It all started on a muggle street corner. It was strange, to say in the least. How Dementia came across the idea. Her father was dead, thanks to the 'great' Harry Potter. Her older brother, Damian, was no where to be found. Her mother had long since gone mental. And she was alone, with no where to go. She had been walking, head down, hood up, even as hot and sunny as it was, when she heard the tuning of a guitar.
The person playing with it began to string out cords and people were beginning to gather round.
"Oh what the heck," she said to herself, stopping and looking up at the three people who were on the corner.
I can ride my bike with no handlebars, no handlebars, no handlebars. I can ride my bike with no handlebars, no handlebars, no handlebars.
Dementiashook her head at the weird muggle lyrics, but she was entranced by the music, and continued to listen even as others began to leave.
Look at me, look at me hands in the air like it's good to be ALIVE and I'm a famous rapper even when the paths are all crookedy. I can show you how to do-si-do, I can show you how to scratch a record. I can take apart the remote control but I can almost put it back together.
A remote control? What was that? Some muggle device for torture? Sounded fun to Dementia. She had dozed out and missed some of the song. She tilted her head and listened again.
I can keep rhythm with no metronome, no metronome, no metronome. I can see your face on the telephone, on the telephone, on the telephone.
It seemed to Dementia they were keeping rhythm fairly well. Well, for muggles. She knew wizarding singers had much better voices. Especially compared to some muggle gutter snipes. The boy singing smiled at her as he sang, trying to be cute she supposed. She raised her eyebrows, but did nothing else. She missed some of the song again and this time she focused in. She would hear this song. Something was telling her to finish it.
Look at me! Look at me! Driving and I won't stop! And it feels so good to be Alive and on top! My reach is global, my tower secure, my cause is noble, my power is pure. I can hand out a million vaccinations, or let 'em all die in exasperation. Have 'em all healed of their lacerations, have 'em all killed by assassination. I can make anybody go to prison just because I don't like 'em, and I can do anything with no permission. I have it all under my command! I can guide a missile by satellite, by satellite, by satellite; and I can hit a target through a telescope, through a telescope, through a telescope; and I can end the planet in a holocaust! In a holocaust! In a holocaust! In a holocaust! In a holocaust! In a holocaust!
Dementia listened to the song with new ears. A holocaust. She had heard that word before, at many of her fathers meetings. She racked her brain for the meaning of it. Destruction or slaughter on a mass scale. She thought to the beginning of that part.
My reach is global, my tower secure, my cause is noble, my power is pure.
Her father was trying to do the right thing. His cause oh so noble, his power completely pure. She shook her head. It was as if fate had brought her here. It wanted her to finish her father's work, to restart the ridding of Muggles and Mudbloods. To make the wizarding world full of clean blood again. An outside force wanted her to do this.
She nodded her head. Dementia knew what she had to do. She would need to find her brother of course, so he could help her. Together they could rule the world with a mighty fist. With a secure tower and noble cause. To rid the world of filth and bring power back to the wizarding world. She smiled. The muggles would all pay, dearly.
And to begin with, she needed to kill off that dreadful Harry Potter, and his friends too, for good measure. The mudblood and the blood traitor. Along with the halfling.
She would get them all.
I can ride my bike with no handlebars, no handlebars, no handlebars. I can ride my bike with no handlebars, no handlebars, no handlebars.
Yes, she would ride her bike with no handlebars and succeed. Though she had no idea what that meant. She would do it though. She fetched some muggle cash from her pocket and put it into the hat they had lying out.
"Woah, wicked tat," said the singer. He was smirking and looking at her forearm. "Where'd you get it?"
Dementia smiled and looked down at her arm.
"It was a gift from my father. Passing on the family business." She smiled and once again put her hands in her pockets, walking away, to restart her father's, Voldemort's, noble cause.
A/N
A little sneak peek for all you TRT1 folks. Working on the second chapter, don't worry, I'll get it up asap!
Mirror