Chapter 36
"The Beginning of a Revolution"
Lucius Malfoy cackled, a high, cold cackle, as he shoved several muggles into filthy cage. Oh, the new plan was perfect. Round up all the muggles and pathetic wizards and witches viewed unworthy, stuff them in cages, and kill them all. The Dark Lord had studied the ways of Adolph Hitler and Joseph Stalin. He had taken a fascination to the types of torture muggles had come up with like the electric chair.
"Soon, all the filth in those world will be gone and the world will be left to our ruling!" yelled Lucius.
He surveyed the area before him, a vast, dead land of dead trees, dying grass, and harsh, dry ground. Magical fences had been put up, to grow higher and higher if a person were to try to go over it or shock someone to death if they tried to go under it or through it. The prison was once the dark lord's home, a deteriorating castle in the middle on nowhere surrounded by dangerous woods. The sky above was as red as blood, prevailed by scattered winds and thick, dark clouds that seemed to never go away.
Every hour, more and more muggles, dazed and confused, would be brought in, along with knowing witches and wizards, all captured, all to meet the same fate. Every day before sunset, each Death Eater would choose five prisoners to execute. The rest of the prisoners were drained of happy feelings as the dementors guarded them, loyal to their Lord.
Draco Malfoy, along with Crabbe and Goyle from school, poked their wands in frightened muggles' faces, sometimes torturing some. The cries, sobs, and screams of all people of age, shape, size, color, and race filled the air. Lucius smiled. His son was the golden apple in his eye, carrying out the dirty work, rather "good" work just like his father.
Voldemort was standing in front of a window that over looked a barren land. His sharp green eyes were glowing red, his pale, handsome face contorted with happiness and pitilessness. It seemed that his face had a fairly noticeable change. The features were starting to go back to the old face he once had, the one of a snake. The nose, though still perfectly shaped, had begun to flatten. The eyes were slowly changing into scarlet slits, the green struggling to stay alive. It seemed that the ice that had melted away from his heart, had slowly, unknowingly, crept back onto his heart.
No, there was not love left in his heart for him to feel. All he knew was the feelings he had, no remorse and a taste for killing. His snake, Nargini, slithered under the old desk. He picked her up and placed her around his neck. He then left his room and went down the stairs and looked at the sight before him. This vast room had been converted to house his prisoners. He sneered as he saw a muggle child cling to his mother as a dementor hovered over its cage.
"Fools, you will all die, filthy little bitches.," he hissed.
He went back upstairs and sat down in an old armchair near a desk, books over Hitler piled on it. He pressed his index fingers tightly together, beating them against his pale lips.
He would soon have his control over the world, getting rid of all those muggles and corrupted witches and wizards who sympathized them. He would get rid of that bimbo Dumbledore, the very wizard he hated more than anything else in the world. If only he could hurt the old man where it hurts worse, but where?
A smiled crossed his lips. Yes, he knew exactly how to hit Dumbledore hard, how to weaken the old man.
"The Beginning of a Revolution"
Lucius Malfoy cackled, a high, cold cackle, as he shoved several muggles into filthy cage. Oh, the new plan was perfect. Round up all the muggles and pathetic wizards and witches viewed unworthy, stuff them in cages, and kill them all. The Dark Lord had studied the ways of Adolph Hitler and Joseph Stalin. He had taken a fascination to the types of torture muggles had come up with like the electric chair.
"Soon, all the filth in those world will be gone and the world will be left to our ruling!" yelled Lucius.
He surveyed the area before him, a vast, dead land of dead trees, dying grass, and harsh, dry ground. Magical fences had been put up, to grow higher and higher if a person were to try to go over it or shock someone to death if they tried to go under it or through it. The prison was once the dark lord's home, a deteriorating castle in the middle on nowhere surrounded by dangerous woods. The sky above was as red as blood, prevailed by scattered winds and thick, dark clouds that seemed to never go away.
Every hour, more and more muggles, dazed and confused, would be brought in, along with knowing witches and wizards, all captured, all to meet the same fate. Every day before sunset, each Death Eater would choose five prisoners to execute. The rest of the prisoners were drained of happy feelings as the dementors guarded them, loyal to their Lord.
Draco Malfoy, along with Crabbe and Goyle from school, poked their wands in frightened muggles' faces, sometimes torturing some. The cries, sobs, and screams of all people of age, shape, size, color, and race filled the air. Lucius smiled. His son was the golden apple in his eye, carrying out the dirty work, rather "good" work just like his father.
Voldemort was standing in front of a window that over looked a barren land. His sharp green eyes were glowing red, his pale, handsome face contorted with happiness and pitilessness. It seemed that his face had a fairly noticeable change. The features were starting to go back to the old face he once had, the one of a snake. The nose, though still perfectly shaped, had begun to flatten. The eyes were slowly changing into scarlet slits, the green struggling to stay alive. It seemed that the ice that had melted away from his heart, had slowly, unknowingly, crept back onto his heart.
No, there was not love left in his heart for him to feel. All he knew was the feelings he had, no remorse and a taste for killing. His snake, Nargini, slithered under the old desk. He picked her up and placed her around his neck. He then left his room and went down the stairs and looked at the sight before him. This vast room had been converted to house his prisoners. He sneered as he saw a muggle child cling to his mother as a dementor hovered over its cage.
"Fools, you will all die, filthy little bitches.," he hissed.
He went back upstairs and sat down in an old armchair near a desk, books over Hitler piled on it. He pressed his index fingers tightly together, beating them against his pale lips.
He would soon have his control over the world, getting rid of all those muggles and corrupted witches and wizards who sympathized them. He would get rid of that bimbo Dumbledore, the very wizard he hated more than anything else in the world. If only he could hurt the old man where it hurts worse, but where?
A smiled crossed his lips. Yes, he knew exactly how to hit Dumbledore hard, how to weaken the old man.