My parents were Muggles, of course, but they knew all about this magic
stuff. My father's childhood friend had discovered he was a wizard while he
was with my father at a movie, and of course he told my mother everything.
She thought it was cool, although her father was a minister and naturally
would think it devil-worship. When I was born, and my father's friend
sensed the humongous amounts of Dark power in me, she had a religious
relapse and tried to exorcise it. All that happened was that I got really
angry, and every single piece of glass in the whole neighbourhood
shattered. After that she gave up and named me Glenda.
Glenda, I ask you! As soon as I was one, and talking properly, I made everyone call me Malgotha - much nicer. I spent an enjoyable four years torturing small animals (without being anywhere near them of course), but eventually my parents got suspicious so I decided to move on to greater things. I tortured kids at kindy for a while, but that wasn't much fun either - there are only so many times you can make them squirm in their seats, or get into trouble for seeing things which aren't really there or hitting someone for no readily apparent reason, and still find it amusing.
Around age seven I took over the world. I reached as far back into the past as I could manage at the time, and discovered to my pleasant surprise the Heir of Slytherin attending a prestigious Wizard school called Hogwarts. I fiddled with his emotions for his whole life, playing with his anger, hate and jealousy, guiding his power and giving him metaphorical elbow nudges when he was about to do something monumentally stupid. He would have been just another irritating little Darkie, plotting and scheming in corners, but I made him great.
Then I grew out of it - all that childish torturing and Muggle hunting. So boring. Muggles are no sport; they can't even tell if you're messing with their heads. More fun taking candy from a baby if the baby's a wizard. Then I wondered what this Voldemort could achieve on his own. After all, I may be the greatest Dark Mage in the world, but I'm not the only one. I looked through the future birth records, slipped into a silly old Diviner's head and gave a nicely mysterious prophecy about some kid, knocked up a little magic mirror and sat back to watch. And what does the idiot do the minute I'm not there to help him? He goes and attacks the freaking kid! Not only that, but he accidentally MARKS him!
Honestly, the plain stupidity of some people. I knew better than to Mark my enemies at age four, when I didn't HAVE any enemies! I took a closer look at the kid, and found that he would have been fairly powerful even without the Mark, but it put a lot of the power stripped from Voldemort into him, as well as the nice little protective charm his mother died for.
At this point it occurred to me to wonder what had happened to Voldemort himself. I went and had a look and found that despite the backfired Kedavra his soul was still hanging around somewhere. Obviously all that protection I'd given him, as well as what he cast himself in his paranoia (although I expect I caused that, too), combined with the weakness of the spell after it pushed so much power into the kid to keep Voldemort here as a spirit, not even a proper ghost. Stupid bugger.
I chased him into a deep wood and left him there as punishment. Let him possess snakes if he isn't smart enough to get out! He did teach me something though. With the right combination of powers, even the Killing Curse doesn't actually, you know, kill. That was the catalyst for my "Cower, brief mortals" phase, complete with theatrical black fire and whatnot. Scared the hell out of my parents, who had more or less kept out of my way since the Principal's Underwear Incident, not to mention the time I persuaded a demon to possess granddad's false teeth and bite people's fingers. They tried to pack me off to Hogwarts, but I threw a tantrum. And when I throw a tantrum, it STAYS thrown.
So I stayed at Muggle School, where of course I was the best at everything. I wasn't friends with anyone though - I looked around their heads in kindy, and skimmed through again a few times after, and none of them was worth bothering about. At age fourteen I came to terms with death, gave up trying to break through Nicholas Flamel's shields (after all he'd had 600 years to get good at it) and decided I was going to have as much fun as I possibly could before I went.
I mentally slipped into all the older classes, looked through the teachers' notes and read college textbooks, and by my fifteenth birthday I had learned all Muggles had to teach me. On holidays I explored my own magic, working out what I could do with it. Here, the Muggle library was very helpful. Amazing, the things they can come up with when they don't know we exist. I taught myself to apparate and turned my hair black with a bespelled comb. My eyes were already purple, and they looked much better with black than they did with blonde.
A small black salamander came out of my chimney one day and said hello, so I melded a falcons wings onto it, made them fireproof, gave it a flickering mane of black fire and adopted it as my familiar. I named it Muesli. Once I was certain there was nothing more to learn at home, I ran away. I dare say my parents were glad to see me go, even if all of mum and grandma's black clothing, jewellery and make-up disappeared with me. Of course I had to alter it all to fit and show more, or less, in the case of the nightie I got by accident.
I went and talked to Muesli's Dragon cousins in the Solomon Isles, taught myself to breathe fire without burning my hair off, danced with the Veela in France and had tea with the Ice Queen in Belarus, followed by a quick visit to Hades to chat with Persephone and skinny dip in the Styx. That made my skin nicely pale to go with my hair, so I went to America and modelled Gothic for a while. I suppose it was cheating that I made my eyelashes grow magically, used the Ice Queen's crystal spell to make my cheeks look blue where other girls used blush, spelled my feet to not quite touch the ground like the Veela do and made myself an invisible push up bra, but hey, that's life. The one where I posed in a black bikini with Muesli on my shoulder caused quite a stir (although of course they think it's digital animation).
By now I was seventeen - I should have been twenty, but I spent longer underground than I realised, and of course you don't age there. I had a brief liaison with a charming Spanish man, but I accidentally Froze him in a... uncomfortable position... and then forgot about him, so he ran away. Can't think why. I wondered what was going on in the regular, boring Wizard world, so I apparated in Diagon Alley and bought a copy of the Daily Prophet. It was full of things about The Boy Who Lived, which on closer observation turned out to be the very kid that Voldemort's curse backfired off. Wow.
I checked on Voldemort then, and imagine my surprise when I found that he had gotten himself a new body! Silly fool was smarter than I thought. I went to visit him, and had a run in with his snake, which suggested that I kill Harry Potter. He'd spent so much time possessing the beautiful thing it thought exactly the way he did! I was tempted to take it up with the animal rights league. Still, that did make me a tad curious about this Potter person, so I lied about my age, called myself Samantha Daniels and enrolled in Hogwarts as a Student Teacher (of Defence Against the Dark Arts of course).
Luckily the new teacher (the others kept having nasty accidents, odd, that) was a bit dull, and had been hired for the sole reason of his word-perfect ness in the facts and figures involved. So a bit of help was not unwelcome. I arrived there one cold September morning in a magically enhanced black top, jeans and a rather nice flowing black cloak. I slipped in unnoticed despite Muesli; people seemed to assume I was a student! Hah. Nice place though. Could definitely do with some extra bats, but I'm not complaining. Interesting effects in the hall, too. The students were having dinner. I'd checked all this out with a Gaze on the wind, and felt it was time to make my entrance.
The doors swung open...
Glenda, I ask you! As soon as I was one, and talking properly, I made everyone call me Malgotha - much nicer. I spent an enjoyable four years torturing small animals (without being anywhere near them of course), but eventually my parents got suspicious so I decided to move on to greater things. I tortured kids at kindy for a while, but that wasn't much fun either - there are only so many times you can make them squirm in their seats, or get into trouble for seeing things which aren't really there or hitting someone for no readily apparent reason, and still find it amusing.
Around age seven I took over the world. I reached as far back into the past as I could manage at the time, and discovered to my pleasant surprise the Heir of Slytherin attending a prestigious Wizard school called Hogwarts. I fiddled with his emotions for his whole life, playing with his anger, hate and jealousy, guiding his power and giving him metaphorical elbow nudges when he was about to do something monumentally stupid. He would have been just another irritating little Darkie, plotting and scheming in corners, but I made him great.
Then I grew out of it - all that childish torturing and Muggle hunting. So boring. Muggles are no sport; they can't even tell if you're messing with their heads. More fun taking candy from a baby if the baby's a wizard. Then I wondered what this Voldemort could achieve on his own. After all, I may be the greatest Dark Mage in the world, but I'm not the only one. I looked through the future birth records, slipped into a silly old Diviner's head and gave a nicely mysterious prophecy about some kid, knocked up a little magic mirror and sat back to watch. And what does the idiot do the minute I'm not there to help him? He goes and attacks the freaking kid! Not only that, but he accidentally MARKS him!
Honestly, the plain stupidity of some people. I knew better than to Mark my enemies at age four, when I didn't HAVE any enemies! I took a closer look at the kid, and found that he would have been fairly powerful even without the Mark, but it put a lot of the power stripped from Voldemort into him, as well as the nice little protective charm his mother died for.
At this point it occurred to me to wonder what had happened to Voldemort himself. I went and had a look and found that despite the backfired Kedavra his soul was still hanging around somewhere. Obviously all that protection I'd given him, as well as what he cast himself in his paranoia (although I expect I caused that, too), combined with the weakness of the spell after it pushed so much power into the kid to keep Voldemort here as a spirit, not even a proper ghost. Stupid bugger.
I chased him into a deep wood and left him there as punishment. Let him possess snakes if he isn't smart enough to get out! He did teach me something though. With the right combination of powers, even the Killing Curse doesn't actually, you know, kill. That was the catalyst for my "Cower, brief mortals" phase, complete with theatrical black fire and whatnot. Scared the hell out of my parents, who had more or less kept out of my way since the Principal's Underwear Incident, not to mention the time I persuaded a demon to possess granddad's false teeth and bite people's fingers. They tried to pack me off to Hogwarts, but I threw a tantrum. And when I throw a tantrum, it STAYS thrown.
So I stayed at Muggle School, where of course I was the best at everything. I wasn't friends with anyone though - I looked around their heads in kindy, and skimmed through again a few times after, and none of them was worth bothering about. At age fourteen I came to terms with death, gave up trying to break through Nicholas Flamel's shields (after all he'd had 600 years to get good at it) and decided I was going to have as much fun as I possibly could before I went.
I mentally slipped into all the older classes, looked through the teachers' notes and read college textbooks, and by my fifteenth birthday I had learned all Muggles had to teach me. On holidays I explored my own magic, working out what I could do with it. Here, the Muggle library was very helpful. Amazing, the things they can come up with when they don't know we exist. I taught myself to apparate and turned my hair black with a bespelled comb. My eyes were already purple, and they looked much better with black than they did with blonde.
A small black salamander came out of my chimney one day and said hello, so I melded a falcons wings onto it, made them fireproof, gave it a flickering mane of black fire and adopted it as my familiar. I named it Muesli. Once I was certain there was nothing more to learn at home, I ran away. I dare say my parents were glad to see me go, even if all of mum and grandma's black clothing, jewellery and make-up disappeared with me. Of course I had to alter it all to fit and show more, or less, in the case of the nightie I got by accident.
I went and talked to Muesli's Dragon cousins in the Solomon Isles, taught myself to breathe fire without burning my hair off, danced with the Veela in France and had tea with the Ice Queen in Belarus, followed by a quick visit to Hades to chat with Persephone and skinny dip in the Styx. That made my skin nicely pale to go with my hair, so I went to America and modelled Gothic for a while. I suppose it was cheating that I made my eyelashes grow magically, used the Ice Queen's crystal spell to make my cheeks look blue where other girls used blush, spelled my feet to not quite touch the ground like the Veela do and made myself an invisible push up bra, but hey, that's life. The one where I posed in a black bikini with Muesli on my shoulder caused quite a stir (although of course they think it's digital animation).
By now I was seventeen - I should have been twenty, but I spent longer underground than I realised, and of course you don't age there. I had a brief liaison with a charming Spanish man, but I accidentally Froze him in a... uncomfortable position... and then forgot about him, so he ran away. Can't think why. I wondered what was going on in the regular, boring Wizard world, so I apparated in Diagon Alley and bought a copy of the Daily Prophet. It was full of things about The Boy Who Lived, which on closer observation turned out to be the very kid that Voldemort's curse backfired off. Wow.
I checked on Voldemort then, and imagine my surprise when I found that he had gotten himself a new body! Silly fool was smarter than I thought. I went to visit him, and had a run in with his snake, which suggested that I kill Harry Potter. He'd spent so much time possessing the beautiful thing it thought exactly the way he did! I was tempted to take it up with the animal rights league. Still, that did make me a tad curious about this Potter person, so I lied about my age, called myself Samantha Daniels and enrolled in Hogwarts as a Student Teacher (of Defence Against the Dark Arts of course).
Luckily the new teacher (the others kept having nasty accidents, odd, that) was a bit dull, and had been hired for the sole reason of his word-perfect ness in the facts and figures involved. So a bit of help was not unwelcome. I arrived there one cold September morning in a magically enhanced black top, jeans and a rather nice flowing black cloak. I slipped in unnoticed despite Muesli; people seemed to assume I was a student! Hah. Nice place though. Could definitely do with some extra bats, but I'm not complaining. Interesting effects in the hall, too. The students were having dinner. I'd checked all this out with a Gaze on the wind, and felt it was time to make my entrance.
The doors swung open...
