A Darker Shade of Magic

Prologue: II

AN: Ahem. Ahem. Shit, I'm beginning to sound like Umbitch. Oh yeah, speaking of which, the no bashing thing at the beginning of the book does not extend to Umbitch, though I think nobody really cares about that, seeing as we all hate her.

Also, it was just pointed out by someone that Peter Pettigrew wasn't mentioned in the first chapter. My bad, I was thinking of referencing that he was somewhere else, but it completely slipped my mind. He was.... somewhere.

Two updates in two days..... hopefully? If I can't, then slam future me about it. Alright?

Time: Halloween, when Rose Potter is Four Months Old

Voldemort easily blended into the Muggle world tonight, not even caring to hide his hideous appearance with the charms he usually did whenever going out on a stealth mission..... which was not very often, he had to admit.

But he found himself not particularly caring tonight.

He sneered at the passing Muggles who 'ooh'ed and 'aah'ed at his 'costume', making him twitch in anger, his sneer intensifying until Severus would be proud of him. He had to hand it to that greasy bat, apart from bootlicking and potions, the art of sneering was something the man could boast of mastering. Well, perhaps Voldemort might have been jealous of the way the Potions master made his robes billow like a bat, too, but he had to restrain himself from copying him. No, however much he liked the idea, it just wouldn't do to copy someone beneath him.

No, he thought idly, suppressing the urge to whip out his wand and torture the Muggle couple who passed him, so tooth rottingly sweet and ignorant.

Foolish Muggles, so ignorant of their own inferiority.

If it was one thing that Voldemort could respect above all else, it was knowledge. For, knowledge was power.

But above all, knowledge and reason were what made them human, superior to all else. The tool that their ancestors had used to carve out their own paths, the tool which Salazar Slytherin prided in, encouraged his successors to sharpen.

And these Muggles, knew nothing of reason. They were mindless sheep, though the wizarding world could not boast of being any better. They were beasts, prey, for the humans to hunt.

And Voldemort, despite being twisted beyond all recognition, his soul torn and mutilated, was the most human of them all. The fool, Dumbledore, would define humanity as something else, and would say that the main objective of reason was to show mercy, but Voldemort knew better.

Nature had given man reason to hunt with, and man had used it for himself, like he was meant to. Voldemort could respect Dumbledore's decision to use his reason for his own ideals, and he followed suit. It was just a bad incident that their ideals collided with each other.

He sighed, raising a slender arm to run his clawed fingers along his bald head, enjoying his own, perfect smoothness. Being bald and hairless was another defining aspect of humanity, and Voldemort prided himself in being the most perfect of them all.

After all, humanity was created in God's image, and he strived to be as close to God as could be, even going so far as to misuse His gifts to get closer, not caring that he was going against Him in the first place.

Not that Voldemort believed in shit like that, of course. That was bull, he just liked the idea because of its poetic nature, the academic in his heart shining through his hardened, monstrous exterior.