Chapter Three -- Wardrobe
The silver liquid swam effortlessly and carelessly through the shallow bowl of a pool. The shifting lights mesmerized Lord Voldemort, who, though he had, of course, seen a pensive, had never seen it in such a contrasting light. The bright light of it reflected onto the cracked high ceiling of the room; all else was engulfed in faded darkness. Light was losing the battle, but there was hope. There was hope
"After you, my lord." Bellatix pointed to the basin of light. Voldemort suddenly remembered the purpose, and almost reluctant to leave the flickering lights, he plunged into the pensive.
He landed roughly inside a plain room. A springy mattress sat shaking upon a cheap wooden bed frame. But it was on the mattress that made the dark lord nearly collapse in surprise. It was the young eleven year-old Tom Riddle.
Voldemort didn't even notice Bellatrix's entrance. He walked, shaking, toward the bed, approaching the old friend. He saw the figure engrossed in a short chapter book, the pages yellow and frayed, the cover completely torn off. He remembered the book well, and he remembered reading it over and over again, never bored at the tales which were held inside. He especially liked re-figuring the secret riddle at the very end of the tale. Young Tom had always loved the feeling of figuring something out, even if it was a silly riddle which had been figured out many times before. The ancient muggle book his most prized possession. The dark lord shook his head solemnly, mourning the death of his old self. How he hated that orphanage, yet how much he wished to return now. To return back to the times of simplicity, the muggle life. How much Voldemort would give to leave his sad existence and recombine with his childhood self; stay in the pensive forever. Sure, he caused occasional mischief around the orphanage. But it was all innocent. Voldemort reached out to stroke his old self's dark brown hair; nothing in the untouched mind knew of the terror to come, the terror that began when the dark door to magic was opened.
The door to the room opened just when Voldemort's hand was just inches away from his alter ego. Albus Dumbledore entered the room. Voldemort saw the shocked expression on young Tom Riddle's face. Of course, any muggle would exhibit shock if a curious man with a light brown and red beard and dark purple robes entered the scene. The younger Dumbledore looked kinder and calmer than Voldemort had ever seen him. The dark lord gave a light sigh and immediately turned away from the scene. He could not see that man again, even if he was many years younger. Bellatrix noticed this curious movement and turned her master back to watch as the events unfold one more time.
"How do you do, Tom?" said the light faced man. The pang in Voldemort's heart increased on hearing the man speak. He watched Dumbledore and his younger self's hands touch. The older Voldemort could swear he saw a spark when the hands touched.
"I am Professor Dumbledore."
"Professor?" replied the young Riddle, "Is that like 'doctor'? What are you here for? Did she get you in to have a look at me?" Bellatrix chuckled at the boy's rather questioning and powerful personality, but Voldemort found nothing funny about the situation. He continued to watch, secretly pained.
"No, no." said the young Dumbledore
"I don't believe you," said Riddle. "She wants me looked at, doesn't she! Tell me the truth!" Bellatrix cackled loudly at this. Voldemort just shook his head.
And so the scene continued, more painful at every word Dumbledore said and every look the young Riddle gave. Voldemort watched as Dumbledore first introduced the ideas of magic to the chaste child.
"I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to." Voldemort was hurt as he heard his young self say this. The young child had always loved to see the bullies pained as he used his unknown abilities. Now, it seems Voldemort is the one who is in pain, even if it is the dark lord holding the wand, uttering the words. The dark lord shook his head.
Voldemort knew every line in the play before him. When it reached certain points, he just turned away and collected himself. But one point, he couldn't. He wanted to, but he had to see it again.
"I'm sorry sir. I meant – please, Professor, could you show me -?" Oh if only that question had been avoided! Voldemort attempted to turn away, but his feet and neck just couldn't budge, as if he had been petrified. Then, just as expected, Dumbledore raised his wand and pointed it directly at the dark lord. Voldemort thought, for a minute, Dumbledore could see him, as if he were there. The dark lord almost collapsed when seeing the twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes once more, boring into Voldemort's crude red slits. Suddenly, the spell fired from the light lord's wand, blasting directly through the dark lord's heart. Voldemort did not feel the curse physically, but his heart had. He fell to his knees, weighed down by the heaviness of his heart. He was shot down; defeated.
The wardrobe burst into flames, along with every innocent and playful muggle item; along with every pure muggle belief in the young boy's heart.
Bellatrix went to the fallen angel, the teary-eyed devil. "Come, I think we've seen enough." She grasped her master's arm, and in a second, they had returned to the mossy mansion. The darkness of the room blinded Voldemort.
"The first wizard you met," inquired Bellatrix. She paused. "Albus Dumbledore. Who knew? Who knew?" Voldemort didn't respond. "Those robes of him, I've never seen such a clashing ensemble."
For the first time in awhile, Voldemort let out his high-pitched laugh, almost a scream. To think this first joyous moment would be brought on by the very man who caused all the depression. But the joy was soon gone; all joy tended to wander away soon after finding Lord Voldemort.
"Pass me the earplugs, please!" replied Bellatrix, immediately causing the dark lord to slip back into his mask. "But I must say, that was a very interesting little memory that Dumbledore kept. Why would he? Trying to find out where your evil started? Maybe he wants to prevent future cases."
"Perhaps," thought Voldemort, "Perhaps. I remember that day, though. The burning of the wardrobe…it was the burning of the past for me. It was a day where I left the safe muggle world and entered…this."
"Don't you just wish we could have it?" Bellatrix let out a sincere smile, "The simplicity and ease of a muggle life. Almost makes me want to snap my wand and buy a… fellytision is it?" Voldemort was silent again. "Tell me though, my lord, why do you want to see all these."
"Just to see exactly what Dumbledore thought." Voldemort half-lied.
"He was special to you?"
"Excuse me?" Voldemort felt a twinge of anger. What did she mean? What was she getting at? The truth? The truth was buried. The truth no longer existed.
"I mean, in the way that one looks up to someone." Bellatrix didn't want to bring it up too soon. She was after the truth and she would get it.
"Let's just move on to the next memory." Bellatrix sighed and replaced the first silvery liquid back into its glass home. She uncorked the next one. It was the last one before they moved onto the sealed ones. She poured it into the basin, where it flowed and swam. Voldemort did not look at the dancing lights this time, just entering the pensive before he was hypnotized by his bright enemy.
