They Called Me Master
They have been doing it since school, since the day I chose my name. Ever since I cast aside that curse, they have all called me the same things. I cast aside the names over time, gradually coming to the conclusion that there was nothing worthy in my name. I abandoned the names "Tom" and "Riddle" the moment I understood just what filth those names had come from. I went only by Marvolo for a time, until I found him in the genealogy. I abandoned the name immediately upon finding the man had married his sister, who was also his cousin.
They called me unworthy. They thought me worthless. I killed them. I was better than them.
I fashioned a new name for myself, one that would encapsulate my being. I took it from the letters in my old names, creating a sentence that ended with a name derived from old French. "Flight of Death" it meant, and it fit perfectly. I, who would go further than any on the path toward immortality, deserved that name. I, who was the first to ever fly unaided, deserved such a name.
They called me insane. They thought me a madman. I tortured them. I had surpassed them.
I gave the name to my schoolmates, those who would eventually become my first followers. They accepted it without question. I opened the Chamber of Secrets and killed one of the Mudbloods while incapacitating many others. I created my first two Horcruxes at the school, my three-part soul already granting me far more power than I would have had otherwise. I understood, even then, the true value of such magic as opposed to that foolish love that Dumbledore kept going on about.
They called me despicable. They thought me a monster. I maimed them. I was more perfect than they.
They thought I should have been Minister for Magic. Slughorn particularly thought me suited to the job. I requested a teaching position and was turned down, so I took up a job buying and selling Dark Artefacts for Mr. Burke, where I found another Founder's descendant. She had a goblet, a goblet handed down the line of Helga Hufflepuff through the centuries. She also had a locket, a locket that should have been mine. I killed her, taking my birthright for myself. I took hers as well, considering it as the payment that should have come to me for taking the locket.
They called me charming. They thought me respectable. I ruined them. I took what was mine.
I went to Albania, searching for Ravenclaw's diadem, hidden in the forest nearly a thousand years earlier. I killed the peasant who guided me, his worth spent the moment I had located it. I created three more Horcruxes, my six-part soul nearly in that perfect state. As my body changed to accommodate the changes to my soul, I returned to Britain. My Death Eaters hailed me upon my arrival, pleased to serve. Dumbledore had taken the post of Headmaster, and I returned to seek the job of Defence teacher, and the Founder's item that I deserved.
They called me their Lord. They thought me their saviour. I led them. I gave them power.
Dumbledore refused me the position, and I only had time to hide the diadem, unable to search the castle for the elusive item that would come from Gryffindor. I returned to my men and began to build an army. Over the next ten years, we stayed quiet. We drew little attention to ourselves, only causing minor trouble to the Ministry as we slowly infiltrated society. Another six years saw further expansion of our ranks. My most loyal came to me, her youthful exuberance and natural talent granting her the ability to do anything I asked without question.
They called me a menace. They thought me a true threat. I got inside the Ministry. I stole power from them.
My followers had children who were being groomed to work for me. I saw many replace their parents, those who had died in my service. We found resistance. Dumbledore had organised his troops, ready to counter us at every turn. However, I had my spies. Wormtail came over to our side, knowing only we could offer him what he needed. Lucius brought Snape to me, and the young lad was eager to do what he could for the cause. I had him take up a position at Hogwarts to spy on Dumbledore.
They called me a threat. They thought me evil. I spied on them. I took their secrets from them.
The prophecy was made, and Snape had heard some of it. I was now aware that a boy would be able to defeat me. I had the names of every expecting mother in our world, every child who could possibly be the threat. I removed those who did not fit the prophecy, and then there were two left. Longbottom, whose blood was pure, was one of the families. Potter, the other, had soiled its legacy by taking in Mudblood filth. They deserved this fate, and so I chose them.
They called me their danger. They thought me their future killer. I was. I took their lives away from them.
It was Halloween, and I was ready to eliminate the threat. Snape had requested the Mudblood for himself, and I assented to his request. I wasted no time, not killing unnecessarily. Wormtail had given me the Secret, and so I entered the house unopposed. I killed the father, his life forfeit the moment he stood to face me. I went upstairs and told the mother to move aside. I told her to keep her life and hand over the child. She refused, begged that I kill her instead.
Who am I to refuse a request for death? I killed her and turned my wand on the infant, his life to end soon, my immortality to be unquestioned. And then I died.
They called me the Dark Lord. They thought me one to be feared. I killed the parents. I was broken by the child.
I fled, bodiless and unable to do magic. The boy had survived and I had only just, my Horcruxes protecting me from the fate that would have otherwise befallen me. I moved stealthily across the Channel, gliding across the continent. I settled into Albania, finding the forest where I had originally taken the diadem. They searched for me, but none found me.
They called me defeated. They thought me dead. I was not. I was only waiting, biding my time.
He found me, the man who had taught Muggle Studies. I convinced him to help me, to take me back with him and to take up the Defence post. I found out about a plot to hide away a Philosopher's Stone, and so I made it my goal to obtain it. The Stone would restore my body; give me that which I most desired. The boy was there, also searching out the Stone. We met, and he bested Quirrell. I was alone, again, and returned to Albania.
They called me broken. They thought me weak. I was desperate. I had no options left and resigned to endure.
He found me. Only two years later, Wormtail returned to help me, and with his feeble assistance I was able to take a somewhat human form. We returned to Britain, armed with new information, and set the wheels in motion for our master plan. With one of my most loyal Death Eaters free and working at Hogwarts, the death of the boy was assured and my rebirth was a certainty. He was entered into the Triwzard Tournament, and he made it to the final task. He entered the maze and touched the portkey with another boy, arriving at the graveyard. The other died, I was reborn, and the brat escaped again.
They called me a myth. They thought me gone forever. I was back. I was powerful again.
Severus returned to my service, reprising his role as a spy on Dumbledore. I immediately completed my quest for a seven-part soul, turning my beloved Nagini into the final Horcrux. Lucius told me of the fate of my Diary. He was tortured mercilessly for failing me. The prophecy was my new goal; its contents would surely give me the information I needed to know how to destroy Potter. The giants were willing to return to my service and the Dementors were willing to accept my offer. My most loyal followers were liberated from their prison cells in Azkaban. Everything was going well until my followers bungled the job. The prophecy was broken and I stepped in to deal with the situation. I duelled with Dumbledore and I could not defeat him. Bellatrix and I escaped, unwilling to allow this setback to make a difference in the end.
They called me the most dangerous man alive. They thought me unstoppable. I was unstoppable. I was operating in the open once again.
I gave Draco his task: kill Albus Dumbledore before the end of his sixth year or die. Our attacks grew more violent, and the Ministry was failing in its job. They imprisoned perfectly innocent individuals to appear busy. There was nothing wrong with this, as it only helped my cause. The Ministry had been infiltrated, and it would only be so long before we took the higher offices. We killed Albus Dumbledore.
They called me He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. They thought me a mass murderer. I was everything they thought and more. I was the most feared Dark Lord of all time.
The boy was to be evacuated before his birthday, and we were ready to strike. I smote the Auror, Moody, and tracked down the real Potter. I flew after him, and his wand did the unnatural and destroyed the wand I had borrowed from Lucius. The Ministry had fallen and the Taboo had been instated. Snape was the new Headmaster of Hogwarts School. Ollivander had no answers, and so I turned to the only other source of information I could: Gregorovitch. I had heard of the Deathstick, and knew that Gregorovitch would know of it. I found him, probed his memories, and found the Deathstick. It had been stolen long ago, and I did not know who the thief had been.
They called me You-Know-Who. They thought me in control. I ran the show. I created the rules.
Harry Potter showed up in Godric's Hollow as predicted and encountered Nagini. The snake held him until just before I arrived, and he barely escaped with his life. I saw, though, the thief, in a photo taken many years ago. It was the thief and a young Albus Dumbledore. Opening the biography, I was surprised to find the thief to be Grindelwald. I set out for Nurmengard to claim my prize. I found him, and he denied knowledge of the wand. I killed him, knowing where the only man to ever defeat Grindelwald was. I went to Hogwarts to take the wand from the tomb of Albus Dumbledore.
They called me vile. They thought me terrifying. I had the wand. I had the power.
I arrived at Malfoy Manor, where Potter was supposed to be. I was late, having returned from Nurmengard, and those involved were punished severely for daring to interrupt my work. They were punished again when news came that the goblet had been stolen. I had to check my other hiding places. The shack was empty. The cave was without its locket. Nagini was with me, the diary destroyed years past, and the diadem safe. I had to return to Hogwarts, first to kill the boy and then to redouble the protections around my diadem. It was time for battle, and our respective armies met and fought on the Hogwarts grounds.
They called me obsessive. They thought me mad. I was furious. I was losing control.
I called Snape to the Shrieking Shack, and I killed him. The wand had not been working properly, and I had understood that it was because Snape had defeated Dumbledore and I had not. I called Harry to the forest, to come meet his fate. He would die, and I would have nothing left to worry about. He arrived; I killed him. And I was in pain. I was in pain and I did not understand why. I rose, and ordered the Malfoy woman to report whether or not the foul boy was dead. I was not taking a chance, not this time. He was, and at last I could rest easy. I tortured the body, asserting my supremacy.
They called me Master. They hailed my victory. I was back in control. I was victorious.
And then it happened. I showed them their fallen saviour and gave them their choice: surrender and be rewarded or continue to fight and lose everything. I destroyed the Sorting Hat, set it aflame on the head of the Longbottom boy. He pulled from it the sword of Godric Gryffindor, the final artefact I had originally intended to turn. He beheaded my Nagini. I had only my diadem left. Only one Horcrux remained. The school and its residents and defenders leapt into action, and the battle renewed. The Blood-Traitor killed Bellatrix, and in a burst of anger I sent my own attackers flying like ragdolls. The boy... that accursed boy was back, back from death, and said that my diadem... My diadem was destroyed.
They called me pathetic. They watched my final moments. I was desperate. I was defeated by my own spell.
They had called me Master, and now Death was my Master.