After a decade, Tom Marvolo Riddle – known now as Voldemort, to any he encountered – decided to return to magical Britain, and to his followers. He had earnt his name, Flight of Death, and had become more powerful than he had ever hoped he could achieve. Ritual upon controlled ritual, and he had become a being higher than the creatures he left behind. Lord Voldemort was immortal, a god among the world of the perishable. He had risen like a phoenix, from the ashes of his childhood, and was now ready to fulfil his destiny, with two horcruxes behind him.
He had gathered his forces, presented himself to the distinguished Knights of Walpurgis, and now they would begin their true quest for change. Already on their list was to get hold of one particular magical artefact - a wrist band - from where it had been hidden in a forest deep in Dorset. It was a cruel item, though not commonly known for its powers in extracting magical abilities, which was what they wanted it for.
Voldemort had taken four of his most competent followers with him for this particular task, and they navigated the twisted trees with their hoods up over their heads. It was silent (perhaps due to the animals sensing the danger that these wizards posed) and pitch black, as the foliage of the trees blocked out any glow that the moon may have provided. Voldemort was able to make his way without the aid of light, and his followers were working to do the same. After nearly an hour, when they were reaching the base of a hill, they stopped at Voldemort's silent command.
It was a quiet sound at first. Comparable to the delicate run of a mouse in the dead of night. But as the source came closer, it became clumsier, more like the stumbling of a fawn without its mother. These people were clearly lost, and as it become apparent, clearly not magical; a dim artificial light was beginning to illuminate a slither of the forest, guiding the muggles endlessly forwards. When the muggles finally realised that they were not alone, they too stopped dead.
The two muggle men were dressed in thick woollen coats and stiff leather boots, and they both looked utterly terrified. One, the shorter, stockier man, had begun to quiver, and Voldemort felt a rush of excitement as he observed the two pitiful beings. Licking his lips quickly, he could practically taste their terror. Just their luck.
"Men, I do urge you to be careful," Voldemort addressed his followers, twitching for the permission to attack. "Muggles are awfully… delicate," he concluded, grinning at the still-frozen men stood before him.
The first man's screams came without warning, and the other looked on in horror as his friend began to writhe around on the floor in pain, before he himself was whimpering, clutching at his neck and pinned against a tree. Voldemort did not outwardly laugh, but inside he felt positively gleeful; he could watch these filthy creatures suffer all night without having to do any of the work, and would get to rid the world of these two pests. The man on the floor began clawing at his face in agony, screaming incoherently about the pain under his skin, whereas the man up in the air was sobbing profusely as his followers cackled in joy. Malfoy had joined forces with Lestrange, both men having a lust for physical pain, as manifested in the writhing man on the floor. Black and Flint, however, sick bastards as they were, had an insatiable desire to watch the emotional suffering of the weak minded; they had been known to reduce their victims to emotionless shells, when they were feeling particularly cruel. Voldemort himself enjoyed the role of spectator; he had full control over his own bloodlust, and was happy merely to watch his followers carry out their perverted fantasies.
Only a few minutes into the torture, however, both muggles were paralysed in their position, and no more screams were heard.
"Do you not care for the Statute of Secrecy?" The voice carried to the wizards with a tone of authority, and Voldemort braced himself for a duel as five dark figures approached.
The strangers had lit their wands, and as soon as they were within sight Voldemort recognised the leader – Lord Harry Potter. Tempted to spit at the man, he refrained himself, and raised his wand in defence.
"What right have you to interfere in our business here, when our activities are causing no harm but to the creatures at our feet, Lord Potter?" Voldemort retorted, irate that the other Dark Lord had interrupted his followers.
The man's eyes seemed to glint in recognition. "Tom Riddle, if I recall," he stated, and Voldemort felt a sick anger fill his stomach. "You've changed somewhat, I see, from your Hogwarts years."
Lord Potter himself looked largely the same; his eyes held the same intrusive gaze, but his gentle features were highlighted by the glow from his wand tip. He appeared suspicious, but not hostile.
"My name, is Lord Voldemort," he grandly corrected the man, who made no reaction to this revelation, "and you would do well to leave my affairs alone."
"I do not doubt your power, I have no desire for a confrontation. I merely have a concern for these innocent men here. Do you not see that the torture you inflict on muggles brings us closer and closer to being discovered?" Lord Potter argued, yet Voldemort sneered at the man's serious expression.
"Do you not see that killing the things solves that issue? The muggles are invasive weeds, quickly taking over the earth and strangling it for its resources; killing them is doing the world a favour."
"The world, perhaps, may appreciate the favour, but wizarding kind will not be so forgiving when we are found as a result of hundreds of wives reporting their husbands having gone missing, no body to be discovered, due to your actions. We are in danger if this continues, Lord Voldemort" Lord Potter addressed him mockingly, and Voldemort felt his anger grow further.
"These rats would've died anyway, they were lost."
"That is not the point; we should not be interfering with muggles at all!"
Voldemort hated the calmness that Lord Potter retained, and he could feel his followers tensing with him. For followers, they were evenly matched, and Voldemort did not want to test the might of Lord Potter just yet; a fight was out of the question. He would have to make a compromise.
"Do with them what you will, then. If you believe that letting them be free would be any better for our safety, then I shall leave you to that without any further conflict. I would like to continue my business here."
"Very well," agreed Lord Potter, an amused grin working its way onto his face. Every muscle in Voldemort's body was tensed in anger by this point; the man was making a mockery of him!
"Is something funny, Lord Potter?" he asked, as civilly as he could.
"Oh no, not at all," the Lord waved him off, though still looking highly amused. "It merely seems to me that you're overly concerned about your followers' impression of you in this circumstance; you don't find me intimidating, do you? I wouldn't worry, if you've found your followers the right way, they should be loyal to you through respect and a belief in your cause, not out of fear." His grin grew wider as Voldemort's eyes darkened.
"You wish to make a fool of me then, Lord Potter?" Voldemort hissed, pure fury coursing through his veins. "I can assure you, I have every capability to prove myself as a considerable threat to you, if that is the game you want to play."
Lord Potter's followers raised their wands in unison, but Potter stopped them.
"I do not wish for conflict, Lord Voldemort, I thought I had already made myself clear on that. I was merely… reassuring you. I can see that our presence here is becoming quickly unwelcome." He turned to his followers. "I'm afraid to say that we have chosen the wrong day to go searching for the item. We may have to find another way around our predicament."
He lifted his wand, and summoned the still-paralysed muggles.
"Good evening, Lord Voldemort," were his last words before they apparated away, and left Voldemort and his Knights alone once again.
Fucking bastard, Voldemort thought.
Their Norway base was probably Harry's favourite, he thought, as he glanced out of the large window. Though the only practical way of entering was through apparation, it was worth the isolation at the very least for security's sake. The sights weren't half bad either; it was a large house placed in the midst of the Norwegian mountain ranges, and so whilst training they could look upon a most beautiful landscape. To either side were grand mountains, all with an icing top of snow, and at the pit of the valley was a vast, deep blue lake, surrounded by trees. The downside, however, was that it was very distracting, as Harry was currently finding. The interior of the room they were in presently was warm and homely, though sparsely furnished, as many colourful duels were taking place. The wallpaper was a warm brown, and the floor a polished wood. Any furniture featured in the large room was mostly hyper-realistic dummies, to practice more violent spells on, though there were a couple of soft sofas to the sides of the room, in case anybody was in dire need of rest.
"Everyone to the front, please!" Harry called, beckoning his followers around him.
The duels were ended, the dummies were repaired, and the 50 of Harry's followers who had attended this session all stood around attentively.
"As promised, I have revised my studying on extracting the magical power of simple magical creatures. For more powerful and dangerous creatures, a ritual will be needed, and of course a team of experienced wizards to get hold of such animals, but for today we'll look at the spell for smaller creatures. I've managed to acquire some Pogrebins from Russia; Russian demons, and as you can observe, they are about a foot tall, with a grey, furry body, and a smooth round head which rather resembles a stone, for disguise. A Pogrebin can inflict a sense of great despair over its prey if it is able to follow them for long enough, and it is this power that we shall be extracting. We wish to be able to inflict despair on our opponents. The spell is not specific to this creature, the Pogrebin was just convenient for learning it. Any smaller magical creature should work just as well."
Some of the followers began to lean over each other to size up the creatures, that were looking incredibly disgruntled by being sat in a room full of wizards and witches.
"So, observe my actions; I first make the runic symbol Uruz with my wand above the Pogrebin. This is a rune for physical strength and untamed potential, but also for understanding and wisdom. It helps to create an understanding between my human magic and the Pogrebin's magic, and keeps the creature alive during the process; it is a physically taxing experience for the animal. Over this, I then say 'Accipere virtutem' to cast the spell. Obviously, I would not recommend casting the spell wordlessly, unless you have been using it often enough to be familiar with it. The power is then transferred to me, and may be directed elsewhere by casting silently with my wand at the desired target. Do we all understand?" Most of them nodded, and nobody asked any questions, and so Harry felt that they were good to go. "Brilliant. There should be about one Pogrebin between a group of three to four. Have a practice, and if you want to attempt to inflict the power onto somebody in your group, then have to hand a Draught of Peace – permanent emotional harm is not welcome in this building. Do try not to harm the Pogrebins, because they need to be returned to Russia; we don't want to damage the ecosystem."
The group dispersed once more, and Harry roamed the room, offering support to anybody who was struggling. Perhaps it was an odd style of rule, to act much like a teacher, but he felt as if he and his followers were more of a community than anything else. Instructing and supporting others came naturally to him, as did bringing them together and leading. 'Dark Lord' was a title of power and skill, rather than a dictation of how he should be treating his followers. By the end of the session, the vast majority of the attendees had successfully inflicted some level of despair on their colleagues, and Harry was proud of them; it had been a difficult spell to learn, he thought.
That evening, they dined, still in the Norway base, with most of Harry's followers now present. Up towards the end of the main course, they all had been chatting amiably about their lives; the witch Harry was currently in conversation with was talking excitedly about her and her husband's attempts at having a baby, of which she was sure would soon have some success. Harry liked hearing about their lives outside of their political campaigning and the training sessions, and dinners like this were a perfect opportunity for that. It was a pleasant reminder of the people he was working with. Another witch, however, spoke up from across the table.
"Lord Potter, my apologies for interrupting the mood of our dinner, but I believe many of us are curious, and I could not wait any longer to ask; are we intending to do anything about Lord Voldemort? We have all heard of your encounter with him the other day."
The table quickly went quiet, proving her claim to be true; it was clear that many of them had concerns over the dark rival. Harry considered, for a moment, and then spoke.
"I think, Hetty, that you are right to bring up this issue. Obviously, word has spread of our encounter with him and his followers in Dorset. I will not pretend that I do not see him as a threat; though we have not yet seen it, I sense that he has great power, power enough to challenge my own. We do not want to be on the wrong side of him. If he interferes again, he will become a problem even on top of his apparent similarities to Grindelwald in attitude towards muggles. It is impractical, but I think we shall have to focus our efforts more on magical Britain than Europe as a whole, if we are to keep this situation under control. We will continue to fight for the image of dark witches and wizards. I am hoping, however, that we may be able to construct some sort of agreement with him. If he were willing to change a few of his policies, he would be a powerful ally. I would encourage you all to think about how you best feel we should be handling the situation, and if you think that you may be of any assistance, do not hesitate to let me know your thoughts."
There was a murmur of agreement across the table, and most seemed satisfied with the answer; they continued their previous conversations soon after, and the subject was dropped.
It was almost humorous how the two Dark Lords next encountered each other, surrounded by tall bookshelves and fine sculptures. The Library of Cherpo, in Prague, was a relatively famous source of dark books, so it was unsurprising that Voldemort was paying a visit; what astounded Harry were the chances of them visiting at the same time, and occupying the same large desk. The desk in question was crescent in shape, and a dark mahogany, tucked into one of the many circular alcoves in the large building. They were in a section focusing on herbology, but neither of them would be reading on the subject; it would be foolish to give anybody an indication as to what you were researching in a library like this.
Neither of them had meant to sit on the same table as the other. Harry wasn't even sure who had sat down first, as absorbed in his own work as he was. He had been looking for a ritual that might help him to carry out a rather vague favour for an influential Polish vampire clan. Vampires were very tricky, and rarely asked favours of wizards, so this was an opportunity that he could not let go; because of this rareness, however, they were always very private about what the task would be. They were looking for a wizard who could find what they were looking for in a way that wasn't necessarily obvious at first. But Harry felt like he was on the right track. It was after about an hour of intense note-making when he looked up to the twitching red eyes of Lord Voldemort himself. The man was staring down at his own tome, and Harry noted that it was in German.
"Zuckst du immer wenn du liest?" (Do you always twitch when you're reading?). Harry enquired in a low voice, anxious not to disturb anyone but knowing that Voldemort would hear him.
Voldemort did not look up, but his eye stopped twitching. He appeared to be considering whether he had the patience to answer the older man. Harry held his stare. Under inspection, he noticed the aristocratic definition of Lord Voldemort's cheekbones in the candlelight, and wondered which family this descended from; Riddle was no wizarding name, but perhaps his mother had been from a family of status. It would not have surprised him, as Voldemort certainly seemed to know his way around the British gentry. Harry was almost surprised when Voldemort responded, though not moving from his position over his book.
"Nein nur wenn ich von einer fremde Sprache liest" (No. Only when reading from another language). He murmured in response, though with a slight tone of irritation seeping into his voice. Harry was being tolerated, for now.
"Es ist eine schӧne Sprache" (It is a beautiful language). Harry commented, amused by Voldemort's lack of commitment to it, as he interpreted from the stiff way in which he spoke.
Voldemort did not respond to this, but he had not gone back to his reading either. His eye was not back to its twitching yet.
"How many of your school acquaintances know that you're a dark wizard? How many have you spoken to since you've returned to Britain?"
There was another long silence, and the movement of his shoulders seemed to indicate that he had suppressed a sigh.
"None but my followers," he admitted, and Harry felt that he almost sounded human, in contrast to the coldness with which he normally spoke. "The observant suspect."
Harry felt that there was some tragedy in this. He did not feel that anybody should feel the need to hide who they were, especially when they could not help how their magical core developed.
"It is much easier to be openly dark in the rest of Europe, I suppose." Harry responded. He tentatively added "Torturing muggles doesn't help the situation."
From the dark flash that he saw in Voldemort's eyes, he supposed he was lucky that the man left without another word.
It was cold. No warming charm seemed to make it any more bearable. Harry was wrapped up as much as he could bear, with extra layers around his neck, and he was still bloody freezing. He could taste the cold, clogging up his mouth and throat. But it was okay; he was cool, he was calm, and he was collected. Nothing would get in the way with this meeting, least of all the weather. He had been preparing for this meeting for months, and it would not go wrong. He stood tall. Composed himself. And made his way toward the camp.
The group of vampires were stood in formation, their leader, Anastazy, at the front. They appeared emotionless, and Harry tried to clear his head from all emotion too, which the numbing cold helped with. Beside Anastazy was a translator, as Harry could tell from the green emblem on the man's arm. Harry approached as close as was acceptable, and bowed low.
"Count Anastazy, I am honoured to be at your service." Harry declared in a smooth, confident tone, and did not rise until the man nodded his head once.
As the man spoke, Harry remained attentive, even if he could not understand fully what was being said. He knew a fair amount of Polish, but the vampire clans had a separate dialect from the human tongue which was undocumented, and so Harry was unable to learn it. The translator then spoke up.
"Good evening, Lord Potter. We welcome you once again to our camp. However, we do not have the time for any further formalities, and do not wish to waste time on either side. It is with regret that we inform you that we are intending to sever ties with you and your associates."
Harry was floored, though he tried not to let it show. He had no idea what he could have done; he had not even been given the opportunity to carry out the task for the clan. Vampires usually stuck very well to these formalities.
"We were sought by another British wizard of dark origins, Lord Potter. He was able to complete our task for us. We therefore have no need for you. Thank you for your time."
After a signal, they all disappeared, and Harry was left to himself. Alone. With his steadily increasing fury. He was suddenly burning in the deep cold, practically shaking. This had been his only chance within his own lifetime to secure an alliance with the vampire clan. He had worked, and worked, and worked for it. The power that he would have gained from such an alliance… All gone. Slipped through his fingers faster than he could feel it there. Because of Lord fucking Voldemort couldn't learn to share. They had spoken only twice, but Harry felt pure hatred burn through him in this moment.
A deafening crack announced his arrival to his followers, and he stormed to the intelligence room.
"Where the fuck does Lord Voldemort hide his selfish arse?" Harry seethed, not bothering to sit down.
The group scrambled through their papers, not wanting to anger Harry further. He was rarely cross, and rarer still was a mood like this, but they knew his fury was not directed at them, and they worked quickly for him.
"His main base is in the midlands, my lord, you should find him there. It has no wards around it other than a strong muggle repellent charm."
Another loud crack of thunder, and Harry was storming through the oak doors of Voldemort's base, interrupting the man addressing his followers. The air now crackling around him, Voldemort indicating for them to let him through, and they parted like the Red Sea.
Voldemort remained blasé, sat in a throne-like chair, fiddling absent-mindedly with his wand. "My, my, Lord Potter, what a pleasure to see you here. Not on a little Gryffindor ramble for revenge, are we?"
The man looked far too smug for Harry's liking, and he closed the gap between them, whipped his wand into his hand, and pressed it against Voldemort's neck dangerously.
"I don't know what game you think you're playing, you bastard, but you would do well to leave me out of it," Harry started, his voice low and formidable. "I have been planning my meeting with the vampires for months, and you know fucking well just how hard it is to even get hold of such an opportunity. It is so reassuring to know that you've found such joy in fucking it all up for me."
"You think that pointing a wand at my neck is going to scare me?" Voldemort mocked, mirth dancing in his red eyes. "You should feel lucky that I have allowed you to get close enough to do so!" He laughed, and his followers jeered in support. "As far as I'm concerned, I have the edge over you. The bracelet, and the alliance with the vampires. Both snatched from your loose hand, like taking a sugar quill from a first-year. You should've held tighter."
Harry's grip on his wand tightened, and a quiet growl escaped him.
"Don't you think for one more moment that managing to get ahead a mere twice gives you an edge. Nothing trumps experience, and in that, I am ahead. I helped to defeat the Dark Lord Grindelwald, and you think that you can come along, only a decade after graduating Hogwarts, and find a way over me?" Harry snarled, allowing his own hollow laugh at the man. "If you and I were alone, I could bind you before you blinked. You'd be up in the air, screaming like that muggle you so enjoyed to torture, begging for mercy. If I so wished, I could off you in a fraction of a second, and that would be that. If I so wished. In the future, I would appreciate it if you left my business the fuck alone, and stop interfering, or I will lose my patience."
A flash in Voldemort's eyes was the only warning Harry had before the man was stood, a strong hand around this throat. Embarrassingly, Voldemort was an inch or so taller than Harry, and so he was having to look up at the man, but they were essentially in equal position. Voldemort, however, had adopted the same warning glower as Harry's.
"You would be a fool to try to kill me, Lord Potter," Voldemort snarled in response, and they were like two feral dogs in a battle of threats. "I, Lord Voldemort, do not just die as the rest of you mortals. I, the last remaining heir of Slytherin, do not die!"
It was a grand profession, and he lifted Harry onto his toes as if to emphasise his strength. His eyes glowed, and he then hissed in the tongue of snakes, before letting him go. As he lowered his hand, Harry's attention was drawn to a black ring. It looked like an inconspicuous family ring, but as it brushed against Harry's neck, he felt its draining chill. There was something intensely dark about it.
Having expressed his frustrations by now, Harry turned his back on Voldemort dismissively.
"Get some better wards," Harry bit out, prowling out like the grim. "Twat."
He'd lost his alliance with the vampires irretrievably, but he had gained information. Or perhaps raised more questions. Voldemort was a parselmouth. And that ring… he needed to find out what it was.