Dark Lord of Azkaban

I was led to a Muggle-infested slum into an uncomfortably warm, dumpy flat that was little more than a room with a dirty kitchen on one side, and a bathroom with a leaky ceiling. I was disgusted but reminded myself that the location would afford me my first opportunity for anonymity. The kitchen was fully stocked with instructions on the oven for those unfamiliar with Muggle appliances and those who were too incapacitated by their time in Azkaban to remember.

There was nothing I wanted more than revenge, but to make a mistake now would be disastrous. I snatched Pettigrew's wand and put him under a full Imperius Curse, which was surprisingly easy, and ordered him to find me assistants and supplies. I needed a wand immediately.

I washed myself as many times as possible, disposing of the grime Azkaban had embedded into my skin. Washing was rare in Azkaban, administered crudely by spraying the entire cell when it was time to impress a visitor. It wasn't long before the brown, icy water began to fill up around my ankles in the bathtub, and I was forced to discontinue. I dried myself and began to attend to my hair.

My gray-streaked black hair was as wild as that mudblooded giant Rubeus Hagrid's and I lopped it off with inexpertise and became irritated by the inconsistency of my now-balding head. I cut off my beard in clumps before turning to the modern plastic safety razor. As if it would be such a shame for Muggles to slip and slice their throats open... I studied the final result carefully in the mirror.

My features were pale and angular, and in an instant I recognized something else, someone else in that mirror. I've become him. My father's face stared coldly back at me, and I screamed and shattered the mirror with my fists, spattering blood on the cracked marble countertop. I pressed my hands to my eyes and forced myself to breathe slowly. When I had calmed, I was more resolved than ever. It was merely another situation to remedy, along with creating a new identity or rather, reviving an old one.

Angry pounding shook my door, and a dark-haired woman with flashing narrow eyes and a regal demeanor--even in her old Muggle dress--burst into my flat. I recognized this woman: she had been admitted to Azkaban in recent years for Muggle torture. I'd taken note of her pride as she walked down the prison corridor like a queen surveying her castle.

At the moment, however, she was shrieking. "It's bad enough that I have to live in this revolting Muggle hovel without your commotion, old man! I will not tolerate--"

"You don't know who you're provoking, do you?" I asked tightly. "I know you from Azkaban... perhaps you've heard of the heir of Slytherin?"

She went pale, a sickly grey look on her skin, as I pinned her against the door. "My name is Bellatrix Black. Forgive me, Mr. Riddle. I didn't know it was you. Yes, everyone who practices the Dark Arts has heard of you--"

Her supplication slightly eased my anger at her incorrect forms of address. "I don't want to hear that name again. You will address me as Lord Voldemort or suffer the consequences. You should be on your knees thanking me for your release!" I found that I had been crushing her wrist with my bloodied hand when she sank to the Floor quietly.

"The stories are true? You are the Dark Lord come to lead us?"

I wasn't particularly interested in leading anyone rather than using them, but being somewhat of a legendary figure could work to my advantage. I forced myself to let go of her, instead brushing a lock of soft hair from her downturned eyes. She was strong and willing to follow me. Evenly, I observed, "I've recently developed a greater appreciation for the finer things in life... and you seem to be one of them." The flattery and my smile did their work, and she was mine.

"I was curious... master... how you were responsible for my release?"

Master. The word empowered me, strengthened my confidence. "I have a servant in the Ministry whom I persuaded to introduce the Prison Reform Act. You'll be meeting him soon, after he completes the tasks I've given him."

My food had run out several days before Pettigrew returned, but I no longer cared to eat. Bellatrix's occasional company was enlightening, but she wasn't the only visitor I received. On the second week, a group of Muggle religious leaders came to my door, and it was all I could do not to kill them on the spot. I haven't struggled this long to be subjected to their sickeningly pharisaical lectures. The bigots knock on my door pretending to offer salvation when they should be asking for it, begging for it, from me. It wasn't worth my time to explain my revulsion by their collective delusions, so I slammed the door in their faces, but not before insinuating a bit of doubt into their feeble minds and making it clear that they shouldn't return if they valued their wasted lives. I sank into my armchair, clenching the blade of a kitchen knife deep into my palm. Indeed, it was a true pity they hadn't all destroyed themselves--they'd had such a good start during the war, before I had become indisposed. Perhaps they needed a little help.

I had to take action. It was time to end my complacency and time to reclaim my life. I refused to stay with these pitiful Muggles any longer. The last descendent of Salazar Slytherin would reclaim his birthright. I embedded the knife into the door with finality.

I reached out mentally and summoned Pettigrew immediately to demand that he find more suitable quarters for myself and Bella. He had amazingly managed to anticipate my needs and took us both directly by portkey to a large empty flat above a shop in Knockturn Alley. I stared out the window onto the road below, revived by the magic in the air that had been so sorely absent for most of my life. My goddamned wasted life. I turned sharply and realized that Pettigrew was talking to me while Bellatrix was examining the dusty wood floor with distaste.

"I've brought what you asked for, my Lord... for the most part. Here are your books, potions ingredients, new robes, and, and I couldn't get a wand yet." He cringed and ducked his head.

I ground my teeth and told myself to be patient while examining the parcels he placed on the old table. I pulled out a short sword, simple with a golden hilt and steel blade, but well-made, and pointed the tip toward him in practice. "What's this?"

He bumped his back against the wall, recoiling. "I couldn't get a wand--" Yes, yes, repeat what infuriates me, why don't you? "-but I found this sword. It's cursed to make a wound bleed forever."

"Forever? Nothing is forever." I whispered dangerously. "Until death, you mean. While this is lovely, it is not at all what I requested. Perhaps I should give it a test?" I pressed the tip to his neck, just off-center before twisting it back rapidly in preparation to strike.

"Wait!" he cried, raising his arm defensively. "I found someone!"

I gripped the handle tightly but lowered the sword slightly. I noted that Bellatrix looked amused. Yes, she was exactly what I needed. "You found whom?"

"Sir, sir, I found a contact at Hogwarts. To get to Headmaster Dumbledore. First, I tried to talk to the Potions Master, but he threatened to curse me, and the Imperius didn't work on him, but I think I Obliviated him properly; anyway, I talked to Professor Quirrell, the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and I could Imperius him, and he's coming any minute because I floo-called him, so don't kill me! Please."

I was a bit disappointed, but I sheathed the sword. "Excellent. If he doesn't prove useful, I'll kill him and take his wand."

A twitchy man, even more so than Pettigrew, with a permanently confused look on his face entered quickly, catching his purple robes in the door that slammed behind him. My first impression was that he would prove to be absolutely useless. "Tell me when Dumbledore is most vulnerable," I ordered directly.

"I don't know," Quirrell stuttered. "He is usually surrounded by the professors if he isn't in his office. Maybe, maybe during the summer, when Hogwarts is closed?"

"During the summer. Would you care to refresh me as to what month it is now? I was under the impression that it is winter, judging by the snow outside! Am I incorrect?"

"January, January, sir. Please forgive me. I told you what you wanted to know."

I glared at him and Pettigrew in turn. "He's like this under Imperius? I'm unimpressed."

"Yes, sir, but I'm really not very experienced. I thought maybe he'd be more helpful than--"

"Very well," I gritted out. "Quirrell, there's one simple thing I need that you couldn't possibly fail. You will procure me a wand, saying that you have destroyed your own in a duel, or you will forcibly take someone else's. I don't care which, but I prefer something in yew or phoenix feather. If you cannot do this, I will kill you."

"You must have patience," Bellatrix spoke up, a look dangerously close to taunting still in her dark eyes.

I whirled on her. "I've run out of patience decades ago! There are no longer any excuses for wasting my time."

The corners of her lips turned up a little. "I assure you that I don't intend to, my lord. I have no love for Dumbledore either; he is the head of the Wizengamot."

"Go, Quirrell!" He skittered out of the room, wringing his hands like a lunatic. I took a deep breath. "Go also, Pettigrew. You've done well, despite yourself. However, the first one of you to bring me a wand will be the only one who lives. I grow tired of waiting." He seemed to be coming around to me, and soon I wouldn't need to control him directly.

Bella fingered her navy blue robe appreciatively. "Is this for me? It wouldn't suit you."

"Yes. Put it on." I wasn't in the mood for her jesting.

She looked around the large, nearly empty room with distaste. "Where will I sleep? I presume we are both staying here."

"As soon as I get a wand, I can improve it. Get dressed in the bathroom, and get out of my sight for a while."

She complied, and I cast off my own Muggle clothes, a threadbare plaid shirt and ill-fitting, brown corduroy pants, in favor of a black satin layered robe. I leaned stiffly against the bare window frame to survey Knockturn Alley once more. Ironically, as much as the Muggle world had progressed, the wizarding world had remained the same. The snow fell peacefully on the same buildings, the wizards in the same kinds of clothing as the first time I had seen this hidden part of London. Their inability to adapt would be their downfall, but the power of it was that it had required enormous armies and unbelievable destructive forces to turn back Hitler's threat, while it had only taken one man to destroy Grindelwald: Dumbledore. But he could never take me down. I was willing to die to destroy him, to enjoy my hard-earned, long-deserved revenge.

Darkness fell. I rubbed my face tiredly and with the contact of the stubble on my face came a flash of my father's face, the coward who left me with Mr. Worth, a vile man who whipped and attacked me until I found the power within me to do away with him, and then I envisioned his replacement, Samuels, an even more twisted man, whom I'd only dreamt of killing, having run out of time for that. Out of time. The bastard had probably laughed when he found out I wasn't returning that summer. No doubt I hadn't deprived him of any of his sick plans, not with all the new children arriving because of the war. The orphanage was probably still there, just as I remembered it, dirty and poorly lit with cracked walls and battered beds.

An over-eager Pettigrew had returned already and was waving a pale wand in front of me, pulling me out of my reverie. "I got it! My lord, here is your new wand! It's holly and phoenix feather!"

I inspected it idly while he prattled on about his loyalty and gave it a try, "Silencio." It worked perfectly. Still there... I could almost imagine Toby threatening the younger boys with the fire in his lighter; crying Will, who was almost always in a sling; and some of the little girls who were subdued into constant vacant expressions by the ministrations of Mr. Samuels. I could feel Worth's fat fingers digging into my throat... The orphanage had taught me the meaning of hate and showed me how little Muggles valued each other. Not so strong after all, I taunted myself, realizing these were some of the same images with which the Dementors had originally haunted me. It was time to wipe them off the earth, I rationalized. I could face my fears and burn away the memories forever and be all the stronger for my next task.

I gazed at Pettigrew's quieted chattering mouth, absently noted that Bellatrix was still gone, and Apparated for the first time in years, directly in front of the Greater Hangleton Orphanage. It was exactly the same, but the brick exterior felt smaller, less imposing. It was an abomination that must be wiped out. I visualized the building engulfed in flames, and shouted, "Incendio Proprius!" The results were just as I'd hoped. The brick burned like paper, brightening the winter night. I took in the warm reassurance of the flames, grew intoxicated by the smoke and the screams that began to emanate from inside, then suddenly were silenced. The fire leapt to the trees, spread to the school next door, then the church, and the fire would burn until nothing else was left to consume. Excellent wand. The heavy smoke was obscuring my vision as I Apparated to Little Hangleton, to the familiar house where I had destroyed the rest of my supposed family. It only took a moment to set aflame, and I laughed hoarsely at the town as it crumbled. I waited until the sirens came my way to Disapparate.

The last coldness of Azkaban had thawed in my heart, but I wasn't fulfilled. I wanted more, wanted to destroy any last vestige of my old life and anyone who had gotten in my way. I didn't understand why I hadn't found even the passing patience I thought I'd achieve, but it wasn't worth dwelling on. What mattered was Hogwarts and Dumbledore.

I returned to my new flat in Knockturn Alley to rest. Bella was sleeping in a corner on a pile of blankets like an animal, an amusing sight. I picked up a book, and the blurred pages immediately reminded me to correct my hyperopia. The spell I required was difficult to do correctly and best performed in front of a mirror, despite my aversion to the idea. I scowled at my own reflection and pointed the wand at my right eye in the bathroom mirror. "Oculus Amplio." I read a page of the book to check the results and found that I had done it perfectly. I repeated the procedure on the second eye, before attempting it directly on each eye without the mirror. My left eyeball blazed so badly I considered abandoning doing the other eye, but I wasn't one to surrender. My vision went red and hazy, but when it cleared, everything was sharper than it ever had been, clearer than human sight altogether. I peered at my reflection again. My eyes had become the color of blood with a thin python-like pupil, an unexpected side effect, but one that I rather admired. Very unique, very intimidating.

I returned to the main room and deliberately turned the light off to read in the dark. My night vision was now excellent, and moreover, the experiment had prompted ideas for other self-improvements. I needed a new identity, and it would be exceptionally well-fitting for the heir of Slytherin, only Parselmouth alive, to look like a serpent.

I started by adapting the original potion I had planned to use, and while it simmered, I went outside to summon the largest snake in the area. Several worthless specimens appeared, either too small or having recently fed, their guts full of useless birds or rats, before an escaped boa constrictor approached me. I stunned him and tossed his whole body, skin, blood, and bone, into the cauldron and began to chant the necessary spell.

It had been so long since I'd last eaten that I vomited the first dose of potion I consumed, nearly awaking Bellatrix across the room. The second dose was swallowed properly, and I took another to be certain. Quickly, my skin seemed to pull too tight, I grew dizzy, and I blacked out on the floor.