Phineas' Narration – The Dark Lord Rising

Wild, dark times are rumbling toward us, and the prophet who wishes to write a new apocalypse will have to invent entirely new beasts, and beasts so terrible that the ancient animal symbols of Saint John will seem like cooing doves and cupids in comparison.

HEINRICH HEINE

...

– Phineas? –

Hm?

– Phineas, I think it’s your turn to speak up again. –

Oh! Oh, yes – I beg your pardon! Indeed – where was I…

~ Can we get a new narrator, please? This one is obviously getting decrepit! ~

Impudent boy! Who’s decrepit here!

~ Would you rather prefer senile? ~

Oh, be quiet! And you young rascals out there – yes, you I mean! Stop giggling! I was just taking a little nap, that’s all! So, back to the essentials –

~ Back to me, you mean? ~

– Severus, please! Let Phineas continue! –

~ Well, for that he needs to get started first. ~

This is hell. It must be. Spending a fraction of one’s afterlife here – like this – constantly surrounded by this lot, who are either plain crazy nuts, or really senile like good Armando over there, or insolent youngsters like –

~ Whining, whining, whining, that’s all you do, all day long! You think you’re more pleasurable company? ~

I won’t dignify that brazenness with an answer! Anyway. The story. Yes. I think I remember where we left off. My dearest great-granddaughter got married to this Idiot, indeed, and for a start, they went on honeymoon together – on her part for consolation, I imagine. However, seven weeks, four countries, six cities, fourteen museums, eight art galleries, and uncounted sights later – my dear girl is a great enthusiast for les belles arts, you must know; I fathom her unworthy suitor just pretended to take an interest for her sake – the rich, beautiful – well, he was rich, she was both – married couple returned to Southern Wiltshire to live in the unworthy bridegroom’s stately manor, at least on the weekends. My dearest great-granddaughter Narcissa enrolled in Artemis College, too, The Idiot began to attend graduate Law classes, and during the week, they frequently stayed in his old bachelor apartment in London because he wasn’t in the mood to endure his father. Which I can understand just too well; I was Abraxas Malfoy’s Head of House then – a nasty temper, that one, a –

– Phineas! –

Thank Salazar that my dear great-grandchild had a good deal more brains than her spouse, or their story might have ended at this point already. After pledging himself to Lord Voldemort’s cause of all causes, The Idiot soon realised that he might have committed himself too rashly. For example – his master wasn’t exactly pleased when he found out that The Idiot had heard about his master’s true identity, and threatened to take it out on my poor girl if he thought of telling anybody else! But she taught him Occlumency to prevent further predicaments like this one. Her initial enthusiasm after finding out that Lord Voldemort was really nobody else but Tom Riddle, the boy that she very nearly had beaten in her OWLs, had quickly worn off, too.

Albeit The Idiot’s comet-like career in the Dark Order – not quite three years after joining up, he was made second-in-command, aged only twenty-two – neither he nor my dearest girl were too content with the whole affair. He did appreciate the magical power he gained – just like the actual power, I’d imagine – but now that he had a lovely wife waiting for him at home, he had little liking to spend his evenings elsewhere and otherwise. Also, he became more and more annoyed; purging the magical community of Mudbloods –

~ Oh, shut your mouth! ~

Oh, very well, Muggleborns then – happy now, Snape? That was one thing in The Idiot’s mind; but risking his own behind for it quite another. He had tried to get accustomed to his master’s inferior standing – now let me continue, Snape! I’m merely saying what was going through The Idiot’s head! – But he didn’t succeed very far, and what was more, he thought that Lord Voldemort was acting fairly nonsensical. He got assigned to a number of missions whose purpose was a mystery to him, and every now and then, things got very close – far too close for his, or my good girl’s equanimity.

My poor, poor great-granddaughter! Oh well, why did she have to marry this Idiot, but all the same! My poor child! Once she realised just how dangerous her husband’s assignments were, her peace of mind was lost. She didn’t comprehend this – what did that wretched man think he was doing? He was a genius, why wasn’t he satisfied with straining to become the most powerful wizard by far, some experimental magic, some research?! Why would he send her husband out to battle Aurors just for the sake of it?! Why would he have random people slain for no reason at all?! She had seen The Idiot perform the Dark Arts, he was fantastic – even I must admit to that, and I’m not his greatest fan, as you might have noticed. Despite his talent, my poor girl couldn’t dispel the concern that he might meet a foe more excellent yet. What if he was injured? Arrested? Or – but no, she didn’t allow herself to even think it.

Still, she knew how many Death Eaters had been captured, or killed. She stopped reading the Daily Prophet in the morning, unless her husband had read it first and removed all the bits that might disturb her. Neither did he tell her what he was up to concerning his service for Lord Voldemort – she didn’t want to know, nor did he want to either upset her, or lie to her. But no caution could stop her from fretting at night, waiting for her husband to come back home.

~ In fairness though, Lucius never lingered – he rushed home in the very moment when he was free to go. ~

Who’s narrating here, Snape? You or me?! My dear great-granddaughter fretted; she was eaten up by worries for the wretched boy’s sake. Well, she claimed she loved him. But I’m still suspecting that he put her under a Confounding Charm, or slipped a love potion into her coffee…

~ You really are a bitter, old man! ~

Look who’s talking!

– Well, Severus certainly didn’t get a chance of becoming OLD… –

~ And I’m still wondering whom to give the most credits for that fact. The Dark Lord, his shoddy snake, or my old friend and boss! ~

Oh well. Not only had young Tom Riddle made quite a career to become Lord Voldemort – his star was rising still. When he had come back to England after almost twenty years of travelling, his skills in the Dark Arts had been unrivalled. Five years later, he was famous, or rather say infamous – he and his followers were close to overthrow the Ministry of Magic, not because they were planning some coup d’état, but simply because they existed. He was hungry for power, not the conventional sort of power – he had no intention to become Minister for Magic, for Salazar’s sake. He relished the power he had on the minds of people; even his own supporters wouldn’t dare to speak his name. His ulterior motive wasn’t mere power though. He thought that nobody but he knew about this motive then, not even his faithful Death Eaters, which weren’t named so for nothing.

He wasn’t afraid of death. He hated it. Death! Death is universally supposed to be the one matter that cannot be conquered; warlocks, kings, knights and heroes, they all are powerless when facing it. But Tom Riddle wouldn’t give in like that, like his own mother, who had simply lied down to die instead of fighting, for life in itself, for her son! And he had already succeeded in vanquishing death. He had been a schoolboy still when toying with the idea already, and he had spent the past twenty-five years very usefully to realise his plan.

It was simple enough. So simple in fact that he couldn’t believe that no one before him had tried it! All it’d take was transferring parts of his soul into separate objects – all right, all right, that bit wasn’t exactly easy, but once he knew how to do it… Body and soul belong, living and dying together. So if there is a part of the soul still living autonomously when the physical frame has died, this frame can be revived, over and over and –

– I believe they have grasped the concept, Phineas. It’s fairly well explained in the books. –

But they’re Muggles, Dumbledore! How bright can they be? Well, never mind now. As I said – immortality isn’t that complicated, when one is so talented and crafty like Tom Riddle certainly was. Most exceptional student that this school has ever seen, if I remember correctly.

– If only he had employed his prodigious skills for a good cause! –

~ Like – ‘For The Greater Good’, Dumbledore?! ~

– Oh, when will you stop going on with that, Severus! You, I remember, were no saint in your youth either! –

~ At least, I reformed in my twenties! I wasn’t prepared to send countless people to their deaths! ~

– You’ll be grizzling about that for the next century, will you? –

I’m so sorry to interrupt you, my esteemed colleagues, but I’m telling a story here! If you cannot be quiet, get out of here at once! Do I have your attention now? Yes? Good! – As I was saying before these two butted in: Tom Riddle – Lord Voldemort he called himself by then – was a genius and had found a way to gain immortality. He paid little attention to the fact that with every piece of his soul that he disposed of, he lost more and more of his humaneness –

~ And his common sense. And his logical capacity. – Sorry to interrupt you once more, but it’s true! That lunatic really, really lost it! ~

True. He created his first Horcrux aged sixteen, which is quite a feat, I’ve got to hand it to the boy. For this, he killed another student and used an old diary to store a part of his soul. When he was seventeen, he created the second after murdering his Muggle father, in form of a certain family heirloom.

~ I bet you in particular remember that one, don’t you, Dumbledore? ~

Both objects proved that he indeed was Salazar Slytherin’s true heir, marked his first victims, showed his ingenuity – how many sixteen-year-old wizards can implant their memory in a book, eh? None, none! He gathered gifted wizards around him, the most talented wizards from all Europe, from the most ancient families – but none of them – not one was a patch on him and his talent!

– Spoken like a true admirer, Phineas. –

It’s not wise to underestimate one’s opponent, Dumbledore. It is what brought him down eventually, isn’t it? The third object was a golden cup that had once belonged to Helga Hufflepuff and which bore fantastic powers of its own, neutralising poisons, enhancing potions, turning water to whatever substance you willed. He turned it into a Horcrux after killing the then-Minister for Magic. Number four was a locket from Salazar Slytherin himself – Phoebus Penrose, the famous Muggle advocate, gave his life for this one. The fifth and next to last one was Rowena Ravenclaw’s famous tiara. He had made it a rule to only use them when he had killed somebody special – but I forgot who got killed for this one.

      

~ I believe it was Hannibal Greyback, Fenrir’s father. He was a champion for the reconciliation of humans and werewolves. ~

In any case, he safeguarded his survival fairly well. And extended the Dark Order. He strictly ruled it, with a tight hierarchy. Naturally, he was the number one. His right hand was The Idiot Boy, who distinguished himself for many reasons, his impeccable pedigree, his immense talent, but foremost his will and determination. Then there was my other great-granddaughter – troublesome, all her life, I tell you! Nothing but trouble! She was one of the few witches serving him – she would have been in her brother-in-law’s position, if she hadn’t been a woman. He considered women in general to be weak, too soft, too easily scared – which is true in essentials –

~ No, it isn’t! ~

Sissy!

~ Women are not weaker than men in essentials! Dumbledore! ~

– He’s right, you know? –

~ Thank you. ~

That’s it! I’ve had it! You go on telling the story, if you think you two are so clever! At least, I don’t have to suffer your constant interruptions any longer!

~ Very well. You were explaining the Dark Order’s hierarchy, I believe? Well, I’m better suited to talk about that, anyway. Indeed, Lucius was the Dark Lord’s second-in-command, and the mad woman was his most trusted executioner. Really, no one would have been better fitted for the job. For some time, he wanted Narcissa to join up, too, because he had heard much of her cleverness and talent. She and Lucius could dissuade him though. Narcissa was a fabulous Occlumens, not showing her disgust with the enterprise as such, only her hesitations and scruples, and he understood that there was no use in having a servant who was, right from the start, unwilling to do what it would take. There were plenty of alternatives, people that were hungry for the opportunities he could offer.

He truly understood what to offer to bind his disciples to himself. Some of them were hungry for power, magic or mundane power or both, like Lucius, or Bellatrix. Some were simply – well – perhaps ‘adventurous’ is the right term. Some were bullies and sadists, relishing the power they could exploit over others. Some were unhappy, unsatisfied, balancing their discontent with the possibilities he gave them. He left them to their own ways, only intervening when their actions endangered the order. It was best like this, tying them closer to him still – crimes done in common are a mighty band. He had his people everywhere. In almost every department of the Ministry, in the Wizengamot, at Gringotts and St Mungo’s; he’s had his people in various newspapers and broadcasting, he had the Defence against the Dark Arts instructor in Artemis College in the palm of his hand, and a number of Hogwarts students just waiting to leave school and join up, too. Bellatrix and Lucius were so well-respected, they had access to every house and family in the country. He had Greyback, the giants, the majority of vampires, and created a legion of Inferi. He had all sides covered, really. ~

– The only spy he still wanted was one in my school. –

~ Yes, someone close to you, not just a student. You were actually the only enemy that the Dark Lord ever truly respected, and he had his heart – nah, bad wording – he had his mind set on defeating you, and kept on assuring us that there would come the day that saw the end of the great Albus Dumbledore, and that he, the Dark Lord, would be dancing on your grave then. ~

– He did do that before the end, didn’t he? –

~ I really couldn’t say. If I had seen him dig out that blasted wand, I might have been a little better prepared that he’d kill me out of the blue! ~

– Before you start again with THAT old story, I suggest we get back to the actual protocols, hm? –

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