as cunning as any magical beguilement. I arranged for her son to become my heir, for the most comfortable living arrangements to be given her. In Lily I trusted the secrets to my powers, my plans, and the names of my supporters. I required her to use her expertise in charms to destroy and kill those she had once called friends, and I was assured that she was completely under my influence.
When Severus Snape, my spy in the Order of Phoenix, informed me of his discoveries, I was livid. Lily Potter had lied to me, given false impressions of herself and her feelings. Without my realizing it, she seduced me, gained my trust, and leaked my secrets back into the Order. She deceived, and she was goddamned good at it. Her mother had volunteered to be killed, and had deliberately made it easy for me to capture her. To support her story, she brought Harry with her and charmed bruises all over her body. She calculated every glance, every sob, and every footstep to complete her trap, and I had fallen in.
Her escape only served to enrage me further, and I have exerted every ounce of my power and influence to find her. I don't wish to kill her-still I am somehow seduced by her-but she will be thrown into a dungeon, chained to a wall as a slave, degraded to the level of an animal for her treachery. Her son and husband will pay with their lives.
Through various means, including, but not limited to, torture, threats, and bribes, I discovered the means the Potters are using to hide- The Fidelus Charm. Immensly complicated, the charm requires a third party, a secret-keeper who will never reveal the hiders' location. For days, I have searched for this secret-keeper, and many have died defendingthe Potters. Tonight, I tracked down Peter Pettigrew, a sniveling, ferrety little man and a friend of the Potters. I did not expect him to be the secret-keeper, but perhaps he would know who was. In his defense, Pettigrew put up a commendable fight. After several hours or being tortured, having passed out twice already, he whispered quietly, "They are in Godric's Hollow." I chuckled to myself , reassured that my torture was sufficiently potent, and let him drop to the floor, unconscious again.
In this case, I will take pleasure in their screams of pain.
____________________________________________________________________________ ___ Dark enough for you? Please R&R.
Often it is said that I cackle maniacally at the pain of others, that I take pleasure in their misery. It is not their misery that gives me happiness. It is the satisfaction of ridding the world of another worthless, xenophobic Muggle, or some foolish wizard with his illusions of good and evil. It is the joy of the power I posses, the power to make strong men scream for mercy and bend the weak to my will. There are few people whose tortured expressions in themselves are enough to bring me satisfaction. My worthless Muggle father and his parents, I would have loved to see scream in agony. But alas, that had to be carried out quietly. I was still building my powers then. Albus Dumbledore. I am no fool, and I know that he is more powerful than I. If he chose, he could perform the 'dark magic' needed to destroy me, but with his perception of morals and adherence to the principles of white magic, he does not. Still, he is a formidable enemy, and he knew Tom Riddle better than anyone not deceased. He is the only one I have been unable to kill. Then, of course, there are the Potters.
Lily and James Potter are not merely meddlesome, powerful wizards. They have a wisdom beyond their years, a knowledge and control of the magical arts that makes it almost tangible to them. Perhaps they are foolish for it, but they are undeniably brave fighters, willing to do anything, to risk their lives, to defeat me.
Lily was a spy, a spy of the worst sort. She did not merely manage to infiltrate the society of Death Eaters, become a trusted member of my cabinet, and report everything back to Dumbledore and the Aurors, but she seduced me. Lily Potter seduced me, and all the time I thought I was the one doing the seducing. She was a young, seemingly happy Hogwarts graduate, a Gryffindor, and newly wed to her school sweetheart. It is easy to understand my shock and satisfaction when she was ushered silently into my chamber that appropriately stormy night, her head bowed in shame.
Lily's face was bruised badly, her glorious red hair stringy and wet from the rain. Holding her infant close to her body, she knelt in front of my ebony throne and begged me to take her in, to let her fight against her cruel husband who had beat her and threatened to kill her child, against the order that refused to accept her despite her talent, and against muggles like her spiteful, ignorant sister. She wept, kneeling on the cold stone floor, and pleaded that I keep her son, Harry, safe from his father. She was desperate, bitter, and vengeful, and I thought to use her hate to serve my will. I needed a mistress, a Dark Lady to stand by my side, to help me conquer, and she was the perfect woman. Best of all, her husband was the famous James Potter, a brilliant auror and a hated enemy. It would be enough just to take her from him.
I should have known that this was too perfect. A week ago, I recieved word of her deception, but she was nowhere to be found. Apparently, the whore had her own informant, and had fled the night before, somehow managing to escape with her child. Her story has come unravelled, and I curse myself for believing it. There were no beatings, no threats to Harry's life. She was a full and respected member of the Order of Phoenix. The bruises were a special effect, a particularly ingenious charm of hers. But in my vanity, I was far too occupied with gloating over my new prize to doubt the veracity of her claims.
The night I burned the Dark Mark into her skin was particularly triumphant. Robed in black, her hair softly floating in a cloud about her face, she was beautiful and terrible at once. As with all initiates, a Muggle was brought forth for her to kill before being marked. But, Lily being a very special Death Eater, I had searched for the perfect victim, the perfect test of her loyalty. Lily's mother knelt before her daughter, her eyes pleading for mercy, and Lily killed her without remorse. Good, I thought with satisfaction. Her loyalty is assured.
I awaited Lily in her bedchamber that night, and bowed slightly as she entered. As she glanced up at me with her usual mixture of fear and respect, I saw only the slightest hint that she was startled. Somehow, I wanted her desperately. Silently, I took her forearm , where the newly burned mark was clearly visible, and kissed it tenderly.
I was sure I was in control of both myself and Lily Potter, but she was the one whose will was being carried out. The night she became a Death Eater, she cast a charm over me as cunning as any magical beguilement. I arranged for her son to become my heir, for the most comfortable living arrangements to be given her. In Lily I trusted the secrets to my powers, my plans, and the names of my supporters. I required her to use her expertise in charms to destroy and kill those she had once called friends, and I was assured that she was completely under my influence.
When Severus Snape, my spy in the Order of Phoenix, informed me of his discoveries, I was livid. Lily Potter had lied to me, given false impressions of herself and her feelings. Without my realizing it, she seduced me, gained my trust, and leaked my secrets back into the Order. She deceived, and she was goddamned good at it. Her mother had volunteered to be killed, and had deliberately made it easy for me to capture her. To support her story, she brought Harry with her and charmed bruises all over her body. She calculated every glance, every sob, and every footstep to complete her trap, and I had fallen in.
Her escape only served to enrage me further, and I have exerted every ounce of my power and influence to find her. I don't wish to kill her-still I am somehow seduced by her-but she will be thrown into a dungeon, chained to a wall as a slave, degraded to the level of an animal for her treachery. Her son and husband will pay with their lives.
Through various means, including, but not limited to, torture, threats, and bribes, I discovered the means the Potters are using to hide- The Fidelus Charm. Immensly complicated, the charm requires a third party, a secret-keeper who will never reveal the hiders' location. For days, I have searched for this secret-keeper, and many have died defendingthe Potters. Tonight, I tracked down Peter Pettigrew, a sniveling, ferrety little man and a friend of the Potters. I did not expect him to be the secret-keeper, but perhaps he would know who was. In his defense, Pettigrew put up a commendable fight. After several hours or being tortured, having passed out twice already, he whispered quietly, "They are in Godric's Hollow." I chuckled to myself , reassured that my torture was sufficiently potent, and let him drop to the floor, unconscious again.
In this case, I will take pleasure in their screams of pain.
____________________________________________________________________________ ___ Dark enough for you? Please R&R.