Post by md admin on May 14, 2007 23:13:18 GMT -5
1974
"You know I have always considered you as good as a son, Tom," Grindlewald spoke, his voice rasping, passing through his whiskers like a hoarse whisper through thick pine needles. His hands, knobby and calloused with age, gripped gently at the firmer hand of his younger apprentice.
"I know, sir," the raven-haired man replied, his face steely with no real sense of emotion or feeling in his words. It was a tender moment, lost on the cold hearts of the two men who shared it.
"I need you to take over. I've already made the arrangements." He nodded in the direction of the door, watching as the sentry guarding carefully shut it with a soft thud. He pulled his hands from the grasp, both men sat back, relieved to no longer feel the touch of the other. There was no love between them, only resentment surrounded in a mist of mutual respect and a flimsy approval. "You'll know the task at hand. I know you won't hold to everything I've sent forth, but ahh," he shrugged his thin weak shoulders and looked at the window, "You'd take over any way, whether I could stop you from the grave or not."
A not subtly stifled laugh erupted from the throat of Tom Riddle. It was deep, and resounded through the near empty room. "The only reason you’re letting me die like an old man should is so you can take over without hostilities. I may be old, Riddle, but I'm not a fool."
Tom laughed again, only this time louder and with more menace. "I beg to differ with that, old man. Who do you think has been slowly poisoning you these past few months?" Pushing his chair abruptly back, he rose to his feet, his wand pointed directly at the prone man's throat. "You didn't really think you were dying of natural causes, my good man, I'm not that patient."
Now it was time for Grindlewald to laugh. He started to, in a kind of wheezing manner, but it was quickly silenced by the bright green glow. Turning in a fury from the stink of death, his black cloak billowing around his feet, Tom Riddle hastened to the door and his future. He threw back the door in one swift motion. "Lord Grindlewald is dead. Long live me."
* * * * * * * * * * *
Since Lord Grindlewald had taken power in 1945, successfully defeating and killing the only man who stood before him, Albus Dumbledore, life in Great Britain had been a good deal harder for the wizarding folk. A powerful dark wizard, Grindlewald had ruled with an iron fist and cold heart. Everything and everybody was heavily monitored, dissension crushed, and alliances made to strengthen and build his power. His own group of officers, the Knights of Walpurgis, had acted as a secret police, quelling any sense of rebellion or hope. But even as bad as Lord Grindlewald's reign had been, no one doubted Lord Voldemort's would be worse.
Tom Riddle had secured a position in Grindlewald's false Ministry in 1955, rising in the ranks with speed unseen before. It wasn't more than a few years before the young, dark man was regarded as Grindlewald's right hand man, and it was from there he began his plan to usurp his title and position.
In December of 1974, Lord Grindlewald died, leaving Tom Riddle, now known to the world as Lord Voldemort, as his successor, and to take over the office of "High Minister." The fact that Lord Voldemort hastened his predecessor's death is a secret, known only to Voldemort himself, but certainly not insinuated in the privacy of houses and discussed in secret among the non-loyal citizens of the country. Still, no one argued his position or presented the newly anointed High Minister with any willing disobedience, not for the first year of his control.
People did begin to speak out, and then they began to go missing. No one thought much of it at the time, most brushing it off as a coincidence. There was no real explanation for the disappearances at the time, but it soon became clear. Those who opposed Lord Voldemort, whether in thought, action, or deed ended up missing. Vanished without a trace. It took a while, but soon people became accustomed to this act and weren’t as worried when someone turned up missing. It was bound to happen, after all. Lord Voldemort was omnipresent, omnipotent, and wasn't about to let a traitor fall out of his grasp.
A group started in secret, meeting in deserted caverns and open fields. They began to call themselves the Order of the Phoenix, showing their loyalties by branding themselves with a mark of the fiery bird on their left chest, over their heart. It was a mark to be proud of, to identify themselves among themselves, but mostly, to keep them from denying their allegiance when put to the test. The Order started as a joke by a Gryffindor named Seamus. He was a third year at the time, and began the group as a way of playing pranks without claiming them himself. But as he grew, and with his friends became more aware of the unsettling times, the Order of the Phoenix became something more powerful than simply jokes. They were a force of rebellion, an act against the vicious regime just by their existence. But they were all in danger, and as hard as they may try for deliverance from Lord Voldemort's tyranny, he wasn't a wizard to go down without a fight.
* * * * * * * * * * *
1979
Seamus heard the creak of a board and opened his eyes without another motion. The room was horribly dark, his simple candle having dwindled down, burning out completely in a wisp of smoke. His hand tightened around the smooth wood of his wand as he waited, listening for another sound another movement. Seamus's knuckles turned white and his eyes bulged. It was him. He knew it.
A deep rumbling laugh broke the silence as if an answer to his thoughts. "Yes, it's me. The devil he, come to spirit you away to the ninth ring of hell. That's where traitors go, isn't it?"
Seamus jumped to his feet, aiming his wand at the dark shadowy figure in his doorway. He already knew it was too late, but that didn't mean he wouldn't give it a try. "Aved-"
"No, I don't think so," the voice said, mocking Seamus, as his wand flew from his grasp and into the others. "I believe we are going to do this the easy way. Besides, you're not dead yet, I'd like to get a bit of information out of you before you turn you into worm food."
Before he could move, or lunge aside, the red light encompassed him, leaving him with nothing but the maniacal laughter ringing in his ears.
* * * * * * * * * * *
2003
It's been years since Voldemort began his tyranny in the wizarding community of Great Britain. Of course, like all dictators, it was just the beginning. It was easy for him to bring his numbers up, to scare or force followers. Before long it wasn't just the wizarding community he controlled, but the muggle as well. Word of wizards and witches roaming the streets became common place, as did the strict regulations and laws every citizen was to abide by. His cold hands reached across British Channel, casting a shadow of evil over all of Europe. World Domination isn't just a dream for the Dark Lord, it's a goal.
The muggles have to be registered. Any fraternization between the magical and non-magical worlds is strictly regulated. Half-bloods are a thing of the past, at least in all legal senses. Any child displaying wizarding abilities are snatched from their homes and forced to live in institutions before continuing their education. But what education is that? Hogwart's isn't the grand school it once was, providing a thorough training in all manners of wizardry. The power one could gain is a threat that could not be realized. The only way one could learn anything is through an older witch or wizard, and few would be willing to teach such skills on pain of death.
But, still, hope remains. The Order of the Phoenix, founded by Seamus O'Hare in the 1970's is still around. They teach, protect, and most of all strengthen the future. As Lord Voldemort's power grows, so does the Orders. A revolution is brewing beneath his own nose, but will they even stand the smallest chance?
Nothing is obvious or certain anymore. Where will your destiny lead you?