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A Moment of Fear by toomanycurls
Chapter 3 : Voldemort
Rating: 15+Chapter Reviews: 19

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 Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
-Frank Herbert



The moon’s light shone in the otherwise dark sitting room where Voldemort was alone in quiet solitude. Slowly swirling the crimson merlot in its glass, the Dark Lord reflected on his recent successes. He was close to taking over the wizarding world. Victory was so close that he could smell it.

A flicker of emotion passed through Voldemort’s mind. Was it excitement? Perhaps it was pleasure with the recent deaths his loyal followers had carried out. The Prewitt boys had been glorious deaths. It was too bad the foolish mudblood-lovers would not consider fighting for the right side. It was a shame to see purebloods fight against their own kind. That Fenwick traitor was a death Voldemort would remember for quite some time. It was the first murder Bellatrix and the werewolf Greyback had carried out together. It was spectacularly gruesome and beautiful. Voldemort made a note to pair the two of them again.

Voldemort took a slow sip of the rich wine. This isn’t happiness. Voldemort couldn’t stand that pestilential, weak emotion. It was accomplishment that he felt. Memories of the McKinnon massacre caused the corners of his mouth to twitch. An entire family gone in a fell swoop of his best death eaters. It almost made Voldemort feel sentimental for his violently brilliant supporters. The Daily Prophet used words like “heinous” and “unspeakable devastation” to describe the McKinnon murders. He could not imagine higher praise for the handiwork that was displayed. It was almost as if the newspaper was encouraging to further atrocities. Soon enough, they would.

The network of spies and well-placed puppets gave Voldemort enough information and power to control almost every aspect of the Ministry of Magic. Still, the fools still resisted his power. More defectors were trying to gain his favor now that the general populous started to sense where power in the magical world truly lay. The Order of the Phoenix, that soon-to-be-eradicated bunch of mudbloods and traitors, were the last source of true defiance. Yet he did have both a spy and a well-placed puppet in their floundering organization.

It had been with a sense of victory that the first turncoat sought out Voldemort’s protection in exchange for information and loyalty. Being no one’s fool, Voldemort did not trust Pettigrew or his professed fealty. It is, as they say, impossible to take poison out of a potion. Most of the information Pettigrew had passed was quite useless, as was the man himself. It was clear to Voldemort that the Order did not trust the cowering man with difficult tasks or important information. That had been the reason he wound up involved with Voldemort. Torturing the truth out of him had been an unexpected delight – Voldemort had not expected so much pain and misery from one so otherwise uninteresting.


“Crucio,” Voldemort said softly to better appreciate the screams echoing through the room. Jeers and cat calls from his masked followers followed each shriek from the small man. There were only a handful death eaters present for this man’s defection Lucius, Narcissa, Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and Rabastan.

Lifting the curse Voldemort gave the whimpering man a few moments before raising his wand to start again. He liked giving people a fleeting reprieve before sending them back to a state of agony. “Wait, wait – I, I have information,” Pettigrew tried to get out.

The information did not matter. The Dark Lord knew he’d get the information eventually. It was the pain that mattered.

When he’d had his fill of the screams and pleas, Voldemort decided he could inquire about the man’s purpose in seeking out such a dangerous meeting. Once again, Pettigrew made the blunder of trying to explain. “Please, My Lord,” he started breathlessly. “I’ve come to pledge-“

“Silence,” Voldemort said with a sharp and irritable tone. “I do not need your words – just your mind.” Waving his wand, the Dark Lord forced the trembling man to his feet. “Just your thoughts…”

Voldemort could see Pettigrew’s eyes widen with fear as he approached with his wand pointed toward the diminutive man. Slowly his dark pupils flooded with images and feelings from the man’s pathetic existence. This was the part where most professed spies fell short of their verbal proclamations of a changed heart.

The images that met Voldemort’s probe were ones of taunting and teasing. The man had been treated like a burden to his better skilled friends. Laughed at and looked down upon – this was a person who never felt he had a chance to show his worth. What was this man’s worth? Voldemort pressed into his mind further and saw who he was connected to – trusted by those the Dark Lord was trying to squelch. An insider to the group he had been unable to wheedle into. Pettigrew could be an asset…


Disappointingly, Pettigrew had offered little information of value to the Dark Lord to date. He did give them details of how the Order operated and where some of the less important members lived. The information the Voldemort really wanted though, whereabouts of those troublesome Potters, still eluded him. Voldemort had considered but dismissed the idea of petitioning Pettigrew for information. Questions in and of themselves revealed too many answers. The Dark Lord let a frown mar his face.

The Potters.

The family that was his greatest threat if, there were days where Voldemort chose not to believe, that prophecy was credible. How could that infant be anything more than another body to add to the count? The boy’s parents had been noteworthy before they imprudently turned down an offer to join the right side. Did their stubborn refusal to fight with Voldemort rather than against make their son special? It was close to absurd.

Despite his own incredulity at the words Severus had passed to him one frantic night so long ago, the mere idea that there could be a wizard to match his own power was at best uncomfortable. The stirring Voldemort had when the prophecy came to mind was something more than uneasy thoughts.

Voldemort stood up and started to pace the mostly empty room. What was this feeling that poked at him when that pernicious prediction came to mind? Stopping mid-stride, Voldemort dropped the nearly empty glass of wine.

Was it fear?

The emotion was foreign to the Dark Lord. Fear was weakness and he was not weak. Fear was death and he had expertly removed that risk from his existence. To fear words was to give them the power of life and death. Voldemort could not let those words continue to have the same strong hold over him.

The boy had to be killed. But which boy?

The Dark Lord had been fine letting the two boys that fit the description from the seer live for a spell to let his equal show himself. It could take years for either to demonstrate which the true target was. Voldemort could not let fear invade his mind for an indeterminate period.

He would kill them both.

All he needed was information on each family. Severus gathered that both families were well-hidden and may be quite difficult to discover. He had said, “It will take inside information to locate the Longbottoms or Potters.” Based on Severus’ knowledge of the Potters, it would be Sirius Black who would know where the Potters hid. Severus had been quite certain of that fact.

Wanting to be thorough, Voldemort pressed his wand to the mark and whispered, “Pettigrew.” In a moment the wheezing wizard appeared before him – in pajamas. Letting out a loud gasp, Pettigrew fell flat to the ground in some sort of bow. “Stand up,” the Dark Lord said impatiently. He did not have time for theatrics. “You will tell me everything you know about the Potters – where are they? Who can tell me where they live?” Voldemort decided to probe this previously worthless source of information. If he could not produce quality facts, he would die.

“My Lord? You wish to know where the Potters live?” Pettigrew asked with his arms crossed tightly as if giving himself a reassuring hug. Voldemort did not respond to the insipid question but let silence fall between them. Mere moments passed before Pettigrew spoke again, his voice higher than it had been, “I can tell you that, My Lord.”

This was preposterous, if Pettigrew knew all along where he could find the Potters, why had he not offered this information? Was the shaking man in front of Voldemort a spy against him? “Why haven’t you brought me this information sooner?” Voldemort asked with a cool tone that masked his rising fury.

“I did not know it was of value to you, My Lord,” Pettigrew said with a squeak. Voldemort recognized the fear in Pettigrew’s eyes. It was the same fear he wore whenever confronted by his own stupidity. How dense was the man to think that the whereabouts of two people his master tried to kill was unimportant?

As dense as Pettigrew was the answer. “You are a fool,” Voldemort said raising his wand in anger. He would not kill Pettigrew for his stupidity, not yet at least. The Dark Lord soon dismissed Pettigrew to be alone with his new thoughts and hatching plan.

No one could know the idea that was forming in Voldemort’s mind. He would slip in undetected and unexpected. Surely the family would have a second if not third layer of protection. When was the best time to kill the boy though? The date should be significant – a powerfully magic date. Ah, Halloween, the most sacred of nights to perform magic.


The house had been easier to penetrate than Voldemort expected. The naive couple had trusted their treacherous friend implicitly. Killing James had been too easy. Unarmed and distracted by the wellbeing of this family, it had been a mere moment before the familiar curse left Voldemort’s lips. Lily chose the life of her son over her own. The sacrifice she made was a needless gesture that was quite lost on Voldemort.

The Dark Lord stepped over the woman toward the fussing baby. This tiny person was the cause of so much fear and anxiety? With a surge of relief Voldemort cast familiar curse. He had expected the curse to remove the boy and his fear from existence. Instead of fear being extinguished from his mind it hit him tenfold with an obliterating intensity. Fear was his death.



A/N: This is my first time looking at Voldemort as a main character. Aaaah, it was fun and challenging. Next chapter is Snape!!

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