Chapter Eleven - Of Darkness and Evil

The muggle flat he stayed in was fine, okay but not luxurious not as rich as he had lived in before, before his time in prison. But the flat that he stayed in now would suffice and would meet the needs he had set for himself. He had three goals in muggle london, get his old followers back together, get some financial amounts to fund his new war against Dumbledore and the ministry, and most important of all find out all he could about Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort.

So we have new players in town, he thought to himself with a challenging grin. He knew they would be no match for him. He was the true dark lord, and knew ancient magic, arcane magicks that nobody - save for Albus, once his best friend, now his worst enemy - knew of.

He wondered about Albus a lot, as he was after all Grindelwauld's best friend, and perhaps he still was. They had good times together, fun times, and Grindelwauld was too well disciplined to fall into the trap of the dark arts, let the arts consume his soul. No, he had a quick mind, and a conscience as well and so what if he used the dark arts? That did not make him evil, only different.

Voldemort was evil, Grindelwauld thought, using horcruxes, that was just madness. One cannot use that sort of alien magic and remain sane, remain human. Voldemort was a monster, a rabbid dog to be shot down and killed, exterminated. And Grindelwauld was just the man for the job. After he killed the dark lord he would be a hero, everyone would respect him and his rise to power would be quick as lightning. Then he could start to work on his anti muggleborn agenda.

Fuck the mudbloods, he thought viciiously, holding a glass of expensive red wine in his hand as he stood on his balcony. It overlooked muggle london from a vast height. He threw the glass on the road below him in rage. They ruined my world, he thought, dirtied what was once pure.

He was a pureblood.

He would fight for his heritage, fight for his rights, and people would flock to him. They would come to him, hear his call and come, willing to serve, willing to obey him out of love, and devotion.

Not fear. He was not a Voldemort.

He was dark, yes, but not evil. There was a difference, and Grindelwauld would show it to the world, show the world how and why he was so unjustly imprisoned.

But first he had to contact his old friends and followers, who might or might not have moved on to other things, moved on to serving Voldemort. If they did he would give them one chance to change their ways and if they did not they would have to die. There was nothing he could do for it. Voldemort needed to be exterminated, and all those who would protect him, the death eaters.

Yes, contact the old flock, he thought, contact them. But how? He knew nothing about the wizarding world. He was as ignorant and fresh as a babe. He would have to disguise himself. Did he have a wand?

He looked around, where was his wand?

He felt so confused.

So lost, so alone.

He wished Albus was here. Albus would know what to do.

He shook his head, what's wrong with me? He thought angrily. Have I lost my mind? Perhaps my years in prison has rattled my sanity.

It couldn't be, he thought.

It scared him, to go insane would be a disaster, no, it could not be.

But it is, said a voice in his mind, a mocking voice filled with malice and hate. You have succumbed to the dark side, don't you know, come join me.

"Who are you?" Grindelwauld whispered in the darkness. The night air was frigid and cold.

"You may call me Darth Challix," said the voice in his mind, "Come join me, join Voldemort, together we shall rule-"

"No!" He snarled, and used his mental shields, occlumency shields, to throw the intruder out of his mind with all the force he could.

His mind cleared. He could think again.

He looked around, and sighed, such changes had come to the world. Would he be good enough to help the world, to change it himself for the better? He did not know, but he knew that for the greater good he would try his best, sacrifice everything he had.

Because everything he did was out of compassion, for the greater good, not for himself, not for selfish reasons. The mudbloods had to go out of the wizarding world, which must stay pure, pure blooded.

Couldn't Albus see that?

"No, he cannot," Grindelwauld said to himself to the night air. He did not have a wand but he would get one, get a disguise too and go to Diagon Alley. Today. Right now.

He went, fled as swiftly as he could as if he was as thin as air. His innate magic might have boosted his speed. As he travelled to the Leaky Cauldron, his mind whirled and analyzed as quickly as the water falling down a water fall. It was inevitable. If he went as he was he would get caught, and without a wand he would have a hard time defending himself. He would have to disguise himself somehow in the muggle world.

He came across as store selling wigs, and he bought a bright red wig, so he looked like a haggard man with red hair.

That was enough, it would suffice until he could steal a wand from a wizard. Steal, not borrow, not buy. He would have to steal.

He hated that, hated being reduced to such filth, such a low level, and he would make Albus pay for this, because it was Albus's fault that he was here like he was, powerless.

But free, and as such, life was good. With a grin, and a wondering smile, he walked into the Leaky Cauldron.

Looked around, the people were scared.

Good wizards scared of their shadow. The thought angered him, how their prides were taken from them by Voldemort. This should not happen, should not happen like this. Mudbloods had to go, perhaps by force, but gently.

Gently push them out.

He used the dark arts only as a means to an end, to destroy greater wizards than he.

Not as a way to torture, to kill, to cause pain. That was not right, that was not the way of the Light.

For in the end, he was a Light Wizard, just like Albus Dumbledore.

Only he acknowledged the power of the darkness, of the shadow, and thus accepted the mantle of Dark Lord. For both were needed, Light and Dark, and together, only together could they hope to create a better world.

If only Albus understood that, Grindelwauld thought.

It made him very sad, because they were the best of friends, as close as could be. Almost family. The tragedy that happened to Albus's family was a mistake on his part. He should not have made it.

And perhaps he had to accept blame too, for the mistakes he made. He had many times succumbed to the dark arts, many times tortured and felt glee and happiness, rage and bloodthirst.

But he towered over it, and fought it, and won.

He was not evil.

He was justice, truth, and harmony intertwined into a weapon that used every one of its capabilities.

****

"What are your plans, my lord?" Darth Challix asked, kneeling before Lord Voldemort in a dark cave, as big as the chamber of secrets perhaps. A snake hissed nearby. Darth Challix felt out with the force, and felt Voldemort's spirit - or a part of it - reside within that creature, that noble creature.

His new lord was far better than his old one, much more powerful, more ruthless, more open.

Everything Darth Challix was, except better, faster, stronger.

"Have you made contact with Grindelwauld?" Voldemort asked after a few moments of silence, his words a cold hiss.

"Yes, he refused as you predicted, but the effort was well worth the reward for I have gleaned some interesting information."

Voldemort stayed silent. Darth Challix took that as assent to continue. "He is alone and powerless, does not even have a wand. He is staying in muggle london right now, and he plans to call together his old followers. I tried to re-enter his mind after he threw me out but he is too well shielded."

"It would only have worked once," Voldemort said, "The way you wield magic is deadly, a weapon, but a weapon of surprise above all. There are shields to weapons, all save one, or so I thought. Even the deadliest most invincible weapon can be stopped, and so balance resides in all."

"Balance, that is what the jedi say, what they think of the Force."

"They are partly right," Voldemort said, "Your Jedi - those who oppose the Sith - have a flawed understanding and their weakness reflects that."

He stood up, and held his wand in the air. A warm blue glow erupted from it, covering the cave in its light. Darth Challix shuddered.

This was pure power, he thought, smirking, pure power incarnate. I have made the right decision coming here to this backwater planet.

"There is no good or evil, only power, and those too weak to seek it."

Voldemort's red eyes bored deep into Darth Challix's gaze, until he felt as if all his thoughts, emotions and life were bared open for his Lord's study. He let it happen, allowed his mind to be ripped open. Memories rushed on the forefronts of his mind, and he savored the fact that he was useful to the Dark Lord.

And he would continue to be useful all his life. There was no other, no stronger. He would never reach his Lord's level. The force screamed at him, whispered at him, to serve this man, this harbringer of doom. Together they would destroy the universe, and then rebuild it.

And then rule it.