The Right to Life
***
Voldemort heard footsteps in the passage outside his cell. The lock on his door rattled as a key was inserted and turned, and the door scraped open to admit Alastor Moody, the famous auror.
"Professor Dumbledore wishes to speak with you," said the grizzled old man, his scarred hand playing nervously with the large iron key. The fact that there even was a key to the door was completely symbolic, and almost made Voldemort want to laugh. There was a lot more than metal keeping him imprisoned there.
"Very well," he replied, "but he won't get anything out of me. I will die before I do anything that would help that fool."
The two men walked down the dark stone passages toward the center of the underground fortress, the older one's hand never straying far from the pocket that held his wand. Never in his wildest imagination had he dreamed that someday he would have power over Lord Voldemort himself. Even the fact that he now did could not change the fact that the tall, gaunt man with the pale face and slits for eyes was terrifying.
They came out of a passage into a circular chamber at the heart of the fortress, lit by a faint green light emanating from some invisible source. The man facing the mirror on the opposite wall turned to face them as they entered.
***
What a pitiful sight: Lord Voldemort, the terror of the wizarding world, being led as a prisoner by Mad-eye Moody, the Ministry's most paranoid auror, and that was saying something. Dumbledore cast them a cold stare. *I could have had Voldemort killed long ago,* he thought to himself. *Perhaps I should have, but he has vital experience that I can use. He was in personal control of all the Death Eaters, and has first-hand knowledge of things I never dreamed of. It would be a pity to let him go to waste. Yes, he has his uses, but he will never even come near a wand again. He committed too many horrendous acts for me to trust him that far. I remember back then, when I was new to the job of Headmaster, and at the same time was constantly struggling to keep the Dark Side at bay. Many times I truly did want this man dead.*
***
The silver-bearded man's deep blue eyes surveyed the newcomers to the room for what seemed like an eternity. Then he spoke, his voice steely to match his gaze. "Lucius Malfoy," he stated simply, and smiled inwardly at the blank look on Voldemort's face. "He is the key to our next move. Why? Because of two very important things. Firstly, he holds a prominent position in the Ministry. Secondly, he is one of the most, if not the most active Death Eaters of all. You trusted him more than many, and will be able to make a connection with him again under the pretense of an escape plan. The Ministry I can take care of myself. Through Malfoy we can move against the core group of Death Eaters, the last stronghold of the Dark Side in England. Come look in this mirror. It shows the Malfoy estate as it is right now. Crabbe, Goyle, and quite a few others are holed up there for fear of us, and the place is like a rabbit warren. It is the perfect setting for our next attack: Operation Fox to chase out the rabbits."
He smiled inwardly again, this time at the name of his attack. He owed his knowledge of the military terminology to his Muggle friends, but Voldemort, having none, would have no idea what he meant. That was probably the man's worst characteristic, his utter hatred of muggles. Dumbledore knew that they could in fact be quite friendly, and had a charming air of simplicity. Killing them like Voldemort did was like killing innocent children. After a long silence, he turned to face Moody, who was still standing by the doorway. "That will be all, thank you. You may return Voldemort to his cell. I will summon you again when you are needed," he said briskly.
The pair departed, and Dumbledore sank into a chair. *I almost pity Alastor at times,* he thought. *I suppose he's just had one to many a close encounter in his life. Too many lives like his have been ruined by Voldemort, by being subjected to torture, curses, and even death… Voldemort killed them. I could forgive him his lust for power, after all it is natural in people with weaker souls, but never for that.* He reached across the table and pulled a map of the Malfoy estate toward him. Then he picked up a quill and began sketching a plan in emerald-green ink.
***
Voldemort heard footsteps in the passage outside his cell. The lock on his door rattled as a key was inserted and turned, and the door scraped open to admit Alastor Moody, the famous auror.
"Professor Dumbledore wishes to speak with you," said the grizzled old man, his scarred hand playing nervously with the large iron key. The fact that there even was a key to the door was completely symbolic, and almost made Voldemort want to laugh. There was a lot more than metal keeping him imprisoned there.
"Very well," he replied, "but he won't get anything out of me. I will die before I do anything that would help that fool."
The two men walked down the dark stone passages toward the center of the underground fortress, the older one's hand never straying far from the pocket that held his wand. Never in his wildest imagination had he dreamed that someday he would have power over Lord Voldemort himself. Even the fact that he now did could not change the fact that the tall, gaunt man with the pale face and slits for eyes was terrifying.
They came out of a passage into a circular chamber at the heart of the fortress, lit by a faint green light emanating from some invisible source. The man facing the mirror on the opposite wall turned to face them as they entered.
***
What a pitiful sight: Lord Voldemort, the terror of the wizarding world, being led as a prisoner by Mad-eye Moody, the Ministry's most paranoid auror, and that was saying something. Dumbledore cast them a cold stare. *I could have had Voldemort killed long ago,* he thought to himself. *Perhaps I should have, but he has vital experience that I can use. He was in personal control of all the Death Eaters, and has first-hand knowledge of things I never dreamed of. It would be a pity to let him go to waste. Yes, he has his uses, but he will never even come near a wand again. He committed too many horrendous acts for me to trust him that far. I remember back then, when I was new to the job of Headmaster, and at the same time was constantly struggling to keep the Dark Side at bay. Many times I truly did want this man dead.*
***
The silver-bearded man's deep blue eyes surveyed the newcomers to the room for what seemed like an eternity. Then he spoke, his voice steely to match his gaze. "Lucius Malfoy," he stated simply, and smiled inwardly at the blank look on Voldemort's face. "He is the key to our next move. Why? Because of two very important things. Firstly, he holds a prominent position in the Ministry. Secondly, he is one of the most, if not the most active Death Eaters of all. You trusted him more than many, and will be able to make a connection with him again under the pretense of an escape plan. The Ministry I can take care of myself. Through Malfoy we can move against the core group of Death Eaters, the last stronghold of the Dark Side in England. Come look in this mirror. It shows the Malfoy estate as it is right now. Crabbe, Goyle, and quite a few others are holed up there for fear of us, and the place is like a rabbit warren. It is the perfect setting for our next attack: Operation Fox to chase out the rabbits."
He smiled inwardly again, this time at the name of his attack. He owed his knowledge of the military terminology to his Muggle friends, but Voldemort, having none, would have no idea what he meant. That was probably the man's worst characteristic, his utter hatred of muggles. Dumbledore knew that they could in fact be quite friendly, and had a charming air of simplicity. Killing them like Voldemort did was like killing innocent children. After a long silence, he turned to face Moody, who was still standing by the doorway. "That will be all, thank you. You may return Voldemort to his cell. I will summon you again when you are needed," he said briskly.
The pair departed, and Dumbledore sank into a chair. *I almost pity Alastor at times,* he thought. *I suppose he's just had one to many a close encounter in his life. Too many lives like his have been ruined by Voldemort, by being subjected to torture, curses, and even death… Voldemort killed them. I could forgive him his lust for power, after all it is natural in people with weaker souls, but never for that.* He reached across the table and pulled a map of the Malfoy estate toward him. Then he picked up a quill and began sketching a plan in emerald-green ink.