Rise and Fall
Harsh eyes looked at the man in the mirror, noting with great pride the various potions coated in his skin in intricate rune-like symbols, they were the closest merge of magical and Muggle tattoos you could find. The Dark Mark, Voldemort's logo, and all other related skin arts were applied through spells and charms, unlike tattoos of the common man that needed special kinds of ink applied through a needle. He was the first to cross the bridge and brew various potions developed by what he considered to be the potions master of the century, Neville Longbottom, injecting them into his skin all over his body.
The Longbottom Brews as he'd come to think of them throughout the years consisted of alterations of common, easy-to-brew Potions with quite volatile results. Nobody appreciated the instinctive talent Neville had for explosions, probably because you needed a stasis charm over the potion to stop it from exploding immediately and those weren't easy to come by when you weren't a Parselmouth and still considered the Chamber of Secrets as a myth.
His body resembled a rainbow of dark colors now that the second-to-last step of his masterplan was complete: adjusting the conditions of the stasis charms to cease existing when a trigger was activated.
He rose his hand, touching the face of his mirror self. To mirror in question giggled, finding the experience ticklish. He ignored the artificial mockery of life, studying his face in more detail. It was about the only part of his body (aside his back) that he couldn't see for himself. The white of his eyes wasn't quite as white as they used to be, lack of sleep and paranoia causing veins to show themselves, blood reddening them. There were bags under his eyes as well, large and dark, a testament to the uncertainty he'd felt ever since that summer, nearly five months ago, when his world collapsed from beneath himself and secrets long kept hidden stepped out of the shadows, manipulations from beneath the surface for the past fifty years showing themselves to him.
His skin was pale and generally looked unhealthy, something that should be expected when you tried to shy away from others' influence, spent hours upon hours of doing your most hated subject, schemed your way to freedom.
His lips on the other hand were just fine, perfectly kissable, even if the only girl he ever kissed had tears running down her cheeks the one time he experienced a whiff of romance and love. No, relationships weren't going to happen in this lifetime. He didn't like the idea of exposing his weak side to another.
His cheekbones and chin looked sharp. He knew why that was. Lack of food in his childhood changed the way his body digested food up until this day. He ate nearly as much as any other boy his age when he attended Hogwarts, he simply didn't absorb a lot of the energy or whatever it was people needed food for. Maybe he would've looked a bit more attractive with a rounder face, but that were what-ifs and those only caused despair and loneliness.
His hair greased easily these days, something he should've expected when his pastime started resembling that of Snape's. He washed it daily, but that didn't matter. By three o'clock in the morning it always laid flat and greasy on the top of his head.
A glimpse of red and gold in the corner of the room made his mouth curve in a cruel little smile that he quickly shook off. Satisfied with his observations, he stepped away from the mirror, picking up the robes he'd ordered especially for this occasion. Dress robes of the finest quality, soaked in a pleasant smelling Magnifier Potion to accentuate his presence.
He didn't try to get rid of the excitement that filled him at his prospect, though it was a bit difficult to hide the evidence of that feeling through the silky robes. Masturbation wasn't part of the plan however, so he decided to ignore it. Still, it was a good sign he still could get excited that way. Five months without an orgasm, not even having a wet dream... It was a very frustrating ordeal.
He only wore the robes for the occasion, no underwear, trousers or shirts to stifle his body anymore.
Checking his appearance one final time in the mirror, he was satisfied with the impression he would have on his audience. Aristocratic, menacing, threatening. Perfect.
He walked out of the Gryffindor boys' bathroom, taking the necessary steps to enter his dormitory. Taking his wand in hand, he started casting blasting curse after flaming curse on his trunk, destroying each and ever object in them: from his school robes to the Marauder's Map and his invisibility cloak. When he was certain everything was destroyed he grabbed his wand in both hands, lowering it to his raised knee at a fast speed.
Unlike what many wizards and witches feared, snapping your wand didn't have any effect on the owner. Like most things in life, a wand was nothing more than a tool. Replaceable. Unimportant, no mother whose feather might be its core or who owned the brother wand.
Leaving behind the burning mess, he went through the movements of going to the Great Hall like he did every morning, making sure to take in every portrait, harness and statue. A lot of them were ugly, but there were the rare beauties that made him glad he was doing this.
He stopped not too far from the doors separating the entrance hall with the Great Hall, straightening his robes a final time. Fortunately the sight of the Fat Lady erased all evidence of sexual excitement. Staring right in front of him, his posture exclaiming pride and confidence, he continued his path, thinking: time to give the wizarding world a wake-up call.
A lot of people turned their head when he entered, nearly all of them tracking him with their eyes. Some whispered to each other, others gaped. The first years stared at him in fear. His gaze swept over the entire hall as he stepped to his regular position at the Gryffindor table.
"Why are you wearing dress robes?" Hermione Granger demanded.
He looked at her, his brows raising to show he wasn't impressed. He sat down, neglecting to pick food from the table. Instead he took the glass given to him by the house-elves, pouring pumpkin juice in it. He swirled it a bit in his hand as one would do with a class of scotch for a while, savoring the calm.
His eyes rose to the head table, trying to locate the manipulator, the hidden dictator of wizarding Britain. He caught them easily, taking them captive. He smirked and rose his glass to his lips.
In the background he heard Ron speaking. "Why are you looking at McGonagall?"
The pumpkin juice had a refreshing taste, though he didn't care too much about that. He felt the liquid leave his throat, moving at an incredibly slow speed down his body. Time seemed to freeze as he allowed a look of triumph to appear on his face. His head of house's eyes widened. Time couldn't be stopped eternally though and it didn't take long for the mashed pumpkin to settle in his stomach.
The explosion that followed was noticed worldwide as the mushroom cloud appearing in the Scottish skies destroyed a great part of the Highlands, the wards and magic protecting part of the area collapsing fractions of seconds later. The Ministry of Magic needn't worry though, of Hogwarts and Hogsmeade the Muggles found naught but ruins, like they always had.
Were he alive, Harry Potter would have been ecstatic at the damage he caused.
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Author's Note This scene was in my head when I woke up, it took some time write it down, but I think that it's an incredibly nice twist to all those manipulative!Dumbledore stories. That and it proves that Snape's concern about Neville's potions is valid. This one-shot was named after Rise and Fall, the title track of The Offspring's most recent cd.