Lord Voldemort is a psychopathic, deranged Wizard, like any rising dictator. Before the Harry Potter series started, he was scraping for life—barely alive with the precautions against death he took with his Horcruxes. Throughout the series, you get slices of his idealogy and cause against the world but never the entire pie. Before the final movie comes out (what will be known as the end of an era) I came up with a recount of Voldemort before his hustle and bustle. Because I’m a woman, capturing his psychopathic side was not difficult. With cross-references to Adolf Hitler’s speeches and extensive research from other crazy fans like me, this short story represents the Voldemort we all needed to know.
At some point after the third time he split his soul, Lord Voldemort lost his nose, leaving snake-like silts and gaunt slivers of lips that curled with anger. A marriage of harsh fibers and satin joined to make the black cloak that dragged on the soft dirt. He never ran but made haste — traveling like a hovering dark pit at a distance.
The forbidden forest was home to various creatures and unknown species. Eating turned into a time-consuming drudgery. He sustained his existence and overrode hunger with unicorn blood. A unicorn’s beauty could easily be admired in the dark, with its radiant hide and sparkling hooves. Catching one was difficult—especially with Lord Voldemort’s current state of debility.
Voldemort continued to prowl deep into the forest. Although his legs bent with each step, his arms remained stiff—holding his wand with a tight grip. He loathed the idea of remaining in hiding. He despised the need for patience—it was a waste of time that gnawed at the potential of greatness. Until then, he prowled.
The wind grew thicker; it felt like slabs of ice were slapping Voldemorts pale face. The trees were closer to each other as he edged into the heart of the forest. After some time, he noticed a glimmer to his left. He trekked towards the sparkle before he lost sight. His veins began to palpitate with desire; it had been too long since his last indulgence.
The creature got away. A fiery anger so intense it could burn the crawling trees around him, took control of his body. Either all the unicorns knew of him or it was one of those fairy-like vampires traveling through the shadows. He tried to drink from one once but the blood was too thick and tasteless. Defeated, he sat down under a tree with a concave trunk with long branches to mask the ugliness in his face. He tore at shrubs and petals of neighboring flowers that had managed to grow without much sunlight. He then let the thinning skin on his back sink into the bark of the tree trunk to ease his body but the grip on his wand remained firm.
If Voldemort went more than six hours without feeding, it would be impossible for him to continue on. The purple veins on his hairless scalp began to bulge, complementing his hollowed cheekbones.
His eyelids stung with fatigue and the leaves around him began to blur. He soon dreamt of a stretched, gray, marble top table, seating twelve on both sides. Overgrown, rubbish plants lined black and gold peeling wallpaper. Lord Voldemort pictured himself seated at the helm, while white masked faces fixated on him.
“Many of you are brave to show up to my summoning, many were foolish not to come, but they will be found. If any of you have the smallest hint of remorse, you should attempt to exit from the table now” said Lord Voldemort.
Although panic had brought each Death Eater to answer the Dark Lord’s call, not one showed a flicker of fear as they let their masks down. The rumors were true, he had returned. While many unveiled a smirk of pride of their loyalty, others displayed blank stares into the horror that was Lord Voldemort’s face; their eyes were tinted with guilt.
“Welcome, Death Eaters. It has been too long. It is nice to see you all in such good health,” he said. His throat was dry but his eyes continued to pierce through each of his followers.
With an immense, unlit chimney behind him, Voldemort rose to speak.
“Greatness inspires pride, pride beckons spite, and spite engenders lies. A wizard cannot serve two masters. We have grown great in eternal struggle and only in eternal peace with Muggles will we perish. The stench of the powerless cannot succumb us into secrecy in a world that is also ours. If we consider how greatly Muggles have sinned against the World of Magic in the course of centuries, how they sucked our blood again and again, forced us beneath them, edging us into the cliff of exile and diminished our name to mythical tales, we now know who is unjustified. Punishment is due. Muggles have denounced us, claimed us non-existent and blood-traitors remain content under the guise of sensibility while the pure and powerful rot in hiding. Today I believe that I am speaking in accordance with the will of the Wizarding masses that pursue defense and seek justice,” he shouted.
The Death Eaters howled. Even the timid regained their hope.
“Fight. Work for the Lord. If you are a true Death Eater, this is your calling. This is your chance to repay me and reinstate your loyalty.”
At this moment, a twelve-foot long viper slithered up from the floor and across the table. The Death Eaters slid back in their chairs.
“Nagini, I hope you have brought good news.”
The snake rested like a wreath upon his shoulders, seeking affection, hissing wildly of Harry Potter’s whereabouts.
“It is true that many have fallen from our cause under the false impression that I was forever gone. You forget that Death is a vile, human weakness that we must vanquish. Wizard supremacy is a right. The efforts of mudbloods, half bloods, and traitors must be countered with irreparable force. As for Harry Potter, hordes of blood-traitors will not be able to keep him from me. No boy will be known as my downfall. After thirteen years, we are united. Ever pure, ever more,” said Lord Voldemort, finishing the speech that would commence a long, Inter-Wizard war.
The chimney behind the Dark lord lit up, blinding the edges of the room and waking him back to prickling pain throughout his body. He felt like a ghost again, alone in the forest like lifeless vapor.