Prologue – The Smell of Fear
He surveyed the frightened men and women standing before him and drank in the smells of trepidation that ran through their veins all too naturally. He closed his eyes and smiled, savoring the emotions that coursed through the dim room, the sweat that fouled up the air, and the silence that out-voiced the other sounds of the room. And he knew this is what he lived for.
As all eyes watched him, some expectantly while others apprehensively, he knew he was above all of them. He alone had been able to purge himself of the useless emotion called fear.
“I believe all of you know why you are here.” No one dared to make a sound. He pushed himself out of the lone chair on the platform. As he did, he noticed a sharp movement from the woman on his right. “You are here to become gods!” As his strong voice echoed off the walls, the woman began to pace as well. “You are here to court the power dancing just out of your reach. You are here to reclaim your position as leaders of the world.” Yes. He began to notice the spark of revolution in even the most Imperius-cursed man.
“Yes, I see, in even the strongest here, the desire – no, the hunger - to be free. The Ministry has a choking grasp around your necks. The Muggles forbid you to use your powers before them. Together, they force you to live among others and follow their petty laws. Together, they suppress your magic, taking away from your very soul!”
He heard it then, the woman’s sigh of contentment as she marked her victim with her eyes. It is time. “Fight back,” he sneered. “Claim what is yours. Purge the world of those weaklings who contaminate the very air you breathe.” He straightened and smiled mirthlessly. “Or – “
“Avada Kedavra!” the woman screamed, wand aimed at the unfortunate man whose fear reeked more than all the others. Before he caught a glimpse of the dead man’s face, the body had already slumped over; Bellatrix Black wasn’t feared for her sluggish movements. Gasps rippled through the audience, breaking the trance-like atmosphere.
He bellowed above the cacophony, “Join him.” He pointed his wand at the lifeless body in the void among the people. Perfect, he thought, show them what true terror is. Behold -
“Lord Voldemort!” he shouted that name to the ceiling, enjoying the caresses of utter dread as all of them reacted to that name. Naturally, the hall became silent once more. “Speak up,” he demanded, “and we’ll let you…go,” he ended with a sinister tone. No one dared speak up; the threat was all too clear.
After he’d given the last Mark to the last initiate and dismissed the last Death Eater, save one, he settled back into his chair.
“My lord?”
Ah, his most loyal Death Eater.
“Bellatrix.”
“Did you need to see me, my lord?”
“Yes,” he sighed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bellatrix flinch slightly; all these years of campaigning, never had he shown fatigue. “Do you know why we are doing what we do?”
Again, he watched sickened as Bellatrix struggled to compose her features again; she was still learning the arts of hiding human emotions. In her fleeting moment of weakness, he saw the hurt flash through her eyes. Insulted, Bellatrix stiffened. “Of course, my lord. It’s just like what you told the initiates tonight. To reclaim our positions as gods among the Muggles, Mudbloods, and Muggle-lovers.”
“Yes.” He was unimpressed; even a Muggle could repeat his words. “But do you understand when this was first, and last, attempted?”
Reluctantly, Bellatrix shook her head.
He smirked. “Sometimes,” he whispered, “It pays to listen to Professor Binns.”
End notes: This chapter follows as closely to canon as my knowledge of the Harry Potter universe as of July 19, 2006 allows. Any information revealed to be false by Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows will not be changed.
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