Tha Last Battle
***
Dumbledore 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 Vincent Crabbe, his former student.
"Lord Voldemort wishes to speak with you, professor," said the thickset boy, his burly 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 Dumbledore want to laugh. There was a lot more than metal keeping him imprisoned there.
"Very well," he replied, "but don't keep calling me 'professor'. I'm afraid those days are far behind me."
The boy led the man down the dark stone passages toward the center of the underground fortress, the smaller 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 Dumbledore himself. Even the fact that he now did could not change the fact that the tall man with the long silver beard had an aura of power about him.
They came out of a passage into a circular chamber at the heart of the fortress, lit by a faint red 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: professor Dumbledore, the most looked-up to wizard in England, being led as a prisoner by Crabbe, Hogwarts' stupidest thug. Voldemort cast them a cold stare. *I could have killed Dumbledore long ago,* he thought to himself. *Perhaps I should have, but he has vital connections that I can use. He has manipulated the Ministry of Magic for years, and has the trust of every respectable wizard in the country. 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 foiled my attemts too many times for me to trust him that far. And he was incredibly unfair to me and the other Slytherins at Hogwarts. I remember back then, when I was young and first learning about the true nature of good and evil. I had a name then too, though now no one dares use it: Tom Riddle.*
***
The gaunt man's red eyes like slits surveyed the newcomers to the room for what seemed like an eternity. Then he spoke, his voice malevolent to match his gaze. "Ron Weaseley," he stated simply, and smiled inwardly at the blank look on Dumbledore's face. "He is the key to my next move. Why? Because of two very important things. Firstly, he is the best friend of Harry Potter, and we have him in captivity. Secondly, Potter and the few others who managed to escape our siege of the school are holed up in the house of the Dursleys, Potter's relatives. You, as the professor Weasley looks up to, will attempt to get through to Potter. The Muggles I can take care of myself. Through them I can move against the Dursleys' house, the last stronghold in England. Come look in this mirror. It shows their house as it is right now. Almost all of what is left of Ministry of Magic is holed up there for fear of me, they must have expanded it magically, and the place is like a rabbit warren. It is the perfect setting for my next attack."
He smiled inwardly again, this time at his own cleverness in planning. He was the kind of man who would have named his attack like a military operation, but he knew nothing of the workings of the military. He was far too enamored of torturing and killing muggles too care what they did for occupations. Dumbledore, on the other hand, knew all about them, muggle- lover that he was. In truth that was the one thing Voldemort just couldn't stand about the man. How powerful could Dumbledore have become if he had delved into the Dark Arts? Voldemort wasn't sure he wanted to know. After a long silence, he turned to face Crabbe, who was still standing by the doorway. "That will be all. You may return Dumbledore to his cell. I will summon you again when you are needed," he said briskly.
The pair departed, and Voldemort sank into a chair. *I'd thank God for people like Crabbe, if there was one,* he thought. *Brute strength combined with an utter lack of a sense of independence. Though it pains me to think that I rely on people like them. Sort of like muggles in that they remind me of beasts of burden… Dumbledore actually teaches muggles like that magic. I could forgive him for trying to thwart me, after all he truly believes in fighting against evil, but never for that.* He reached across the table and pulled a map of number 4 Privet Drive toward him. Then he picked up a quill and began sketching a plan in blood-red ink.
***
Dumbledore 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 Vincent Crabbe, his former student.
"Lord Voldemort wishes to speak with you, professor," said the thickset boy, his burly 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 Dumbledore want to laugh. There was a lot more than metal keeping him imprisoned there.
"Very well," he replied, "but don't keep calling me 'professor'. I'm afraid those days are far behind me."
The boy led the man down the dark stone passages toward the center of the underground fortress, the smaller 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 Dumbledore himself. Even the fact that he now did could not change the fact that the tall man with the long silver beard had an aura of power about him.
They came out of a passage into a circular chamber at the heart of the fortress, lit by a faint red 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: professor Dumbledore, the most looked-up to wizard in England, being led as a prisoner by Crabbe, Hogwarts' stupidest thug. Voldemort cast them a cold stare. *I could have killed Dumbledore long ago,* he thought to himself. *Perhaps I should have, but he has vital connections that I can use. He has manipulated the Ministry of Magic for years, and has the trust of every respectable wizard in the country. 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 foiled my attemts too many times for me to trust him that far. And he was incredibly unfair to me and the other Slytherins at Hogwarts. I remember back then, when I was young and first learning about the true nature of good and evil. I had a name then too, though now no one dares use it: Tom Riddle.*
***
The gaunt man's red eyes like slits surveyed the newcomers to the room for what seemed like an eternity. Then he spoke, his voice malevolent to match his gaze. "Ron Weaseley," he stated simply, and smiled inwardly at the blank look on Dumbledore's face. "He is the key to my next move. Why? Because of two very important things. Firstly, he is the best friend of Harry Potter, and we have him in captivity. Secondly, Potter and the few others who managed to escape our siege of the school are holed up in the house of the Dursleys, Potter's relatives. You, as the professor Weasley looks up to, will attempt to get through to Potter. The Muggles I can take care of myself. Through them I can move against the Dursleys' house, the last stronghold in England. Come look in this mirror. It shows their house as it is right now. Almost all of what is left of Ministry of Magic is holed up there for fear of me, they must have expanded it magically, and the place is like a rabbit warren. It is the perfect setting for my next attack."
He smiled inwardly again, this time at his own cleverness in planning. He was the kind of man who would have named his attack like a military operation, but he knew nothing of the workings of the military. He was far too enamored of torturing and killing muggles too care what they did for occupations. Dumbledore, on the other hand, knew all about them, muggle- lover that he was. In truth that was the one thing Voldemort just couldn't stand about the man. How powerful could Dumbledore have become if he had delved into the Dark Arts? Voldemort wasn't sure he wanted to know. After a long silence, he turned to face Crabbe, who was still standing by the doorway. "That will be all. You may return Dumbledore to his cell. I will summon you again when you are needed," he said briskly.
The pair departed, and Voldemort sank into a chair. *I'd thank God for people like Crabbe, if there was one,* he thought. *Brute strength combined with an utter lack of a sense of independence. Though it pains me to think that I rely on people like them. Sort of like muggles in that they remind me of beasts of burden… Dumbledore actually teaches muggles like that magic. I could forgive him for trying to thwart me, after all he truly believes in fighting against evil, but never for that.* He reached across the table and pulled a map of number 4 Privet Drive toward him. Then he picked up a quill and began sketching a plan in blood-red ink.