The Man Behind the Mask

Chapter 4 - Doubts

22 Years Later

Voldemort strummed his fingers in thought. He was tired of listening to the constant babble of his colleagues, who were all feeling too eager to destroy the Ministry of Magic. They're idiots, the Dark wizard concluded, strumming faster. The Ministry isn't what I'm after. I want payback. He sighed and turned around, adjourning the meeting for the day.

It wasn't until all the Death Eaters left that Voldemort took out the picture he looked at everyday. It was a photocopy of one of the portraits in Slytherin's common room of every student that had gone there.

Sometimes he forgot who she was. What she had meant to him.

This picture helped Voldemort remember his past, though he tried to forget most of it. He cringed for a moment, finding he was looking through one of Hogwart's windows again, his memory forcing him to watch Allura leave him.

He pounded his fist on the table, getting tired of dawdling. For some reason he had been acting up lately, not knowing why. Images of his sister flooded his mind. It was as if she was calling to him, pleading for him to find her. I gave up 12 years ago, Allura. Don't do this to me. Don't make me feel like I did something wrong again! This time when his fist hit the table, the wood shattered to the floor.

Voldemort blinked, realizing an hour had passed by while he was thinking. He got up, the Dark wizard's face filled with apathy as he glanced at the table again. It was crumbled down to the floor, torn apart in pieces no one could put back together. Like me, Voldemort thought grimly, leaving Pettigrew's home to depart into the shadows.

The Forbidden Forest seemed to enjoy the Dark Lord's presence more than even his own followers. At least, that was what Voldemort thought. The darkness of the Forest welcomed him whenever Voldemort wanted to isolate himself, mainly meaning if he was having second thoughts about all he had done since he left Hogwarts that fateful day.

He could still remember the look on Dumbledore's face when he turned that last corridor to the window. He could still see Snape and Malfoy quivering in the fear at his rage. Voldemort wondered if anything was real anymore. Nothing was making sense to him anymore. It didn't matter to him that he had successfully wiped out nearly ¾ of the non-magic idiots in Europe alone, or that he had brought fear into every worldwide household of mudbloods since his ungodly reign evolved. He didn't care that he was a wanted man, or that the blood of millions was on his hands. He tended to be more on the neat side with washing his hands anyway.

To hell with this, the Dark Lord thought angrily, DisApparating from the Forest into Knockturn Alley. He disguised himself by taking on the looks of one of his victims - a technique he'd learned over the years. Voldemort had only one store on his mind to look at.

TRACING CHARMS INC. called out to him immediately, Voldemort entering the store hastily. He had been told of this shop for quite some time, but rarely had time of his own to take a glance himself.

What he found inside, though, troubled his stone heart deeply.

A woman smiled from the front desk at him. "How may I help you, sir? We just arrived with a shipment of new and improved charms, made at Durmstrang Institute by some of their highly skilled students. Would you like to try a sample?"

He wasn't listening to the ugly toad. The Dark Lord merely stared intently at the box of charms in front of him, reading the export address that had left him dumbfounded when he entered the store:

MADE BY DURMSTRANG INST.

HARRIET JUNIPER

EWING KILFA

PIPER YUVENSKI

DANIEL WESLING

SARA HIVENAT

ALEEM HASHEER

MORGANA TRISTOP

ALLURA RIDDLE

* * *

He pointed to the box, now, making sure his eyes weren't deceiving him. That's Allura. No, that can't be Allura. It has to be a coincidence. Voldemort also realized something. It's been too long for Allura to still be in school. The hag must be lying. "How ... new is this shipment?" he asked deadly.

She was startled by his tone of voice. Voldemort was already getting annoyed. "Well, uh ... I got it ... well ..." She continued looking for answers.

The Dark Lord sighed. Screw it, he decided, muttering a spell with the woman flying to the floor stiffly. "You have two choices: torture, or telling me when you got this. I sincerely suggest you pick the second one." The old woman nodded hastily, Voldemort moving her to stand and look him in the eye. She was stunned by the redness staring back at her. "Well?" He was starting to grow angry. "I don't like to waste my time wench. Speak now or forever hold your peace."

Again she nodded, darting her eyes to the shipment. "I got it about 11 years ago. But it didn't come in until about yesterday, I swear!"

Dumbledore awoke from an afternoon nap to hear screams.