The Dark Lord's Secret Love

This chapter has been updated to comply with Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince.

On with chapter 6!

Journeying into Enemy Territory

Turmoil. The Dark Lord was in turmoil. He could think of no better description for his current state of mind. He paced the dimly lit, dark-colored chamber, trying to make sense out of the jumble of emotions he was feeling. Emotions! He had never had to deal with that sort of thing at all before. Only weaklings allowed themselves to feel empathy for others, and Lord Voldemort was not a weakling.

He was the Dark Lord! He was evil, powerful, bent on racial purity and world domination, and, could he be...ethical?! No, that was simply impossible! That certainly had no place in a description of Lord Voldemort! He would be damned if his perfected high-pitched mirthless cackle became tainted with compassion! He had spent his entire life, including those unproductive years possessing animals in that Albanian forest, making sure that he had no conscience. By the time he was eight or nine years old, he had completely quashed his soppy sentiments, and he had proved it at every chance he got. Was all that rationalization for naught?

Lord Voldemort shrieked in frustration, nearly collapsing onto his ornately carved throne, covering his troubled scarlet eyes with shaking chalk-white hands.

"Why me?" he cried aloud. "Why do I have, the only dark wizard in recent history to have a chance of actually reaching his or her goals, feel sorry for those inferior, dirty muggles? ARRGGGH!"

Could he, Lord Voldemort, have any chance of success if he wasn't wholeheartedly committed to the purity of wizarding blood? Perhaps it was time for him to reassess his ultimate goals. Was a world without Lemon Drops truly a world worth living in? For the first time in his life, the Dark Lord wasn't sure he could answer that question in the affirmative.

"Puking Pastilles," Severus sneered at the gargoyle blocking his path to the headmaster's office. Dumbledore had summoned him from the other side of the country, and he was in no mood to deal with the headmaster's silly penchant for sweets. The usually inanimate stone seemed, to Severus at least, to roll its eyes at Dumbledore's choice of passwords. It moved aside, allowing the potions master access to the smoothly moving spiral staircase, which carried him up to his scheming boss's study.

After stepping off the magical escalator, Snape lifted the griffin-shaped knocker and banged it impatiently against the wooden door.

"Come in, Severus," called Dumbledore's deep voice. Snape entered the circular room, and was met by his superior's twinkling blue eyes.

"Severus, my dear boy! How are you?" asked Albus Dumbledore cheerfully. "Take a seat. Would you like a Lemon Drop?"

Severus Snape wisely refused the bowl of sweets that Dumbledore practically forced on him. What on earth was going on with these Lemon Drops? After seeing the Dark Lord's reaction to the sweets, he would sooner have willingly accepted a Canary Cream from the Weasley twins than a Lemon Drop from the headmaster. If he ate one, would he suddenly begin begging for the marauders' forgiveness?

"So, Severus, I trust that your last mission for Lord Voldemort was an interesting one," commented Dumbledore. Snape, as usual, cringed at the casual use of the Dark Lord's name, but did not reprimand the headmaster. "I assume that the objects I gave you produced some unusual reactions in the Dark Lord!" Albus settled his hypnotically twinkling gaze on Snape.

"What in the world did those sweets do to him, Albus?" Severus spoke angrily, his black eyes narrowed. "I was summoned to the Dark Lord's side last night. You recall the Prophet story about the large-scale attack in the West Country this morning? Well, the Dark Lord left in the middle of the attack, visibly shaken."

Dumbledore continued to smile placidly at the irate ex-Death Eater across the desk from him. "What did I do to Lord Voldemort, Severus?" repeated the headmaster calmly. "I did nothing to him. Nothing at all. However, I hear that the Office of Misinformation has told the muggles that the attack was actually a hurricane. I find that explanation quite amusing, although the attack itself was anything but funny."

Severus sincerely wondered if Albus was finally going senile. "Then what was the purpose of having me leave packages of Lemon Drops in You-Know-Who's sight? I know this is not just an elaborate joke, Albus. You had to have done something to him, and I resent the fact that you are not fully disclosing your actions to me!"

"Ah, Severus. I truly did nothing to Tom. I merely provided an opportunity. It was ultimately his choice, whether to grasp it or not. Please, do have some lemon drops, Severus. You're too agitated for your own good."

Almost imperceptibly backing away from the sweets, Snape shook his greasy head decisively. "No, Albus. I will not have a Lemon Drop. I think I'll go...back to my house now." He silently added that he would rather be civil to Harry Potter than eat one of those sweets. He would almost rather allow Neville Longbottom in his NEWTS class than eat one. No, that was probably going too far.

"Very well, Severus. Thank you for your help. Your simple actions may very well prove to turn the tide of this war."

A very confused and disgruntled Snape rode the spiral staircase away from Dumbledore's office, stalked through the castle, and left through the front doors.

Lemon Drops! Lord Voldemort was desperate for the delicious yellow tangy sweets. How in the name of Merlin was he to get some? The most powerful dark lord in over a hundred years could not just waltz into a muggle candy store, after all. It was impossible, unheard of. Or could he?

There were some logistical problems with the plan, which Voldemort was aware of. First of all, where were these muggle sweetshops located? Was it proper to simply apparate into the store? No, probably not. A muggle shop was also unlikely to be connected to the floo network as well. A portkey might work, but the Dark Lord disliked the hard landing. It was undignified. Oh sod it all! Why couldn't Honeydukes simply sell what he wanted? Then he could simply have one of his Death Eaters put the proprietor under the Imperius curse, and it would be simple to get whatever he wanted.

There was another major obstacle to getting the sweets that the Dark Lord craved. If he were to venture into the muggle world, he would have to change his appearance, at least temporarily. He had suddenly realized that he wasn't exactly...presentable. Not that red eyes with vertical pupils, chalk-white skin, and flat, slit-like nostrils were unattractive features; they were just...rather unusual. It was possible that the muggles he would inevitably meet in a muggle sweetshop would be uncomfortable with his looks. Clothes would be less of a problem. The Dark Lord clearly recalled several hideous muggle fashions from his childhood in the orphanage. With his superior magical skill, he would undoubtedly be able to conjure or transfigure something appropriate.

It suddenly struck Lord Voldemort that never before had he wished to not intimidate muggles. Not only had he never attempted to appear acceptable to them, but he had absolutely no idea how to do so! How was a creature of magic, such as himself, to interact with muggles within the confines of both muggle and wizarding law? He had never even tried to obey laws before, whether magical or muggle, yet he was now going to attempt to venture into the muggle world?

This was just too complicated! Life had been so much simpler and more carefree when he had only needed to worry about murdering and torturing people. The Dark Lord was beginning to realize that the true difficulties in life came from restraining oneself. No wonder he had never wished to emulate any of the other children in the orphanage or at Hogwarts: it was hard work, being normal!

Lord Voldemort mentally pulled his train of thought back to the problem at hand. How was he to get his Lemon Drops? The Dark Lord knew better than to ask his loyal minions to help him with this mission. Most of them would be appalled at entering the muggle world. A few would be unable to interact with muggles without physically harming them, or at least baiting them with a few of the more malicious magical tricks they could surreptitiously pull off. Of the few who would not be shocked and disgusted by their master's request, Voldemort had his doubts about their competence. Wormtail, for instance, could do absolutely nothing right. Even when he was simply sent to steal a newspaper, he came back with sections of the Prophet missing. The Dark Lord was seriously considering reassigning many of Wormtail's tasks to Nagini.

Lord Voldemort thought that it was really a shame that Barty Crouch was currently lacking a soul. If it wasn't for that small matter, he might have been the perfect choice for this task. Unfortunately, he was currently incapable of following even the simplest of directions, so that option would never work.

"Wait a minute!" cried Voldemort. "That's it! I'll use polyjuice, just like I had Barty do last year!" Then he remembered that not only did polyjuice take a month to brew, he would also need to pick a servant whose appearance he would not be averse to taking on for an hour or two.

"Bellatrix is good-looking, in that Azkaban-escapee sort of way, but I'd rather not become a woman. That's a whole set of psychological issues that I'd rather not deal with right now," the Dark Lord contemplated. "Wormtail is not only unattractive, he's also supposed to be dead. It would really put a damper on things if one of those Ministry of Magic fools happened across me looking like him. Not that escaping from Azkaban would be difficult for me; it would simply be inconvenient. Severus's nose is too big, and his hair is too greasy. Crabbe and Goyle are too all-around ugly. Fenrir Greyback is terrifying even in human form.

Finally, after several hours of obsessively weighing advantages and disadvantages of some fifteen different plans, the Dark Lord decided how he would change his appearance in order to make a purchase from a muggle sweetshop. An illusion charm on his face turned his scarlet eyes brown, gave him a nose to go along with his nostrils, and made his skin a slightly healthier shade of...pale. He wasn't his normal handsome self, he reasoned while studying his reflection in an ornate black-lacquered mirror, but it would have to suffice for the moment.

Next, Voldemort needed muggle clothes. He wracked his memory, and was able to visualize a muggle outfit he was forced to wear during his childhood. He concentrated, pointing his wand at his signature black velvet cloak. It became a pair of light-colored pants, just like the ones he had worn as an aspiring dark wizard in the orphanage. Next, the Dark Lord removed his black robes. Standing in just his black underwear, he transfigured the robes into a matching tunic.

Lord Voldemort surveyed his handiwork approvingly. The outfit was just as he remembered it. He pulled on the new muggle clothing, and checked his appearance in the mirror. A new person stared back at the Dark Lord: bald, brown-eyed, and less pale, wearing a colorless orphanage uniform.

Unable, or perhaps unwilling to recognize that he was an adult in the 1990's wearing a child's orphanage uniform from the 1940's, Lord Voldemort smiled and winked rakishly at the image in the mirror.

"Come on, you handsome devil," he told his reflection. "Let's go get those muggle sweets!"