Chapter 9 – Far Too Much Dark

"All the stuff you did, Dad… later on, how did you not turn evil?"

William looked down at his son. "That's the crux of it," he replied softly.

"You actually did become evil?!"

"No, though I was in a very, very difficult position."

"Why?"

William sighed. "Everyone likes blaming Voldemort for the first war. What most people don't know is... that war was brewing for decades and it was going to explode any day. You wouldn't believe the resentment, the entitlement the purebloods had. They had this... roiling indignation of how the world worked – which was not how they wanted it to work – and had all this pent-up fury at the people that they blamed for that difference."

"Then, mix in the darker magic that they had available – spells they knew, tomes they housed, artifacts they'd purchased – and a bit of darker morals? No, the wizarding world would've been in a civil war within a few years anyway – whether or not Lord Voldemort was ever around. All Britain needed was a catalyst."

"What's a catalyst?"

"An ingredient that doesn't really do anything by itself, but sort of gets the ball rolling - something that sparks or ignites the situation." William swallowed. "That's what Lord Voldemort was, even though I didn't realize it at the time."

"So... so what did you do? Did you… kill people?"

"No!" William said forcefully. "Though... sometimes people died because of me..."

"What?!"

William ducked his head. "I should explain..."

Circe's corset, was Tom Riddle in over his head. All he wanted to do was erect a magician's persona – a sort of shadier, more mysterious version of Dumbledore.

But, no. The Wizarding World just had to be churning with dark politics, and of course he'd managed to find himself at the thick of things. Why couldn't things ever be simple?

Two thousand.

Two. Freaking. Thousand. By his count, that's the number of wizards in Britain alone that he'd classify as being on the dark side. And while a lot of them were what he'd call "semi-evil", an uncomfortably sizable minority believed in things that sickened him. Muggle slaughter. Kidnapping. Torture. Assassination. Heck, he guessed that at least 200 of them wouldn't mind overthrowing the statute of muggle secrecy and institute a new order whose backbone consisted of muggle servitude. And who did those 2,000 consider their charismatic and sensible leader? Voldemort, exemplar of wizarding power.

And on the opposition? Dumbledore, and at most a few dozen civilian militia. Maybe a few dozen aurors, but given that they were under control of a ministry teetering on darkness, it was debatable whether they even counted for anything.

Tom's first thought was to back out, to fade away into the night and have no more part of this. But the horrible thing was, it wouldn't change anything. Events had begun unfolding, and the wave of twilight rushing to the shore didn't need him anymore – it was going to crash upon the land whether he was part of it.

No, the only way to stop it was to get ahead of it. And he couldn't do that if he changed direction.

"Malfoy!"

His blond-haired lackey ran over to him. "Yes, my lord."

"I think it's time to show the wizarding world that a new dark age is ascending."

"How, my lord?"

"I'm going to spill some muggle and wizard blood tonight. Be vigilant for my signal and make sure the Daily Prophet is alerted as quickly as possible."

Voldemort apparated to a nearby muggle town. Once there, he paid no attention to the muggles looking at his robes with questioning glances. Instead, he cast a vision modification charm on himself. Suddenly, the people around him no longer looked human, but appeared as blurry shapes of reddish light. Or at least most people did. The ill and infirm faded to a mustard yellow, and those truly on death's door were a sickly dark blue.

He was looking for something in particular, and it took nearly 15 minutes to find it: a 30-something year old man in a home with a dark ugly blue aura. This man was minutes – if not seconds – away from greeting death. Voldemort struggled, knowing that he had the power to save this man, to steal the muggle away from death's embrace. But instead, he watched as the man's aura flickered pitifully as a feeble blue candle, before finally snuffing into darkness. William swallowed. Despite what anyone would've thought, this was the first time he'd actually seen death. The fact that it was abstract – a blue glow fading to black – did nothing to help him with his conscience.

Steeped in anger (mostly at himself,) Tom furiously shouted, "Bombarda Expulso!" The house was consumed by a vicious explosion, blowing bits of construction and furniture across violently through the air. Not waiting for the dust and debris to settle, Voldemort incanted, "Morsmordre."

It was his new calling card, eventually simply being referred to as The Dark Mark.

William wanted to throw up, he wanted to leave – heck, he wanted to go to Dumbledore and sob into the man's robes. But he mutely apparated to the next town to "kill" another. The thing that horrified him the most? After the first dozen muggles that died in front of his eyes… it seemed easier, it seemed to hurt less to watch the second dozen pass away. What did that say about him? Who was he anymore? William? Riddle? Voldemort?

Towards the end of the night, after two dozen muggles were "slain", he did the same in two wizarding villages. It took longer – not only are there far fewer wizards than muggles, but wizards tended not to die early deaths as often as muggles. Not only that, but Voldemort had a specific requirement: the two he "killed" had to be victims that would make those 2,000 dark wizards think twice.

Elizabeth Demeter was a mother of three recent Hogwarts graduates and was widowed as of last year. She was a kindly woman that worked at St. Mungos as an assistant. She was even a halfblood – so even the most wretched of purebloods couldn't use heritage as a reason to excuse her murder.

Budd Reisling was a muggleborn but was surprisingly well-known. He'd previously worked at Hogwarts for nearly two decades as a Herbology teacher, with most of the students thinking of him as a kindly but quiet professor. Afterwards, he volunteered tending a public arboretum to while away the years of retirement – gardens, incidentally, not three blocks from the Ministry of Magic. Most everyone that worked at the Ministry knew his face if not his name.

That day, Budd, Elizabeth, and 24 muggles were slain without reason by the new Dark Lord. That day became known as War's Dusk, and was considered by many as the start of the War Against Voldemort. It was the day that open hostilities began between the two sides, the day where Voldemort declared his true loyalties, and the day where most pureblood wizards realized just how far their leader would go to obtain and demonstrate his power. The day where those 2,000 got to see just what was end of the wrong tunnel.

Afterwards, Tom returned to his lair. Nobody was there – his "Death Eaters" were all too busy doing logistics and handling contacts at the Daily Prophet.

There was no turning back now.

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