Chapter 1
Stronghold
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Behold a child shall rise up out of the multitude to defeat the Dark Lord and cast him into oblivion for all eternity
Inscription on the Khalaquim, the Stone of Prophets
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Wormtail sat huddled in a corner of the large room, doing his best to stay out of sight of his master. The room was illuminated by a series of glowing globes. The globes cast a ghostly pallor throughout the room. Wormtail looked down at his artificial silver hand, a gift from his master, and silently shuddered. The pale light made the hand glisten and twinkle as Wormtail slowly clenched it into a fist. He feared the hand like he feared his master. Wormtail wrapped his organic hand around the base of the prosthetic one and slowly rubbed the ring where the skin ended and the silver began. His flesh had not taken well to the change and had become infected and festered. The once great gift had become his greatest hindrance.
"You know Wormtail," said a cold voice. The voice emanated from a shadowy spot near the back of the room. "That's never going to heal if you don't stop picking at it."
Wormtail whirled around and fell own upon his hands and knees.
"Please!" cried Wormtail franticly. "I meant no disrespect to you Lord Voldemort!" chair
Voldemort slowly rose from his throne in the recesses of the room. His ornate robes rustled around him as seemed to half walk, half glide across the floor towards the groveling Wormtail. Upon reaching him, Voldemort slowly began to raise his hand.
"Perhaps you would prefer it I took back my gift," said Voldemort quietly.
Hearing this, Wormtail shot up, fear and tears filling his eyes.
"No master!" Wormtail croaked. "I treasure your gifts! I am not worthy of them!"
Voldemort lowered his hand, a small smile starting to grow on his thinly drawn lips. He turned around, and in the same gait as before, returned to his seat. He inhaled deeply and then let out a great sigh.
"That's what I like about you, Wormtail," he said. "You are so easily cowed."
"My purpose is but to serve, my Lord," said Wormtail, whom had not yet risen from the floor. "What may I do to serve you?"
Voldemort narrow eyes became even more so. He studied Wormtail, still groveling, wondering what exactly he should do with him. He could no be given anything important, having proven time and again what a clod he was. Yet, he could not simply be destroyed, for that would cause too much disruption among the new recruits. 'I really should think of something for him to do,' he though to himself. 'He is becoming an annoyance to me and a drain on my new draftees.' Instead of answering Wormtail, Voldemort crossed arms and went back to his plans. The upcoming operation would take much planning, especially since the Ministry would know it was coming. 'Well, that just makes the challenge more fun.' He looked down at the great oak table in front of him, upon which was strewn countless maps, scrolls, compasses, quills, and a solitary blood red dagger which Voldemort used to clean his fingernails. There were books, filled with arcane ruins, inscriptions of power. One book was set apart from the rest, opened to a page with a picture of a cube. It was moving, rotating around its axis on the paper. Voldemort pored himself over his work, analyzing maps which were enchanted to show the movements of troops and ground forces, scrolls which listed the names and abilities of new recruits, and compasses that showed everything from magnetic north and actual north, to vegetation growth and prevailing winds. His thoughts were interrupted by a nock on the door.
"Enter," Voldemort called out.
The door creaked open and a tall strapping man walked. Even though the man was a wizard, he was dressed from head to toe in form-fitting black armor. The man had dark brown eyes which were in sharp contrast to his long blond hair, which was tied back into a regal pony tail. His face was smooth and clean-shaven with a very pronounced chin. He would have been handsome except for the deep shadows around his eyes and his stern looking face.
"General Noish," said Voldemort, who had not taken his eyes away from the map on his desk. "I trust your report for me is a positive one."
"Indeed, m'lord," said General Alec von Noish. His thick German accent plagued his words. "We've just received a communiqué from northern army. It reports a roster of over 3,000 troops, divided into ground forces, air support, and long-range artillery. Similar reports are being received from the other armies.
"Has there been any word from the Dementors?" Voldemort asked, who had still not taken his eyes away from his desk.
At this question, Noish hesitated. Voldemort could sense the fear and anxiety growing in him.
"Has there been any word from the Dementors?" Voldemort repeated, starting to get annoyed.
"M'lord," said Noish. "The Dementors state that they do not stand with us nor against us."
At this, Voldemort finally raised his head.
"What?" asked Voldemort.
"The Dementors say that they have chosen no affiliation as of yet," said Noish. "They feel it is in there own best interests that they stay on the sidelines until they can tell which side is best set for their needs."
Voldemort closed his eyes and sat back in his chair. Now, that was unfortunate. The Dementors were one of his strongest allies. They should be on his side. But why were they holding back. He restrained the urge to kill the general for bringing him such a vexing report. He put a bony hand to his face and began to rub his temples.
"This is an unfortunate setback," he said. "But no matter." And with that he returned to his work.
But General Noish did not move. He simply stood there, waiting, unsure whether to ask the question that was plaguing the minds of all the recruits under Voldemort's control. Eventually, Voldemort put down his quill and lifted his eyes to the general.
"Is there something else, Noish?" asked Voldemort.
Noish began to shift his weight nervously back and forth between his feet. Finally, he built up his nerve and inquired.
"When are you going to send me north, so that I may lead the army and commence with the attack?"
Voldemort was impressed. He had not expected the question to come so soon. He had expected his subordinates to follow him blindly into possible death. Noish had a great ambition, Voldemort knew, but he would never think to challenge Voldemort's orders. Voldemort put his hands behind his head and sat back in his chair and studied the general.
"You will not lead the attack," he said simply.
This took Noish by surprise.
"M'lord," Noish said perplexedly. "Have I done something that would make you feel that I am unworthy of the position of leadership? Have I not proven myself in the previous war?"
"You have proven yourself," Voldemort said quietly. "I know your mettle. Bur for what is to come I need someone special. I will need you elsewhere. As for the attack, it will come when I say it will. Now please leave me."
"My lord," Noish said, making a sweeping bow. He turned around and strode out the door. After closing the door, he put his hand to his head. After deciding it was better not to worry about what the Master was planning, he left for as strong drink and a good night's sleep. Inside the room, Wormtail was still huddled in the corner, afraid to even move. After a few, minutes Voldemort slowly turned his head to him.
"You may return to your quarters, Wormtail," said Voldemort.
Wormtail, upon hearing this, scrambled to his feet and made a quick, clumsy bow.
"Always in your service, M'lord." he said and hurriedly walked out of the room, quietly closing the door behind him.
After making sure that there was no one in the room, Voldemort rose from his seat. He walked over to a small table, around which two chairs had been placed. On the table, an ornate non-wizard chess set was arranged, ready to be played. The lighter side had great knights, warriors, kings, queens, mature wizards for bishops, and young wizards for pawns. The darker side mirrored the other in black, with giants, dragons, and Dementors. Voldemort sat down behind the dark side and stared at the board. Very slowly and intently, he reached out a moved a small black pawn forward two spaces.
"Your move, Dumbledore," he said with a small smile on his face.
Stronghold
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------
Behold a child shall rise up out of the multitude to defeat the Dark Lord and cast him into oblivion for all eternity
Inscription on the Khalaquim, the Stone of Prophets
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------
Wormtail sat huddled in a corner of the large room, doing his best to stay out of sight of his master. The room was illuminated by a series of glowing globes. The globes cast a ghostly pallor throughout the room. Wormtail looked down at his artificial silver hand, a gift from his master, and silently shuddered. The pale light made the hand glisten and twinkle as Wormtail slowly clenched it into a fist. He feared the hand like he feared his master. Wormtail wrapped his organic hand around the base of the prosthetic one and slowly rubbed the ring where the skin ended and the silver began. His flesh had not taken well to the change and had become infected and festered. The once great gift had become his greatest hindrance.
"You know Wormtail," said a cold voice. The voice emanated from a shadowy spot near the back of the room. "That's never going to heal if you don't stop picking at it."
Wormtail whirled around and fell own upon his hands and knees.
"Please!" cried Wormtail franticly. "I meant no disrespect to you Lord Voldemort!" chair
Voldemort slowly rose from his throne in the recesses of the room. His ornate robes rustled around him as seemed to half walk, half glide across the floor towards the groveling Wormtail. Upon reaching him, Voldemort slowly began to raise his hand.
"Perhaps you would prefer it I took back my gift," said Voldemort quietly.
Hearing this, Wormtail shot up, fear and tears filling his eyes.
"No master!" Wormtail croaked. "I treasure your gifts! I am not worthy of them!"
Voldemort lowered his hand, a small smile starting to grow on his thinly drawn lips. He turned around, and in the same gait as before, returned to his seat. He inhaled deeply and then let out a great sigh.
"That's what I like about you, Wormtail," he said. "You are so easily cowed."
"My purpose is but to serve, my Lord," said Wormtail, whom had not yet risen from the floor. "What may I do to serve you?"
Voldemort narrow eyes became even more so. He studied Wormtail, still groveling, wondering what exactly he should do with him. He could no be given anything important, having proven time and again what a clod he was. Yet, he could not simply be destroyed, for that would cause too much disruption among the new recruits. 'I really should think of something for him to do,' he though to himself. 'He is becoming an annoyance to me and a drain on my new draftees.' Instead of answering Wormtail, Voldemort crossed arms and went back to his plans. The upcoming operation would take much planning, especially since the Ministry would know it was coming. 'Well, that just makes the challenge more fun.' He looked down at the great oak table in front of him, upon which was strewn countless maps, scrolls, compasses, quills, and a solitary blood red dagger which Voldemort used to clean his fingernails. There were books, filled with arcane ruins, inscriptions of power. One book was set apart from the rest, opened to a page with a picture of a cube. It was moving, rotating around its axis on the paper. Voldemort pored himself over his work, analyzing maps which were enchanted to show the movements of troops and ground forces, scrolls which listed the names and abilities of new recruits, and compasses that showed everything from magnetic north and actual north, to vegetation growth and prevailing winds. His thoughts were interrupted by a nock on the door.
"Enter," Voldemort called out.
The door creaked open and a tall strapping man walked. Even though the man was a wizard, he was dressed from head to toe in form-fitting black armor. The man had dark brown eyes which were in sharp contrast to his long blond hair, which was tied back into a regal pony tail. His face was smooth and clean-shaven with a very pronounced chin. He would have been handsome except for the deep shadows around his eyes and his stern looking face.
"General Noish," said Voldemort, who had not taken his eyes away from the map on his desk. "I trust your report for me is a positive one."
"Indeed, m'lord," said General Alec von Noish. His thick German accent plagued his words. "We've just received a communiqué from northern army. It reports a roster of over 3,000 troops, divided into ground forces, air support, and long-range artillery. Similar reports are being received from the other armies.
"Has there been any word from the Dementors?" Voldemort asked, who had still not taken his eyes away from his desk.
At this question, Noish hesitated. Voldemort could sense the fear and anxiety growing in him.
"Has there been any word from the Dementors?" Voldemort repeated, starting to get annoyed.
"M'lord," said Noish. "The Dementors state that they do not stand with us nor against us."
At this, Voldemort finally raised his head.
"What?" asked Voldemort.
"The Dementors say that they have chosen no affiliation as of yet," said Noish. "They feel it is in there own best interests that they stay on the sidelines until they can tell which side is best set for their needs."
Voldemort closed his eyes and sat back in his chair. Now, that was unfortunate. The Dementors were one of his strongest allies. They should be on his side. But why were they holding back. He restrained the urge to kill the general for bringing him such a vexing report. He put a bony hand to his face and began to rub his temples.
"This is an unfortunate setback," he said. "But no matter." And with that he returned to his work.
But General Noish did not move. He simply stood there, waiting, unsure whether to ask the question that was plaguing the minds of all the recruits under Voldemort's control. Eventually, Voldemort put down his quill and lifted his eyes to the general.
"Is there something else, Noish?" asked Voldemort.
Noish began to shift his weight nervously back and forth between his feet. Finally, he built up his nerve and inquired.
"When are you going to send me north, so that I may lead the army and commence with the attack?"
Voldemort was impressed. He had not expected the question to come so soon. He had expected his subordinates to follow him blindly into possible death. Noish had a great ambition, Voldemort knew, but he would never think to challenge Voldemort's orders. Voldemort put his hands behind his head and sat back in his chair and studied the general.
"You will not lead the attack," he said simply.
This took Noish by surprise.
"M'lord," Noish said perplexedly. "Have I done something that would make you feel that I am unworthy of the position of leadership? Have I not proven myself in the previous war?"
"You have proven yourself," Voldemort said quietly. "I know your mettle. Bur for what is to come I need someone special. I will need you elsewhere. As for the attack, it will come when I say it will. Now please leave me."
"My lord," Noish said, making a sweeping bow. He turned around and strode out the door. After closing the door, he put his hand to his head. After deciding it was better not to worry about what the Master was planning, he left for as strong drink and a good night's sleep. Inside the room, Wormtail was still huddled in the corner, afraid to even move. After a few, minutes Voldemort slowly turned his head to him.
"You may return to your quarters, Wormtail," said Voldemort.
Wormtail, upon hearing this, scrambled to his feet and made a quick, clumsy bow.
"Always in your service, M'lord." he said and hurriedly walked out of the room, quietly closing the door behind him.
After making sure that there was no one in the room, Voldemort rose from his seat. He walked over to a small table, around which two chairs had been placed. On the table, an ornate non-wizard chess set was arranged, ready to be played. The lighter side had great knights, warriors, kings, queens, mature wizards for bishops, and young wizards for pawns. The darker side mirrored the other in black, with giants, dragons, and Dementors. Voldemort sat down behind the dark side and stared at the board. Very slowly and intently, he reached out a moved a small black pawn forward two spaces.
"Your move, Dumbledore," he said with a small smile on his face.