***
I remember the first time I made a Dark Lord recoil in disgust when they view my memories.
Tom was the first.
He reacted the same way someone who split his soul seven times would... but there was still a reaction.
This person, though, he took the full brunt of the horror I endured... and the horror I unleashed in retaliation.
Gellert Grindelwald looked like he was hit with the Cruciatus when he finally withdrew from the pensieve memory. He took hesitant steps back, teetered, and dashed for the toilet, where he quickly emptied his stomach of its contents.
When he was finished, I was still there, the cell door turned into a glass panel so I could read his body language.
(The protections on the door remained -- it was but one of the features this prison had.)
He looked up to me, pulled up the chair, and sat down.
"What sort of..."
"The future. My future. The future I'm fighting to keep from coming to fruition," I reply. "If you want to help avert this crisis, tell me: do you know anything about magic that places people's destinies on rails?"
Gellert's eyes widened.
"Magic like that requires power. Way more power than the average wizard can employ," he explained. "The only way you would be able to completely plot out someone's destiny if the target's soul was..."
I raised an eyebrow and Gellert gasped.
"...even half a soul. Yes. Half a soul. Riddle never bothered to look into why horcruxes had their own limitations. If he had done it back when he was studying, then that would mean..."
He paled.
"Morgana's bosom, Albus..." he whispered. "
What did you do?"
I gave him enough time to reorient himself.
"I did my research, Mr. Grindelwald," I explain. "Inert phylacteries are a beacon where a soul can evacuate to should the body become damaged. A horcrux is sentient, because the half of the soul torn off eventually gains its own consciousness. A phylactery is weak, but does not require sundering the soul. Seven times... he would have been dragged along by the whims of fate had it not been for my intervention."
"Riddle is your friend?"
I nod.
"But I didn't come here on his behalf, if that's what you're worried about. We're just two dark wizards talking shop here."
He nods at me. "Talking shop... yes. You want some insight on the spells that bound your friend's destiny."
"Also because I think your friend Albus also wanted to tie up your loose end based on that destiny-based spell. It's only common courtesy that I warn you."
He slumped back onto his seat.
"Everything a man could accomplish in life, I have done. There is nothing left for me but the next great adventure," Grindelwald admitted.
"Which brings me to my question. What kind of magic would alter someone's destiny?"
"The magic to alter destiny? It was lost. The age of Mesopotamia, the age of the Gods, that was where you could breathe the magic in the air," the older wizard began. "Sadly, as the age of the gods passed and the age of men began, the magic slowly lost its potency. And when the land of Palestine was invaded... the magic was lost. All traces of it... destroyed."
"But Albus was able to use it. I've seen its effects. Tom's being railroaded to do things, and he's had days where he wakes up and has absolutely no knowledge of what he does. What destroyed the magic of the age of the gods?"
Gellert whispered.
"Zealotry."
It was at that moment that I realize how Dumbledore did it.
A moment of silence passed between us two Dark Lords until Grindelwald broke it.
"Can you please humor this old man?"
I smiled. "Anything that's not calculus, money, heavy lifting, or me aiding your escape from here."
Gellert laughed.
"Oh no, that is not what I ask for. Tell me, how was the trip through the Veil?"
I could feel the blood rush away from my face.
"...so you know."
"Yes... I do," Gellert answered. "Your visions are of the future. And a magical world destroyed because..."
"...don't say it, Mr. Grindelwald. I can still feel the taboo on the words. Tom and I are going to hunt down the source of the taboo and destroy it [note 1]."
"I see... I must say, for a mudblood, you do have a heart bleeding for the world of magic."
I snorted. "Yep. I couldn't give half an ounce of deep fried shit over pureblood politics, but neither do I want some bleeding heart morons burn down the wizarding world because of their 'socially conscious' utopian bullshit."
The older Dark Lord smiles at me.
"For someone who will only meet me once, you sure have made an impact..."
"Carnifex. The Dark Lord Carnifex," I say as I stand up and give him a lazy salute. "Thanks for the talk, Mr. Grindelwald. You can be assured that I will do everything in my power to make sure the future you saw will change for the better."
I transfigure the cell door back to normal, put my robes back on with a flourish, and leave the wizarding prison.
Next stop: Tom and I are heading to the lair of the Dark Lord Globus.
It's time we finish this before that bastard spreads his poison all over the world.
***
***
It was some time during sixth year when the study was completed, and I was called up to the Headmaster's office to serve my detention: dusting the office with a paintbrush.
I'd be lying if I said I didn't get the detention on purpose, because I wanted to be there when the metaphorical nuke got dropped.
Sure enough, ten minutes in, the Headmaster entered, his eyes twinkling as he was carrying a few magazines and periodicals. Fawkes disembarked from his shoulder and flew onto his perch, gave me a disdainful look, and promptly took a nap.
Fifteen minutes into the Headmaster's reading, I could see the exact moment his eyes widened like dinner plates, and he rushed to call Professor Snape to his office.
As soon as he walked in, I heard bits and pieces of the conversation.
"Read this, Severus," Dumbledore said, pointing to a medical abstract, and it took two minutes for Snape's face to pale.
I barely prevented myself from laughing and continued brushing one of the dustier portrait frames.
A past headmaster saw my chuckles and moved to me, though.
"What's so funny?"
"It's nothing," I whisper back. "Just found a good use for a weird spell is all."
And then the punchline came.
"'Because the creator of this spell wishes to remain anonymous, all proceeds from the use of this spell will be forwarded to a trust?' What is this?" Snape asked, completely confused over what has just transpired.
"This was your spell, Severus," the Headmaster explained. "wasn't it?"
The Defense professor sank into his seat.
"Yes, but... I never expected it to be used that way."
Dumbledore clapped Snape on the shoulder.
"Then you should have nothing to worry about -- your legacy is all but assured. Who would have thought that the curse you invented would find use as a healer's surgical tool?"
For some odd reason, I could feel that Snape was going to blame Harry Potter for this.
I was sorely tempted to shout "You thought the man who made Sectumsempra a way to sever cancerous tumors was Potter, BUT IT WAS ME, JOHN DOE!" but I clamped down on that thought faster than a newlywed bride on her first night.
Snape and Dumbledore gave me an odd look while I returned to my dusting.
***
tl;dr: The "Dark Lord" anonymously suggests using Sectumsempra as a spell to slice away tumors, it works better than expected, and Snape ends up mysteriously getting the credit.
***
"You never told me why you styled yourself a Dark Lord. Heck, John -- you have two Muggleborn parents!"
"It's because the difference between a muggleborn and a mudblood is so easy to determine that if you went by that ruling during your first reign of terror, next to no one would stop you," John said. "But that's not important here. You really want to know?"
Tom Riddle nodded.
"I turned the entire stock of a rapist's seminal fluid into sulfuric acid, with one spell."
Even the Dark Lord Voldemort had to wince after hearing that.
"And this was in prison?"
John Doe nodded.
"Their merry little group of deviants didn't bother me much after that. Turns out that according to them, if you get your privates nuked here, they'll stay nuked when they end up in Heaven or some shit."
"That's fucked up."
"Yeah, but I ended up cursing them with the same spell before I left."
Voldemort shook his head.
"I was wrong about you -- you really ARE a Dark Lord."
Excerpts from John "Carnifex" Doe's Rules For Successful Dark Lords:
- Theatricality is two-thirds of the process. To be a Dark Lord, you have to be more of a stage magician than a Hogwarts alumnus.
- You have to be petty as fuck in one aspect. It helps make others believe that you really are as dark and as evil as you present yourself as.
- Unforgivables aside (though because of the Ministry, more in-depth study of these curses have never been done), it is less about the spell and more about how you use it. I placed a Placidus Charm on an object, and the result freaked out the Ministry so much the Minster's hair became white overnight -- I consider that one of the highlights of my Dark Lord career.
- Accept the fact that everything you do will never be taken as good. The sooner you do this, the more you will be able to act according to what needs to be done, whether it be good or evil.
- Your reign of terror has to be legendary. If you want to be a Dark Lord, don't hide in the shadows. Be visible. Become a legend.
- If you want something done correctly, do it yourself. Followers and minions are only mostly good as meat shields or lookouts.
- Never, ever, EVER stick it in crazy.
***
Once upon a time, I thought that closing my eyes to see Gabrielle Delacour's glassy, dead ones staring right back at me was the worst thing that a filthy mudblood wizard like me would ever get to see.
But that was during the first trip around this merry-go-round.
For some reason or another, I earned another go on this ride from hell.
As it turns out, seeing the modern boogeyman of the Wizarding World shudder, vomit and collapse in sheer unadulterated disgust after subjecting me to a legilimency probe is pretty damn close.
***
Rosmerta was quick to the scene -- cleaning up the mess, giving "Quirrell" some hot tea to compose himself, massaging his back to keep the shudders away -- and once she saw he was good enough to sit up straight, she returned to her spot at the bar, with next to no one the wiser on what just transpired.
Tom could only ask me one question.
"How?"
"It's not my first time here," I replied, "thank the Veil."
Tom was a lot of things, but he was also quick to know what was going on. He nodded at me.
"You'll tell me all about those images later?"
"I will."
***
"You want to know the truth, Tom? I made you look. I made you see. I made you care!"
"Did you really have to resort to that sort of manipulation?"
"Because the Wizarding World is its own power. Do I feel like a wanker for doing this to you? Of course. But with or without you, the Wizarding World is sitting on a time bomb. And I'd rather have you on my side defusing that bomb with me. Think: all that knowledge, all that tradition, all the old ways and old magic -- wiped from this world because people say it's
dark", I finish, the last word rolling of my mouth like an insult.
"It would be a waste," Tom finally admitted.
"Our world isn't doomed yet, now," I say. "We still have time, Tom. Time to make a difference."
***
"Tell me again why we have to go through all this?"
"Because unicorn blood is seven times more potent when freely given. One of these bad boys filled with this? Will last us long enough until I can get you a homunculus."
"You had better be right about that," Tom said as I uncapped the syringe and let him drink the shiny, silvery liquid.
"Thank you," I tell the unicorn, and stroke its head before it leaves the forest.
***
Homunculus creation is simple.
First, you find a pregnant woman whose hatred has poisoned the soul of her child-to-be.
Next, you exorcise the soul and send it to limbo, lest it linger in this world and become a conceptual entity -- that was the reason Jack the Ripper was extremely elusive, she wasn't just a serial killer, she was one of those conceptual entities made up of a thousand or more unwanted children.
Third, you make a ritual that transfers the soul from location A -- which is the inert form of Quirinus Quirrell, who upon waking up will have his knowledge of the last year be magically replaced with him going on a book tour for his Defense Against the Dark Arts primer -- to location B, which is the soon-to-be-born fetus which now does not have a soul.
Since Tom was dumb enough to make seven horcruxes, the transfer is a lot less difficult than if I was working with a whole soul.
Needless to say, the ritual was a success, and after several aging potions, Tom's now back in fighting shape and is ready to bring the Death Eater party back together.
"I'm going to need your help before you do your whole civic duty, Tom," I say. "I need your assistance on conditionally binding curses to people."
"I'm just the Dark Lord for the job, Johnny. But we'll need to take a year off to do all the required studying to cast the curse successfully. What kind of curses are you talking about?"
"Peace, honesty, and sterility."
"Those aren't curses."
"They will be, after I'm done with them," I reply with a smile.
***
Tom came up with the idea of sneaking into Hogwarts just to mess with the Headmaster.
I thought it was a side effect of the aging potion only getting him up closer to my chronological age (not my actual one).
But here we were, seated at the Ravenclaw table, introducing him as a transfer student named Thomas Crapper ("really?" Tom asked me), and that was when the delegation from Beauxbatons arrived.
"She's beautiful," Tom observed.
"That's her sister, Fleur," I added.
***
"Remind me again why I shouldn't call the Aurors every time you have to pat Gabrielle Delacour's head each time you run into her?" Thomas Crapper asked me. "Honestly, it's disturbing."
"During my first run back here, you broke the first rule when it comes to dating witches: 'never stick it in crazy'."
"You're just jealous because you died a virgin."
"Look, Tom, that had to be the most earth-shattering mind-blowing attain-a-higher-level-of-consciousness thing for you to end up with Bellatrix freaking Lestrange."
"Well, you ARE accurate, John. She IS a freak."
"ARGH!"
***
"It's fine, John. I already knew."
"How soon did you know?"
"Around the time we were reading about those conditionally binding curses."
I couldn't help it. I had to wipe a tear out of the corner of my eye.
"And you couldn't do anything about it. It's a weakness of having that many horcruxes -- your soul is split so many ways, when someone uses a ritual bound to destiny itself..."
"You're fucked. I... I'm sorry, Tom."
"Don't be. It's been fun, John, but I can already feel the curse's compulsion on me. I must tread this path. Destiny wills it."
I can see him walk away, transforming into his full form as the Dark Lord, and I can only wish him godspeed.
***
My victory feels hollow.
And yet, there is still one challenge Tom left me.
I see the basket at my doorstep with a baby in it, and I read the card addressed to me.
"This is the final favor I'll ask of you, to honor our friendship. Make sure she doesn't end on the path of her poor parents."
"I never liked your mudblood arse, but the Dark Lord trusted you... so I will as well. Look after our daughter in our stead."
"T & B"
***
I walk the streets of London with my goddaughter, walking our dogs, when I look to the sky and remember her parents.
"Uncle John, are you still pining over Gabrielle Delacour?"
The name startles me and I turn to the girl.
"What did I say about poking your nose in grown-up matters, Delphi?!"
***
"Tell me about my parents, Uncle John."
"They loved you very much, Del. That's all you need to know about them for now."
***
"And here I thought you were a filthy mudblood, John," the Death Eater said. "Turns out you're just as bad as we are."
"True, true," I say. "I try not to go overboard, though. Oh yeah, good news. The Wizengamot has passed the legislation for registering muggleborn wizards as first of their respective wizarding lines. We're going to be okay."
"Are you insane?" the Death Eater asked.
"No," I reply, before turning away. "Seems you still haven't understood the difference between a muggleborn and a mudblood."
I leave him to his rambling and go to Fenrir Greyback's cell, where he is kept under strict watch by silver golems.
***
"Uncle John, I'm guessing things went well with Astoria's older sister?" Delphi asked me as I hand over the karaoke microphone to her.
"What makes you say that?"
"You only put on The Lonely Island when you're happy. And with that song..."
Delphinium Riddle wagged her pinky finger, and I blushed.
"No teasing your godfather, Del."
She just laughed, and I laughed with her.
***
***
Two Dark Lords were gingerly getting up, bits of masonry clinging to their robes.
One of them spat out a tooth.
"You said this was going to be easy," Voldemort began.
"It was easy back then because I had a shit ton of expendable mooks to throw at his dumb ass while I was charging up this humongous kill shot," Carnifex retorted. "Please tell me you have any other tricks up your sleeve."
"I'm all out. And the curses this bastard's been throwing at us are beginning to sink in."
"He likes doing that. Fucker lives off despair. Haven't found the horcrux yet, Tom?"
"Give me a moment..."
"There!"
The gigantic statue started stomping towards them.
They jumped out of the way as a pair of gigantic red beams came flying towards them... only for both of them to get hit as the beams changed direction mid-flight.
Voldemort and Carnifex fell in a pained heap.
"Here lies the Dark Lord, scourge of Britain, stomped to death by a giant marble statue in motherfucking Ronsperg."
"A Dark Lord does not curse so wantonly," Carnifex quipped as he dragged himself up. "Stop 'sperging out."
Voldemort laughed for a moment before launching into a hacking cough, spewing blood all over the marble floor.
"Looks like this is it, my friend."
"But we're not going to go out without a fight."
The animated marble statue raised its fists to strike.
"NOW!"
Carnifex leaped to the gem on the giant's forehead.
And behind him, Tom Riddle's face, in a rictus of sheer hatred, briefly morphed into that of Lord Voldemort as the tip of his wand glowed a bright green.
"AVADA KEDAVARA!"
But instead of being hit from behind, the curse stopped short at the tip of Carnifex's wand, hovering at its tip like a sickly green ball of light.
The giant saw the other Dark Lord in the air, and only had a moment to see what was going on, before Carnifex swung his wand in several slashing motions, leaving a trail of green light across the giant's head.
An unearthly roar shook Ronsperg Castle as the horcrux was shattered by Voldemort's Killing Curse and Carnifex's Severing Charm: Iaido Variant.
And as the magical backlash of such a powerful horcrux being destroyed rippled through the entire magical world, Carnifex descended, and spun his wand stylishly before blowing it out.
"And so ends the reign of the Dark Lord Globus, way ahead of schedule," Carnifex declared. "As I live and breathe, your utopia will never come to pass."
Voldemort dragged himself over to where his fellow Dark Lord stood.
"Do you really think this will work?"
"I hope so, Tom. The curse of Globus will weaken over time, and people will stop being deluded by him."
Tom raised a finger to the air.
"This magic... I am now beginning to understand why you despise that Granger person so much, John. Her magical signature is a lot similar to his."
"I wouldn't be surprised if they were related," John "Carnifex" Doe replied. "Let's get out of here before the cops and Aurors show up."
***