Author's Note: Here's the very first chapter. Enjoy! Review! Help me make
it better! And thanks SOOO much for taking the time to read me! You have no
idea how wonderful you are!
Disclaimer: This story is based off events and characters owned by J.K. Rowling and her publishers. No money is being made off of this story. No copyright infringement is intended. Any problems arising from the posting
of the following story were unintended, and the author is deeply sorry.
Chapter One
The Beginning
Disaster was written in the air. Humans were, once again, turning against their own kind, and assuming they knew best. Hundreds were butchered, innards lay along the ground, as if spelling out the declaration of "different shall not exist." And here the seeds were sown.
So they lay in wait, dreaming of the day when the universe would deal them a better hand of cards. Many died, murdered for a cause in which they were not involved. They were angry, and ripe for a revolution, the fruit hanging from the branch, ready to be picked.
And there it was, hidden between houses and playgrounds, urban to the point that it was almost painfully ironic. It was a rather unassuming slate-gray brick building, nothing to look twice at. It was fairly run- down, and out of place from the manicured lawns that speckled the street, and the ivy running up and down its sides would have been looked down upon by many a dedicated gardener, but if one were to ask the other inhabitants what lay inside of the building, none of this would matter. According to the people living on the street, it had ceased to exist, burnt down some twenty years ago in a horrid fire. It existed, although only in their minds.
The betrayed gathered here sometimes, lacking purpose, debating for a few moments before journeying out to wreak some minor havoc. Things were chaotic, and no way to bring forth a change. But tonight was different. The beginning of a new time.
The lights were on this night, and although the sky was calm and dark, stars speckling the horizon, the air warm and inviting, the windows seemed to glow eerie and cold. There was something odd about the building tonight, something one couldn't place. Shadows were cast upon the ground, and there were figures inside the building, all arguing, until one spoke out above the rest.
"Call to order. Call to order." A rather oily man, short, with dark hair, a pointed face, and a somewhat nervous expression, rapped a wand down onto a brick of wood. "Attention, please."
He gave off an aura of power, or at least as much power as one could have without actually having any followers, and the hubble slowly died down until he was the only one speaking.
He cleared his throat and rapped the wand once again, for good measure. "The meeting is about to begin. Funtz, if you would care to read the minutes from our last one..."
A rather drab man, gray suit, gray hair, gray eyes, gray skin, stepped up to the block of wood, and the oily man stepped down. He balanced a Muggle notepad against the block and began to read, slowly, clearly, and dully. "Seven-fifteen, roll call. Seven-eighteen, first order of business..."
One by one, the others began to nod off, and Funtz was losing his audience. He cleared his throat and rapped his wand, causing a jolt to run through the audience members, and continued reading. "Eight-oh-eight..."
When it seemed no more could politely pay attention, he ceased to speak, and instead, stepped aside for another man.
This man, although younger, looking to be about twenty-four or twenty- five, seemed extremely confident. He strode up to the podium as if he was born to be there. And, also unlike the others, he was rather attractive, clad in a blood-red suit, with piercing, emerald eyes, a pleasing figure, and hair that fell just barely correctly into his face so it toed the line between messy and polished. As he took a deep breath, the audience pricked up its ears and moved to the edge of its seats in anticipation.
He leaned forward and spoke into the microphone. "Um... We're gathered here today because we have... An... Um... Common purpose..."
Ah, just another bad speaker. A collected breath was let out, and several members got up to leave. Some special guest speaker this was...
"No. Wait." Substance had entered the voice, and this was not a plea, it was a command. "Hear me out. We have a common purpose, to rid ourselves of a common enemy, the Muggles."
A mutual nod. The man seemed to be hitting his stride. "As you look around you, you see them everywhere... With our men, our women, our children. They are born lucky, born with power, not knowing how our forefathers fought for our rights, our lives... They do not know..."
His voice was deep and loud, but it stuck in their heads and resounded like no mere human's voice could. He hit a note, deep down in each of their souls, and they listened. "They do not understand what we sacrificed. They do not deserve what we have! They are poisoning our blood, the blood that runs in every wizard's veins from Britain to around the world! They do not deserve to live!"
He was shouting now, his voice a roar, speaking to each and every man and woman, as he bellowed out, "We must rid the world of Muggles! This is our duty! Our calling! So join me, as you must, as is your duty as a wizard! Do not fail me in my quest!"
A roar rose from the crowd as they stood on their feet and applauded, thunderous noise reverberating through the floor and throughout the building, which creaked and threatened to crumble. "WE MUST FIGHT!"
He punched the air, this last comment erupting from his throat as if the climax at the end of a story, the explosion of a monstrous volcano, the single, undeniable truth that lived in each of their hearts that they just couldn't hide. They were all the same, they all believed the same, they were one people, one voice, one life.
He took another breath, tasting the sweet, sweet fruit, and he was lost in it. The power absorbed him. There was no turning back. "And now, we must go. We must rid the world of these vermin. Today begins a new era, the era of the Wizard!"
The crowd cheered and stomped its feet, every atom in its being aching to follow this man. He was their inspiration, what they needed, and although they numbered a precious thirty, they were convinced that they alone could change the world.
As he stepped down from the podium, a single word could be heard, silently whispered. The man's name, "Riddle... Riddle..."
He stopped at the door, smiling, green eyes sparkling and glowing eerily in the florescent light, as if two flickering flames in their sockets. "Please. This is not a twisted tale. I must have another name..."
Someone shouted, from deep inside of the crowd, a word of power, the name of a past great wizard. "Voldemort!"
"Voldemort... Voldemort..." The crowd liked it, and they muttered it as they walked out, going to tell their friends and family... About this young man, with great dreams, this Voldemort...
Perhaps it should not have been him. But it was, and neither world would ever be the same, for give direction to hatred, and it evolves and changes and multiplies. The dawn of a new era was upon them; the beginning had just begun.
idea how wonderful you are!
Disclaimer: This story is based off events and characters owned by J.K. Rowling and her publishers. No money is being made off of this story. No copyright infringement is intended. Any problems arising from the posting
of the following story were unintended, and the author is deeply sorry.
Chapter One
The Beginning
Disaster was written in the air. Humans were, once again, turning against their own kind, and assuming they knew best. Hundreds were butchered, innards lay along the ground, as if spelling out the declaration of "different shall not exist." And here the seeds were sown.
So they lay in wait, dreaming of the day when the universe would deal them a better hand of cards. Many died, murdered for a cause in which they were not involved. They were angry, and ripe for a revolution, the fruit hanging from the branch, ready to be picked.
And there it was, hidden between houses and playgrounds, urban to the point that it was almost painfully ironic. It was a rather unassuming slate-gray brick building, nothing to look twice at. It was fairly run- down, and out of place from the manicured lawns that speckled the street, and the ivy running up and down its sides would have been looked down upon by many a dedicated gardener, but if one were to ask the other inhabitants what lay inside of the building, none of this would matter. According to the people living on the street, it had ceased to exist, burnt down some twenty years ago in a horrid fire. It existed, although only in their minds.
The betrayed gathered here sometimes, lacking purpose, debating for a few moments before journeying out to wreak some minor havoc. Things were chaotic, and no way to bring forth a change. But tonight was different. The beginning of a new time.
The lights were on this night, and although the sky was calm and dark, stars speckling the horizon, the air warm and inviting, the windows seemed to glow eerie and cold. There was something odd about the building tonight, something one couldn't place. Shadows were cast upon the ground, and there were figures inside the building, all arguing, until one spoke out above the rest.
"Call to order. Call to order." A rather oily man, short, with dark hair, a pointed face, and a somewhat nervous expression, rapped a wand down onto a brick of wood. "Attention, please."
He gave off an aura of power, or at least as much power as one could have without actually having any followers, and the hubble slowly died down until he was the only one speaking.
He cleared his throat and rapped the wand once again, for good measure. "The meeting is about to begin. Funtz, if you would care to read the minutes from our last one..."
A rather drab man, gray suit, gray hair, gray eyes, gray skin, stepped up to the block of wood, and the oily man stepped down. He balanced a Muggle notepad against the block and began to read, slowly, clearly, and dully. "Seven-fifteen, roll call. Seven-eighteen, first order of business..."
One by one, the others began to nod off, and Funtz was losing his audience. He cleared his throat and rapped his wand, causing a jolt to run through the audience members, and continued reading. "Eight-oh-eight..."
When it seemed no more could politely pay attention, he ceased to speak, and instead, stepped aside for another man.
This man, although younger, looking to be about twenty-four or twenty- five, seemed extremely confident. He strode up to the podium as if he was born to be there. And, also unlike the others, he was rather attractive, clad in a blood-red suit, with piercing, emerald eyes, a pleasing figure, and hair that fell just barely correctly into his face so it toed the line between messy and polished. As he took a deep breath, the audience pricked up its ears and moved to the edge of its seats in anticipation.
He leaned forward and spoke into the microphone. "Um... We're gathered here today because we have... An... Um... Common purpose..."
Ah, just another bad speaker. A collected breath was let out, and several members got up to leave. Some special guest speaker this was...
"No. Wait." Substance had entered the voice, and this was not a plea, it was a command. "Hear me out. We have a common purpose, to rid ourselves of a common enemy, the Muggles."
A mutual nod. The man seemed to be hitting his stride. "As you look around you, you see them everywhere... With our men, our women, our children. They are born lucky, born with power, not knowing how our forefathers fought for our rights, our lives... They do not know..."
His voice was deep and loud, but it stuck in their heads and resounded like no mere human's voice could. He hit a note, deep down in each of their souls, and they listened. "They do not understand what we sacrificed. They do not deserve what we have! They are poisoning our blood, the blood that runs in every wizard's veins from Britain to around the world! They do not deserve to live!"
He was shouting now, his voice a roar, speaking to each and every man and woman, as he bellowed out, "We must rid the world of Muggles! This is our duty! Our calling! So join me, as you must, as is your duty as a wizard! Do not fail me in my quest!"
A roar rose from the crowd as they stood on their feet and applauded, thunderous noise reverberating through the floor and throughout the building, which creaked and threatened to crumble. "WE MUST FIGHT!"
He punched the air, this last comment erupting from his throat as if the climax at the end of a story, the explosion of a monstrous volcano, the single, undeniable truth that lived in each of their hearts that they just couldn't hide. They were all the same, they all believed the same, they were one people, one voice, one life.
He took another breath, tasting the sweet, sweet fruit, and he was lost in it. The power absorbed him. There was no turning back. "And now, we must go. We must rid the world of these vermin. Today begins a new era, the era of the Wizard!"
The crowd cheered and stomped its feet, every atom in its being aching to follow this man. He was their inspiration, what they needed, and although they numbered a precious thirty, they were convinced that they alone could change the world.
As he stepped down from the podium, a single word could be heard, silently whispered. The man's name, "Riddle... Riddle..."
He stopped at the door, smiling, green eyes sparkling and glowing eerily in the florescent light, as if two flickering flames in their sockets. "Please. This is not a twisted tale. I must have another name..."
Someone shouted, from deep inside of the crowd, a word of power, the name of a past great wizard. "Voldemort!"
"Voldemort... Voldemort..." The crowd liked it, and they muttered it as they walked out, going to tell their friends and family... About this young man, with great dreams, this Voldemort...
Perhaps it should not have been him. But it was, and neither world would ever be the same, for give direction to hatred, and it evolves and changes and multiplies. The dawn of a new era was upon them; the beginning had just begun.
