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Chapter 7: It is not a fall. It is damnation
🕑 Added 2024-04-16 10:03:51 +0000 UTC
Voldemort, the dark lord once known as Tom Riddle was no fool. Everything he had, he fought for it. Everything he had was something that wasn’t given but earned.
He was the one who broke through so many obstacles to reach his objectives. He was the one who rose from nothing to what he was now.
He was the orphan, bastard son of a Muggle and a witch more squib than anything else who now ruled over the pure-blood families of Great Britain.
Him, someone who was born a half-blood was the one they bowed to! Him, Voldemort! Him who bested Death’s embrace. He who was rightfully feared by the world itself!
He had come back from the Dead, was remaking an army worthy of being called his. Sooner or later, the two thorns on his side, the two obstacles to his complete victory, Dumbledore and Harry Potter would be eradicated. He knew, no, believed it wholeheartedly.
This is why he hadn’t understood why he had felt death. This is why he hadn’t understood how a part of him, of his soul, one of his Horcruxes could have been destroyed.
He hadn’t understood how and it had scared him. His Horcruxes were the reason for his immortality. Without them, there was no immortal dark lord, without them there was no Lord Voldemort, only weak Tom Riddle.
This had been why he had left in a hurry the Malfoy’s manner after interrogating Lucius and Narcissa.
He had needed to know what was happening! He needed to ensure the safety of his Horcuxes, of the items he had tasked his most loyal servants to sauvegarde.
His terrible anger had sparked like a volcano in eruption when he learned that the journal given to The Malfoys had been destroyed, the worst? It was due to Harry Potter, the one linked to him by a prophecy that could spell his doom.
The only reasons why he had only cruciated Lucius and not killed him were because of how useful he was and because Abraxas, his late father had been someone Voldemort would not call a friend because a friend was an equal and Abraxas hadn’t been his but a dedicated follower.
The Horcruxes, they were part of him, fragments of his soul. Voldemort hadn’t needed to apparate in Hogwarts where he had concealed the Ravenclaw’s diadem.
Just apparating in Hogsmeade and using magic to determine if the item was still whole had been enough to confirm the diadem hadn’t been destroyed.
He had done the same with the Huppepuff’s cup in Gringots. He had tried searching after for the Locket that he had given to Regulus Black.
Through his exceptional magic, he apparated all over Magical Britain, in any place he could feel traces of dark magic, of his own dark magic. The dark lord appeared after a long search in an empty muggle street.
He did so and found nothing! It had been more than infuriating. He had tried apparating in the Black family ancestral home. After all, it was most likely that it would be the place where Regulus would have hidden the Locket.
The problem was that he was unable to do so. He had forgotten the Black family ancestral home’s emplacement, something that shouldn’t have happened.
The thing was that Voldemort couldn’t forget. Dark rituals in his youth had made it a sure thing. It only meant one thing the dark lord realized with distaste, the manor was hidden under the Fidelius just like it had been the case with the Potters so many years ago.
With a rage-filled shout, magic exploded from the dark lord shattering glass and bending the steel in the empty Muggle street where he had found himself.
Two Horcruxes had been destroyed and one was hidden in a way he couldn’t find it. He hoped it wasn’t the case but there was a chance Dumbledore had found the method of his immortality.
If someone could know, it would be him. Dumbledore, always doing his best to stop him, to hinder him. Maybe it wasn’t the case and he was paranoid but better be too much paranoid than not enough. Lily Potter and her son taught him this lesson.
If that was the case, it meant that none of his Horxcruxes was safe. It meant that He needed to change his approach and fast.
If only Hogwarts’s wards weren’t so efficient, he would have infiltrated the school itself. He didn't hold hope in one of his death eaters succeeding. Most of them, even the ones he thought would never, only failed him again and again.
There was only one Horcrux he hadn’t checked on purpose yet. If he was a lesser man, the dark lord would have sighed.
With a crack, he disappeared from the empty now ruined muggle streets. The dark lord reappeared elsewhere, a crack marking his arrival.
Around him, a village breathed as he came back, the inhabitants unaware of the darkness present, of the darkness born from them and that had chosen to come back like a prodigal son.
Little hangleton, the Dark Lord thought. It hadn’t changed at all. It seemed as if it had been frozen in time, able to escape the ravage of time just like Voldemort did.
With a silent notice-me-not-charm, the dark lord stepped into the streets of Little Hangleton.
Memories came back at the front of his mind. Memories of a young man walking the same steps, those same streets. Back then, he had been so naive, so weak.
Back then, It had been Tom Riddle, not Lord Voldemort. The sun was going down and like a last gift before doing so bathed the village in a golden glow.
Tom Marvolo Riddle was gone. Tom Marvolo Riddle had shed his weakness here. It felt like a message. It felt symbolic. An endless cycle, a snake biting its tail like the Ouroboros in its infinity.
He knew if he looked to his right, if he stopped walking, he would be able to see what once had been A great manor, a vision of beauty and splendour. Splendour that should have been his.
The manor where he realized, Lord Voldemort should and would only be alone. The manor where he learnt that Patricide felt no different than crushing a bug.
There was no point in reminiscing about it. What needed to be done was done. A muggle on his way moved, his instincts saving him.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the dark lord stopped walking. In front of him stood something that couldn’t even be considered a home, that probably never had been.
The grass had grown all around it covering it as if it was making the shack its own. Trees that looked like mangled hands surrounded it obscuring the sky from it.
The shack itself seemed as if it would collapse at any moment. Voldemort could smell the combined stench of mould and rot. It smelled and felt like an open graveyard, a place where the dead hadn’t been allowed to rest peacefully, to fester in the covers of the Earth.
The dark lord didn't touch the door with his hand. The corpse of the snake on it seemed to be alive, looking at Voldemort in the eyes. It opened following a silent command of his magic.
The inside looked worse than the outside. Vermins swarmed in a mass of black and brown everywhere covering all of what had once been a living room.
They flew around him knowing better than to touch him, to come closer. A part of him ached to look at them, to look at the house.
How could a family descending from Slytherin, the greatest of all the Hogwarts founders fall to such ignominy? They had magic. They had power. How was it possible for something once glorious to wither and die so pathetically? How could they allow this?!
The dark lord reigned the anger he felt wanted to erupt from inside. Now wasn’t the time. He had a goal for coming here.
The dark lord opened a palm. With a flick of his wand, a ring moved through the air to sit on it.
The ring of a dead man. The ring of a muggle lord who chose to leave his half-blood spawn to die. The ring of Tom Riddle’s father and Voldemort’s last Horcrux.
This was one of the pieces of his immortality. This was something he needed to preserve at all costs.
Two of his Horcruxes had been destroyed, A that had been destroyed without him knowing how it could possibly be.
He hadn't created another Horcrux unless if he had done so without realizing It! He had chosen to create multiple Horcruxes, something no wizard before had the power, the knowledge or the determination to do so.
The books had said that killing without remorse, without hesitation fragmented the soul.
He had done more than fragmenting his soul. He had split it! It meant that it was possible that he had unwillingly accomplished a part of the ritual necessary for the creation of one.
Of course, it was conjecture. He could be wrong but his instincts screamed at him that he was right. The last two times he hadn’t followed them, He lost his corporeal form and Harry Potter was able to escape him.
He wondered if he had created the unknown Horcrux on the day of his loss against Harry Potter or before.
It meant that instead of six soul fragments, he had made seven. Seven was a powerful number. Seven represented balance and creating another Horcrux while already having seven would be akin to inviting bad luck.
Numbers, the position of the stars and the planets, immaterial things like luck existed and affected the world more than most thought they did.
Well, it's not as if it mattered anymore. The journal and the hidden Horcrux had been destroyed which meant there were five of them remaining and in the five of them, he thought with a grimace, he could only access to one.
He had been young and foolish when he had created them. He was still after all Tom Riddle. Placing them in emotionally significant places was the height of stupidity.
Someone who knew him intimately like a follower who could turn a traitor or someone like Dumbledore could have easily spelled his doom.
No, the Dark Lord thought as he left the Gaunt family’s shack. Somewhere else would be needed but before leaving one last thing needed to be done.
Voldemort pointed his wand at the Shack. This place, this village was one of the last mementoes of Tom Riddle.
Tom Riddle had died, Lord Voldemort thought as magic began to swirl at the tip of his wand. A man was only dead when he was forgotten. This would be the one and only mercy he would give to Merope Gaunt, the woman who died because of love, because of weakness.
“Fiendfyre,” the dark lord whispered ominously before hellfire erupted from his wand taking shape and hiding the sky turning the world orange and warm. “Burn it all down,” was the last thing he said before apparating away.
scene
Severus Snape apparated at the entrance of the Malfoy’s manor. He had been tasked by the dark lord to report everything worth noting in Hogwarts and inform him of those things each two weeks personally.
The potion master knew his presence wasn’t needed. There were ways to exchange information the dark lord had implemented between his servants and him.
The truth was that it was a chain, it was a collar. The dark lord didn't trust him but hadn’t found so far anything that could mark him as a traitor.
He wondered how long it would last. Severus Snape wasn’t naive. He hadn’t been for a long time. It was a gamble with death.
Sooner or later, he would die. He was a spy, used by the pinnacles of power on both sides of the board that was wizard-kind.
Dumbledore and Voldemort, there were no true differences in the end. A slave remained a slave no matter how loose and golden their chains were.
He would die one day probably in an atrocious way because of the schemes of one of his masters. He would die the way it was appropriate for someone like him to do so.
What he would do until then would be doing his best to protect the only thing that remained from the woman he loved, Harry Potter.
Looking at the boy felt like a sick cosmic joke. It was James Potter again but this time with Lily’s eyes.
“Halt! Who stands there?!” a gruff masculine voice asked him. The voice came from a man covered in dark robes, robes that would hide his identity even without the silver mask with snake-like eye slits he wore.
The man wasn’t the only figure at the door. Severus could see four other figures dressed in the same kind of robe. One of them was growling like a mad animal that would snap at any moment, seemingly looking at him waiting for any reason to launch at him.
The Potion master knew there were probably other wizards or creatures or traps waiting to be unfurled and cause his demise in the case he was found to be hostile.
Even with his proficiency with magic, he knew he wouldn’t be able to win against so many foes and dangers. This was the unfortunate game he had to play, walking on the tightrope knowing only the wrong move would be his last.
Fortunately, he recognized the voice of the man. How couldn’t he recognize the voice of the man who gave him nightmares, the voice of the man who was the one to show him for the first time the insides of a flayed Muggle?
“It is me, Corban,” the Hogwart teacher spoke, his voice devoid of any emotion.
“Oh, Severus?! It is you? I didn't recognize you. Excuse me, my friend. I fear what tragedy could have befallen you hadn't I realized the enormity of my mistake.”
The man couldn't have sounded more false than he did. Corban Yaxley knew it was him. The man had simply acted as if he didn't.
Corban Yaxley hated him and he wouldn't lie in saying it wasn’t reciprocal. Corban Yaxley only saw him as half-blood, one he thought should lower himself in the presence of his betters.
Corban hated the fact that it was Severus and not him who was a part of the inner circle of the dark lord. As if it was a privilege, he scoffed mentally.
Corban turned toward the other guards “He’s with us,” he said before turning back his gaze to him. “New recruits. I was trusted to turn them into worthy Death Eaters.”
“Is that So?” the potion master drawled. He found himself dubious of this given reason. Corban was probably here because he showed how useless and stupid he was.
The man was nothing but a hunting dog. Efficient in times of war, efficient to scare enemies but nothing else.
He wished he could have avoided the interaction completely but unfortunately, the wards around the Malfoy manor, those who were put before and by the Dark Lord ensured that the kindest thing that would happen to someone trying to apparate inside of the castle would be death.
Finally, the doors of the manor opened. The less time near Corban, the better he would be.
“I still don’t understand what he sees in you,” the Death eater told the Potion master “I don’t understand why he trusts you.”
Severus Snape walked past the man stopping at the edge of the entrance “If you understood,” he spoke without looking at the man “You wouldn’t be here.”
He ignored the sound of teeth grinding against each other, the feeling of oppressive magic waiting to just be cast at his undefended back. He waited one, two, three seconds. “Just like expected,” he said before entering in the manor, the doors closing behind him.
scene
The Malfoy manor was vast. It was the seat of a family that had surpassed the wealth of ancient pure-blood houses with a speed and ease that was almost insulting.
The Malfoy Family wasn’t an old one or even one that could boast of making powerful or unique wizards. What they had was wealth and wealth was power.
The Malfoy manor had always seemed too pretentious to him. It was a house that displayed so many luxuries and expensive items it made it look gaudy. It was as if the owners had entered a shop and had asked on purpose for the most expensive things.
Knowing Narcissa and Lucius, it had probably been the case. His old friends were more vain than peacocks. Once, the Manor had been one that rarely saw so much human presence.
Only the Malfoys and their elves lived here. Sometimes, they would invite other Pure-bloods to their socialite feast but their house had once been as surprising as it sounded a refuge of calm and tranquillity. At least, this is how it had felt for him even if he would never acknowledge it out loud.
Narcissa, Lucius, they weren’t bad people. They were far from perfect, far from it but they had chosen Severus Snape, him, a half-blood as the godfather of their son.
Draco was a spoiled brat whose first instincts always were to fall back on his parents when something wrong happened but it only proved in his opinion that Narcissa and Lucius were such loving parents that their son thought no matter what, they would intervene when he called for them.
Their son trusted and loved them and they did so in return. Draco was lucky. Every child needed at least one parent but every parent didn't deserve children. The potion master knew it more than most.
The manor was full of people, people he recognized. It's as if Severus had entered a noble feast and he was the prey that would be feasted on. Here where each of them knew each other, the masks had been removed.
Rare had been the Death eaters who had liked him but the fact he had become a teacher at Hogwarts, under Dumbledore had been seen by a lot of them like betrayal and it wasn’t a feeling that was hidden by the ones surrounding him.
The manor had turned into a royal court as decadent as the ones of old. This was the kingdom of Voldemort, a kingdom he wanted to expand, a kingdom full of people filled with pettiness, self-inflated egos and too much cruelty.
He continued moving ignoring the gazes and snarl. On the corner of an eye, his gaze found the Carrow twins being close the way they usually were which meant they were much closer than twins ought to be.
He suppressed a shudder when he remembered the time he had been invited by them. He hoped that didn't see him or at least didn't see him looming at them. He really didn't want to talk to any of them.
Without breaking a step, he avoided touching someone. He didn't want to have to interact more than he ought to with People who would make the most demented Muggle mass murderers look like Saints.
Magic was both a blessing and a curse because some didn't deserve that spark that made them create wonders.
Even then, he knew him judging them in the sanctity of his mind was pure hypocrisy. He was just like them. He hadn’t been forced to join the Death Eaters. He had chosen to do so.
It didn't matter if he regretted it. Maybe Lily dying was his punishment, the punishment for every mistake he ever made. Death was no true punishment.
Living with your mistakes, living with the actions you had taken, that had darkened your soul, hurt the one you cared about without being able to fix anything was something so much more cruel than a simple death.
His attention went back to the world around him as he felt his right arm being locked with another.
His cold gaze met the mischievous one of a blue-eyed blonde-haired woman. “Hello, Severus,” she said with a smile.
“It is a pleasure to see you Narcissa,” he told her. Had his tone been more dry, the ones surrounding him would have turned into dried-up husks. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case.
Narcissa Malfoy nee Black was a beauty, he had to recognize. Growing older only seemed to have made her more beautiful.
Some would say it was only because of luck. In Severus’ opinion, that was probably due to the fact she was rich.
When you had enough money to buy the best anti-aging potion or buy the rare spellbooks that showed how to look good, becoming more attractive with age began more than a given.
From her mouth came a barrage of questions “How are you? Do you sleep well? You know it's good for the complexion right? How is my little Draco?”
“Fine, yes, yes, fine,” he answered unbothered by the verbal onslaught. It was something he was used to. Narcissa Malfoy could be kind, too kind.
It was hard to imagine the woman at his side with the woman who was respected by the dark lord and her sister due to the viciousness she showed in the last wizarding war. People knew of the cruelty of Bellatrix because she wanted people to hear about them to fear, to be scared of her. No one except the inner circle of Voldemort knew, heard what Narcissa Malfoy had done. Narcissa Malfoy had been born a black and there was a reason why the family had been considered for a long time in Great Britain history as the darkest and most dangerous house. There were literally recordings of some of her ancestors who died trying to summon otherworldly entities.
“You know,” she said in a too-sweet tone that promised headaches as they continued walking toward the quarters of the dark lord “I know a nice pure-blood lady and I found out she was infuated with a dark-haired lonely Potion master. It sounds like a perfect match, like a dream, don’t you think so?”
“Dreams are called Dreams for a reason,” he said to the witch and here was the reason why conversing with Narcissa always resulted in headaches.
Since the moment they met, after learning he was the last alive member of the Prince’s family she had gotten the idea of playing matchmaker between him and a pure-blood woman. Unfortunately for her, the only woman he knew he could ever love was Lily Potter and maybe in the back of his mind, he recognized, the woman with so much power that reminded him of his childhood friend.
Not that he would ever say it to Narcissa. Severus Snape being a love with a muggle-born woman who had been dead for around a decade and a half wouldn't be seen positively by the Malfoy Matriach no matter how nice she was.
They finally stopped before the door of the chambers of the dark lord “Severus,” Narcissa said his name her tone devoid of all mirth. It was as if she had shed a mask. Now, she only radiated seriousness.
“He's angry,” she told him. “This is the reason why Lucius didn't come to you. Be careful.” In other terms, there were more chances of you being cruciated than it raining tomorrow which when knowing Scotland meteo was a sucker’s bet.
He nodded to the witch who reciprocated it before leaving. His gaze remained for a moment on the back of the retreating witch. The Potion master closed his eyes, his occulmency used to keep a check on his emotions and reactions. He opened them back and in the jaw of the Snake, Severus shape entered.
scene
The dark lord's back was turned toward him. The man sat on a silver throne, his snake, Nagini Slythered at the level of his head making it look like a twisted and shifting Halo.
He was playing with a ring in one hand, moving it through each of his fingers in a seemingly endless repetition.
Severus Snape kneeled, his head facing the ground “My lord, your humble servant is back.”
“If there is one thing I'm sure about you Severus, it is that you’re not humble. I wouldn’t have chosen you hadn’t it been the case.” The voice of the dark lord was enticing as always. It felt as if he had consumed something messing, dulling his senses.
Only his occulmency allowed him to keep his thoughts in order. The dark lord had attracted his subjects not only because of his might but also because of his charisma. He was the kind of person who easily garnered respect, who could make others commit the vilest acts while thinking it was right. What was worse was the fact it wasn’t magically induced like the Allure of a veela or the helplessness created by a dementor. He had a long time ago done his best to find if there was magic behind the unnatural charisma of Voldemort and found nothing.
“Tell me Severus, how have things changed with my return? What is my old archnemesis planning against me?”
Here was the hard part of being a double spy. You needed to tell enough truth to be trusted and not thought of as a traitor but not too much to really undermine the ones you had your true allegiance with. Fortunately, things had changed if he believed Dumbledore.
“The headmaster plan rests on the head of the hired new DADA teacher, my lord.”
“Oh?” the dark lord sounded amused as there was a joke Severus wasn’t aware of. “Tell me more. How could Dumbledore plan repose on a DADA teacher?”
“My lord, the new teacher… she is…Dumbledore thinks she's a deity.”
“What did you just say?” the voice of the dark lord was flat.
The potion master’s mouth felt dry. It could go really well or bad for him “A deity, my lor-”
He was stopped from speaking by his mouth being closed by force. He could feel the magic of the dark lord like a bad cloud propagating.
His head was lifted, his gaze met the red orbs of the dark lord before he felt a headache, one akin to a sword having been stabbed in his head.
Legilimency, the dark lord was trying to read through his mind. He fought the pain as the alien presence of the dark lord penetrated the sanctity of his mind.
Severus couldn’t fight he knew the dark lord even if he wished to do so. It would only be suspicious.
Instead, he chose to hide the memories he knew would show his true allegiance. Had he not had vast and strong mental barriers, he wouldn’t have been able to.
The dark lord continued his path unstopped in his mind before finding the memories relating to her.
The memories as if they were recordings came back to the front of Severus’ mind. The only difference was that he was now a spectre looking at what happened from the sidelines with the Dark Lord.
The dark lord was silent. Something felt different about him, something Severus couldn’t put his fingers on.
He wondered if it was the beauty of the woman who had made Voldemort silent or the might she still exuded in his memories.
In the Memories, the woman was asking Dumbledore for her quarters like she did in real life when something happened.
The memory of the woman turned toward them as if she could see them. “This is impossible,” he found himself saying.
The gaze of the woman met him before moving to Voldemort as he wasn’t worth being looked at.
“A little orphan boy playing with things he shouldn’t,” the woman said to the dark lord. “Let this be a lesson. Cleave.”
There was magic, power in her words. The next moment after she said those words, the dark lord’s right hand fell.
For a moment the Potion master and the dark lord stood in disbelief before the dark lord screamed.
Severus found himself violently back into the real world. Disoriented and still reeling from the pain of the mind invasion, he had fallen on one side.
Did it truly happen? Did the woman, no, the Daimon really hurt Voldemort through Snape’s memories? The Dark Lord was still screaming in pain. Had there not been the silence charms cast in the walls, probably all the rest of the manor would have heard them. The potion master's gaze travelled to the dark lord.
His eyes widened in shock when he saw the bleeding stump where there had been a hand. The Goddess not only had struck at the Dark Lord in Severus’ mind but also in the physical world.
More surprising was the fact that the hand wasn’t growing back. Severus didn't know what kind of foul rituals or magic the dark lord had used but he had been seen as immortal for a reason.
The dark lord had shown them time and time again that he could regenerate from anything. Charms, transfigured objects, muggle weapons, curses. None of them had worked. Nothing had ever stopped the dark lord from regenerating except the impossibility that happened on the day of Lily’s death.
Had it not been for Lily’s son, had the dark lord sent a loyal Death eater instead of going himself, he would have never lost the war and everyone knew this. This is why people had loved, worshipped Harry Potter.
The Daimon in the shape of a woman, she just had proved everything Dumbledore ever thought of her.
Severus Snape’s father had been Christian. The man no matter how despicable he had been had seen himself as a good Christian and had wanted him, his son to also be one whether he wished for it or not.
He remembered one of the times when he had been forcefully dragged to church. He had been dreading the corporal punishment of his father, the one he knew would come due to his unwillingness to go to church.
The Priest had said one thing that day in his homily, one thing he remembered now. No one was like God and those defying him no matter how high they thought they were would be brought low.
You didn't reason with God. You didn't disrespect God and if you did, you hoped he was merciful because terrible was God’s wrath and The Dark Lord, the wizard feared in all of Great Britain, the most powerful wizard of Europe, screaming was the proof of it.
Maybe he should have trusted more in Dumbledore’s plan because this was proof that they could win. This was the proof he thought as a little smile flowered on the corner of his lips that Lily could be avenged.
An angry hiss caught the attention of the potion master. Nagini, the snake of the dark lord was rushing at him, mouth wide, fangs displayed.
He tried to move, to grab his wand even though he knew he would probably be too late to do anything to protect himself.
Severus Snape survived and owed it to the dark lord who hissed in Parseltongue at his snake. The snake looked back at the dark lord. Severus didn't know it was possible for a snake to look confused.
The dark lord gave a nod to the snake that with a last hiss at Severus retreated away from him.
He wasn’t allowed to breathe because he felt the gaze of the dark lord on him like two burning stars “That thing!” the dark lord hissed “You will tell me everything about her and after doing so, you'll exclusively spy on her. I want to know everything about her.”
“Your command will be done my Lord,” he said to the dark lord his gaze not breaking away from the dark lord.
He felt sadistic joy erupt in him as he watched the dark lord make a grimace while cradling and looking at his stump. He didn't fear the dark lord reading through his mind anymore. The man would never do so again. The Potion master ought to thank the Daimon. Gods should love gifts if he wasn’t mistaken and the more he was seen as valuable or convenient for Rias, the better it would be.
Even then, a part of him felt anxious at the request of the dark lord. The goddess was so much stronger than the Dark Lord and he knew nothing done would be able to work but it still gave him a bad feeling.
Severus Snape did something he would normally not have done “My Lord, May I ask you why? Shouldn’t it be a better idea to try to not catch the attention of the woman?”
The dark lord’s focus went back on him. The man wouldn’t kill him he knew, not when Severus had become his only ears and eyes in Hogwarts. Even then, he braced for potential pain. The dark lord was almost as fond of the Cruciatus as of the killing curse.
“I won’t flee like a coward when everything we ever fought is just at our reach. No Severus, I'll treat the thing like a dangerous animal. I'll be the hunter, discovering its strengths, its weaknesses and its habits. I will learn through your eyes and the eyes of the children of my loyal Death Eater the magic she teaches and when the time will come and I assure you, the time will come, I will bring her down. After all, I am Lord Voldemort and Lord Voldemort won against Death. What is a god before Death itself? What is a god before a dark lord?”
scene
Maybe I should have thought a little more before kidnapping cough adopting a little girl.
Pomona had left not long after our talk and I had wanted to think somewhere else than my room.
I had chosen the Astronomy tower that I knew would be devoid of any presence. Aurora Sinistra hadn’t to my knowledge had class.
I had been looking at the moon and ironically, she had come. It had felt almost poetic or maybe ironic, wasn’t sure of it.
It had also felt guided as if an invisible force had planned this. It was a feeling, one I wouldn’t have taken note of if I wasn’t a devil.
The girl was Luna Lovegood, technically an archetype of the manic Pixie dream girl, well an Archetype that met reality because let's be honest, people who were different in any form had always been treated differently at best.
There was also the fact it was a school full of teenagers and most teenagers were psychopaths. The capacity to look through the mind of someone with one gaze only confirmed it.
Teenagers were humans with the intellect of an adult but the cruelty of a child.
Luna was dressed in clothes too thin, clothes that were not heavy enough. It wasn’t the kind of clothes someone living in Scotland should wear at night even if it was just September except if they were somewhere that had been warmed.
Luna was being bullied and it wasn’t something new. Her mind only showed this to me.
You would have expected students sorted in the house that focused only on knowledge to be less childish and stupid but that wasn't the case.
Filius Flitwick had this year become more vigilant about it. I could see through Luna’s eyes. It didn't stop her bullies. It only made them more discreet, more original to not be caught, more vicious.
This is why Luna Lovegood had walked barefoot in the cold Scotland night. Looking through the eyes of the girl was like taking a cold unlikable bath.
Heliopath, imaginary creatures. I had read and heard A lot of interpretations before. Some thought she saw things others couldn’t. Others thought she was making things up.
Unfortunately, both of them were right. Luna Lovegood truly saw invisible creatures around her, creatures that were the result of her mind, of her broken mind because Luna Lovegood was mad.
She was mad and she had been since her mother’s death. She had seen something, something she didn't remember herself. I don’t know if it was one of the effects of the failed experiment of her mother or if it was because she saw her mother’s brutal death but what I was sure of is that this broke her.
Her memories showed that Xenophilius didn't notice anything was wrong. Maybe it was truly the case or maybe he didn't want himself to believe that anything was wrong with his daughter, the only thing he had left of the woman he loved.
It is just that her madness presented itself in a way that allowed her to still live amongst her peers.
Looking through her eyes, her memories were like looking at a car crash waiting to happen. I knew I didn't have to do anything. If I wasn’t wrong, canonically, everything would end well for her.
There was no point in helping her but I remembered my embarrassing Breakdown before the Hupplepuff witch, my conversation with Pomona Sprout.
Doing my best. It was okay as long as you did your best she had said. My brother was the Prince of Lies yet he was kind, at least to me and this is all that should matter. Kindness, Love and care were the only things he showed me.
I still wanted this emptiness inside that I now recognized as guilt to be gone, I wanted to be gone but couldn’t I until then do my best?
Wasn’t it kind to give the most happiness possible even if it was temporary? Good Memories, they were treasures that never left. When things go wrong, good memories are the ones there to help us grieve and search for new ones.
I honestly didn't think one year would be enough for the students to become strong enough to realize my wish but I'm sure that in three years max, if things hadn’t gone horribly wrong or right, Harry Potter and his peers should be strong enough.
Three years, they'll have to be enough. ‘It'll have to be enough’ I thought as my gaze met the one of the girl smuggling in the covers of my bed. It'll have to be enough to at least make one girl happy. Even a fuck up like me should at least be good enough for that.
Comments
Jason Smith
Thanks for the chapter!
