Brief British Cultural Notes:
This chapter features another of Voldemort's little songs. 'Being For the Benefit of Mr. Kite.' The Beatles, 1967, from 'Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band'. Link is Youtube plus this: /watch?v=bJVWZy4QOy0 (I'll also put it at the end for anyone who prefers to read first and listen after the context)
I'll go back shortly and put Youtube links in the earlier chapters where there are songs and will also make my own playlist at some point in the future. Reminder that this website takes out links, so remember to add the .com and then / with no space, as it won't let me put the full link in here!
A brief lesson in Early Modern English (Shakespeare/ King James Bible era):
You'll need this to understand 'Magick Moste Evile' (Magic Most Evil)
If this is too much, just read the chapter and come back here for any clarification! I don't know what you don't know so skim, skip, (take notes?!) Whatever helps! I will say that I have seen some remarkably poor (and pretentiously officious) attempts at EME on this website (in sooth I was pained most sorely when I did read such an one on a profile...) This isn't one of those!
thou hast = you (informal) have; knowest thou not = do you not know
he hath = he has
The 'ed' on the ends of words sounds like the vowels in 'read', 'bed'. So "scattered" is said like 'scatterd' in Modern English but like 'scatter-read' in Early Modern English.
thou dost; dost thou = you do; do you (often superfluous: thou dost read = you read, you are reading); thou liest; thou readest; thou speakest = you lie; read; speak/ are lying; reading; speaking
thou didst = you did (whereas "he did", like in the modern day. But "He did speak" (EME) = "He spoke" (Modern English); he did read/ thou didst read = he/ you read)
art = are, second person (thou art = you are)
sorely = very, extremely
thy = your (subject) (nominative) (thy endeavours are sorely foolish = your endeavours are extremely foolish; I am sorely pained = I am in a lot of pain)
thine = your (oblique/ genitive case, after to, in etc. Thine be the glory (said of God) = to you belongs glory. E.g. I do caution thee against thine endeavours = I caution you against your endeavours/ not to do what you propose to do).
to cleave = to cut, divide (so cleavage, breasts, are just things split in two, down the middle!)
it is/ was cleft = it is, was cut
twain = two.
cleave/ cleft in twain = to cut/ was cut in two; into two (equal) pieces
(the soule was cleft in twain; thou seekest to cleave thy soule in twain, etc.)
Also EME spelling wasn't fixed (the same word, including one's own personal name, a book's name, etc. in the same sentence, can be different, let alone vary across a whole text!); the spelling adds a lot of Es to the ends of words that are silent and have no effect on pronunciation (eg. 'Shakespeare') and sticks in random Ys in lieu of Is or in edition to them (dyvyde the soule = divide the soul, etc.)
Hope it's simple enough to follow! I know some of you will be familiar from the C of E/ Episcopal Church and similar, others may have studied Shakespeare etc. at school, but not everyone will be used to it and I have a lot of readers from around the world, so I hope this helped!
Chapter Nine
He Hath Scattered His Soul
Continuing on his walk, it wasn't long before his Lordship bumped into yet another of his little admirers.
"I say! My Lord!"
The boy practically flagged him down.
"Mr. Parkison! Peter, my dear! My dear lad, I should say! To what do I owe this very great pleasure?!"
Translation:
We're not due to meet.
You'd better have a bloody good explanation for disturbing me on my lovely little walk.
And for running up to me in the corridor in public (Miles and he had met in a deserted alcove, by prior arrangement).
"What's this? I can think of things I'd rather you waved in my face than some dusty tome that's falling apart."
"Umm. I'm afraid I don't quite follow?"
"No. I wouldn't expect you to."
You're not nearly attractive enough to attract my attention. In that respect.
"One of the Fifth Years handed this into me!"
"Indeed? What is it?"
"The Weasley girl dropped it when you summoned her. She was in the library. Thought it might be significant. That's why I brought it straight to you when I heard you might be free now!"
Already the Hogwarts grapevine knows I am alone and where I might be found in an instant?
My my my.
My spies really are the best.
He snatched the volume from the boy's hand.
"My, my, Miss Weasley. Wouldn't have thought this sort of thing was up your street."
Magick Moste Evile.
"And what was the name of this most obliging youth? The one who knew to hand it in to you? For my attention?"
"Cuthbertson, my Lord!"
"Well, Mr. Parkinson. Do thank good friend Mr. Cuthbertson-"
"Miss! Sorry. It's, erm, Heather, her name. On the Gryffindor quidditch team."
"A Gryffindor in the ranks? And a woman!"
"A girl, my Lord!"
Such a contradiction would earn one a Cruciatus, ordinarily.
But he hadn't got to the bottom of the story.
And so would refrain from administering a punishment.
For now.
"Intriguing! Do tell. Do go on with your fascinating account!"
'The Dark Lord will pretend you are the most fascinating person in the world...'
"She's not quite angling to join up Sir, my Lord, sorry, but- Her father told her to… to get in with us. For her protection. Like, help if she can in some way, should the chance arise."
"Oh?"
"She said he said it's necessary as she's publicly somewhat thrown together with the Weasley girl and he suggested she might be in danger, Cuthbertson, that is, in case she was mistaken for the close friend of the sister of an Undersirable, Ronald Weasley, Sir- My Lord."
"Christopher Cuthbutson's daughter? And he was always such a staunch Dumbledorite! And public about it, too! I ought perhaps to have a little chat. Pay him a little visit."
He gave a half smile again. With the right side of his mouth.
And broke into a rakish grin.
At the thought of the fun to come.
I always love an excuse to crack out the silverware!
His very best knives…
"I have a feeling that I might be able to… persuade her to take a leap of faith towards a… somewhat more public display of loyalty."
Perhaps.
Or perhaps a Gryffindor spy would be the more helpful at this particular juncture. Undercover. Rather than more overt support.
Either way. I'll have her.
By hook. Or by crook-
"You have been most informative, boy. Have a box of Turkish delight!"
"My Lord?"
"It is usual for one to bestow little gifts, is it not? On one's favourites!"
"I've never heard of it before!"
Voldemort noted the lack of immediate thanks.
Well, the complete lack of thanks, frankly.
He never thanked anyone himself, of course. No, indeed! Not unless he were playing a part to get something from someone, something that he wanted, especially.
But he would not brook a lack of suitably servile obsequiousness from a servant.
No indeed.
"A little delicacy I am rather partial to."
He was angling for a 'thank you'-
"From Turkey, funnily enough!"
-by stressing the 'exotic' nature of the gift.
Never mind that he had bought it for three quid down the Post Office in the next village, beyond Hogsmead.
Peter Parkinson took the box, examining the printed label.
"Is it, umm, you know?"
"What?"
"A mmmm- ummmmm. I mean, err. Forget I said anything!"
"A mmmmuh? Go on, finish what it was that you were about to say!"
"A mmm- mmmuh-"
The boy whispered:
"-muggle thing?"
Voldemort bit his lip. And raised his eyebrows.
"Sorry, my Lord. Forget I said anything!"
"Are you suggesting." He took a menacing step forwards. "That I. The Dark Lord." Another step. "Saviour of the wizarding world. Would be partial to muggle sweets? Well? ANSWER ME!"
"I'm so sorry, I, I just didn't know what they-"
"Give me your watch, boy."
Peter Parkinson didn't move.
"NOW!"
The boy rummaged in his pockets.
"My Dad gave it to me-"
"So much the better! Ah yes, I recognise this. 1780s. London. I'll have to check the hallmarks later to be sure. Against my reference book."
An antique silver collection was one of the Dark Lord's many indulgences.
"It's, umm, Paris. Breguet-"
"I knew it! I wasn't far off! They were founded in 1775!"
"It's 1825, actually. This one..."
Lord Voldemort glowered.
Peter put his hand out. To take the watch back.
The Dark Lord veritably cackled.
He held the watch to his right ear.
"Two minutes to brain damage. Three minutes to brain death. Excellent! Good, strong, loud tick, that! Get down on your knees, boy!"
The young man hesitated.
"NOW!"
But did so.
"Right. I would ordinarily go easy on you, Peter, my love. My lad. As it's your first time. But this is a punishment! Not a lesson!"
As in, not a class at school.
"Oh, I suppose it is a lesson, of sorts. If you suspect something of being of muggle provenance. Never voice that aloud, in my company."
The boy nodded.
He was shaking.
Desperate to somehow avoid what was to come-
Of course, it was fine for the Dark Lord to tell someone else that he was bestowing a muggle gift on him.
But not for someone else to utter that fact.
Not the other way around.
Never.
And, certainly, not in a voice indicative of shock, or disgust.
"Oh. And don't insult me by querying my choice of gifts. Not that you'll be getting any more any time soon. Oh, look at me babbling away, and yet again, class is finished and the students crowd the corridors! DON'T MIND ME, KIDDIES! Oh, well. If you will insist on giving way to me, pausing in your tracks in so obliging a fashion- Many thanks! CRUCIO!"
30. 29. 28.
"YOU KNOW, BOY? YOU SCREAM VERY PRETTILY INDEED!"
He cackled, again.
"I may give you the chance yet to make amends, after all! Some special service or little favour you might be good enough to perform on- I mean, for me. Naturally! Now where was I?!"
He had, of course, lost count.
"Oh, never mind. I'm sure it'll hardly make any difference at all. Start again!"
He had, of course, not paused the curse at all during all this ranting.
Peter Parkinson, Pansy's little brother, was suffering the sensation of being set alight.
A fire which could never kill.
Only cause the enduring of the worst imaginable kind of pain.
And, occasionally, rendering the subject insane.
"Oh he's gone all quiet. Must have fainted."
He stopped, and popped a Turkish Delight on his tongue.
"They never cover these in enough icing sugar!"
Then a second.
"Oh well! I expect it'll still add up to under two minutes. CRUCIO! 30! 29! 28!"
Voldemort chewed on another Turkish Delight as he walked and talked to himself.
Obviously he'd taken the box back off the boy.
He planned to give the rest of it to Severus. A kind of get well present (well, that's what he'd say. Having grown up during the War, and rationing, he could not abide good food going to waste. But neither could he abide the fact that these otherwise delectable sweetmeats were peppered with walnut shavings…. The only reason he'd offered to give them away, really.)
He cared not a jot that his sticky fingers were covered in icing sugar as he skimmed 'Magick Moste Evile'.
"We'll make a Death Eater of you yet, Ginevra Weasley! And a decent one, at that! What on earth could have compelled you to investigate this? Curiosity? Or a desire to defeat?"
He thumbed through the book, looking for a page that might have been turned down-
"A bookmark! And a star next to a paragraph!"
He threw the bookmark covered in pygmy puffs gambolling about to one side, to the floor, resolving to tear it up or something after. Perhaps set it alight.
All those purples and pinks! Ghastly!
The starred paragraph ran somewhat thus:
"'On the subjecte of the Darkeste of the Darke Arts, we would that thou didst not undertake that most synnistere and unholsome of acts, the most unholy, unacceptable unto God-' Ye Gods! It goes on and on! Blah blah blah blah blah-
'If thou seekest that which Doctor Faustus himself could not attaine, thee, being wed to sin shouldst give unto-' bloody-well get on with it, man!"
He skimmed the rest of the invocations and cautions and all that, and continued,
"'...thou forsaketh the goodly, the Godly', blah blah blah. Ah!
'Shouldst thou seek to cleave the soule in twain- thou dost render-'
The soul in twain?!
'Thou dost render...'"
He paused. Shocked at the subject matter.
"'...dost render one halfe part of... of said selfe sayme soule... assunder….'"
He paused again.
"'...and it, being caste out from the bodye, black as pytche, and a vyle, uncleane, ungodlye thing-'"
Of course, the spelling conventions were not fixed, in so old a text. But that was the least of Voldemort's concerns.
"She wants. Dear God. Is she herself making-
No!" he whispered.
"Impossible!
There are more words underlined on the next- And annotations beside the text! But surely any number of students might have added stars or lines- Her handwriting!"
For him?
"For whom? Me? Impossible! Unless she doesn't know and wishes to offer her services to assist in-
I don't think-
Then who?
Severus?
'Many mortels have not attaiyned this moaste secrete of knowledges despite having saught them. The author hymselfe hath saughte to dyvyde his soule into diverse parts-'"
The word of course, being divers. Rhyming with drivers. Not diverse, in the modern sense. The 'e' is superfluous. And silent.
"'-dyvyde his soule into diverse parts-'"
Meaning many, sundry-
'-seeking that which is hithertoo unforseene. He hath scattered his soul… in too parts onlye. We do cautione thee… before atemptyng the lyke. The paiyne being sorely grayte. Canst thou not desist in thine endeavores?'
Before he goes on to explain how-
What's this?"
He laughed. Mirthlessly. At the realisation.
"Of course, he would say that, wouldn't he. The author."
About being in so much pain.
"He'd likely wish to be the only one. To have discovered the secret. Hence he doesn't explain the spell, here. And he'd hardly put it about that he had three, four, or more. For the benefit of his enemies."
A song started to play in his head-
For the benefit of Mr. Kite.
There will be a show tonight
on trampoline.
He continued to wistfully mutter the lyrics of the Beatles song to himself.
"Forgot fairs and horses. But...
'Lastly through a hogshead of real fire...'"
He had tested his immortality. He himself. Lord Voldemort. With fire.
"In this way... Forget Mr. K. I challenged the world."
He spoke, adapting the lyrics for his purposes.
"The celebrated Lord Voldemort...
But now she- she knows! She- Could she possibly-? Christ! I mean- Mordred!"
He was forever trying to unlearn muggle swearwords and use only magical ones.
He never could.
They just came. As and when they would.
"Fuck! What if she's told-"
He had to get to the Hospital Wing!
"Maybe she's spying for- Shit! Must find that Parkison girl and find out what the brother likes in the way of sweetmeats!"
And make it up to the boy he'd tortured just now.
Somehow.
"Christ! But they saw me torture him just now! All of them! I need more people on him."
Severus Snape.
"Anonymous people! Forgettable people! Those whom he would least- There must be many more Heather Cuthbertsons here. Gryffindors. Hufflepuffs! Nobody ever suspects the Hufflepuffs! Methodists and Baptists to a man, the lot of them… No one ever suspects the Methodists."
More fool them!
One could have said the same of Baptists, once. But then Severus Snape came along. And now others were tainted with the Dark by association. Through no fault of their own.
"And if not… If they are unwilling to go into service. I know who their parents are. And where they live. The most reluctant of recruits can be most obliging. Once the welfare of one's nearest and dearest comes into it… What about that Zac Smith bloke? The one who fell out with Potter and his lot?"
A/N:
A reminder, for those who prefer the music at the end of the chapter, after context, song link is Youtube plus this after the dot com (with no space or colon): /watch?v=bJVWZy4QOy0
If you spotted how Miles Carlisle didn't get punished for failing to thank the Dark Lord for his offer of Turkish Delight, but Peter Parkinson did. Well done you! So did I. But Voldemort didn't (at the time, at least). We'll put that down to his unbridled madness.
I don't think he quite understands, either, that it's not a good idea to punish someone who came to him voluntarily with extraordinarily valuable intelligence. How he got as far as he did after coming back, Christ only knows...
If you spot anything at any point that seems to not quite make sense... yes, you've guessed it: it's all Voldemort's fault. It's always all his fault for being mad (honestly, he's a nightmare, you've no idea what I've had to endure, how hard it was interviewing the man for all this! All the edits and retractions from all that pompous, self indulgent, verbose purple prose! I quite agree with Severus Snape: he's an arrogant arse! And I would add: and then some!)
And if it's not Voldemort's fault, cos he wasn't involved then… Blame Wormtail. It's probably his fault. If not, well everyone will believe that it is. He really is that inept (you'll meet him, before too long!) Severus's spying also always complicates things as he always keeps one in the dark (don't get me started on MI5...)
If I'm not careful, I'll be in danger of ranting as much as the Dark Lord ever did/ does (no hints as to whether he may or may not be alive. Or where he may or may not be now. ... I didn't say when I'd interviewed him. Whether it was recently or years and years ago. Did I. Did I? Christ, I hope not.)
No spoilers and clues as to who survives and who dies (or not, as the case may be…)
Onwards with the story! I'll see if we can do a week of every other day updates (should be no work at all to copy and paste and click go, right?! As long as I don't end up completely rewriting/ doubling in length every chapter, like when there were daily updates! Like Mouldy Voldy: simply don't have the time!)
TTFN!
PS: As expected. Germany has won the fastest chapter open. Yay! Well done you!
But you're going to have to share the story with lots of people to be sure of winning, as America won for the most reads yesterday! Otherwise Severus could end up escaping to Switzerland or Austria, horror of horrors! Or trying to. Anyway. I won't count the same person refreshing. Or the same person using VPNs to refresh. I may not be a spook but I am techy enough to know how these things work. ;) Anyhoo, good luck with winning!
(Some of you will be wondering what on earth am I going on about now?! As usual..)
There's a contest in my other story for where will Severus escape to after running away from Voldemort, or trying to run away, depending on which country gets the most and fastest viewers per chapter. You're welcome to play too if you like! The prize is Severus is going to try to run away to that country. If you want to play just read fast from the country you're based in, and share with other people there too, or if for some reason you'd like a different country (maybe you study or work abroad or think where you live is boring or just want to imagine somewhere that's different: message me/ comment with the country you want him to escape to, and say which you viewed it from, if you don't have a VPN to set your IP address to that country, and I'll check against my stats and confirm if you won) :)
Bye for now!