Chương 1: Cloak and Dagger
...I swear solemnly that my intentions are not good...
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Huh?! Oh!
Hello hello, dear friends and welcome here if you are looking for some stories and other similar delicacies.
May I present myself, Sir Mathias Oswald Ulysses Solomon Theodosius Archibald Cyrus Hezekiah Irvin Octavius. But you can call me Sir Moustachio.
I am sure you are already familiar with the legend of Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, The Chosen One, and any other names you could come with...
But tell me dear friends, have you ever heard of the Fallen Lords. I am sure you don't. History is a complex creature, full of mysteries, dark secrets and some tales which need to be hidden. Even the greatest hero can be depicted as a terrible peasant or ugly swine and then ostracized or stained by the many.
But that, dear friends, are not some arbitrary changes. This was the decision of the concerned. A man who chose to hide the truth because, as I said, some stories need to be unknown.
Still here?! Then I presume you wish to know the story... Are you certain?
Very well, dear friends, if it is what you seek let me tell you the tale of the hero born as...
Dudley Dursley.
Hum?! Is there a problem dear friends?
You don't believe me?
Hehehe…, did I not say that history, as we know, may not be entirely true. Well, dear friends, this tale tells a somewhat different story to begin with Dudley Dursley, to his full name Dudley Humphrey Osborn Dursley.
Called Dud [dude] by his friends, Dudders or Popkin by his mother, later surnamed the Bear of Hogwarts and other names that I should keep for myself for now.
Did I say Hogwarts? Yes, I did. Because in this story Dudley Dursley is a wizard. A fantastic wizard if I dare say, one of a kind that many never seen since Albus Dumbledore or Lord You-Know-Who… No, I am not afraid, I just don't like the name… let's continue, would you?
Brave, courageous, loyal and trustworthy were the qualities of Dudley Dursley. But why can anybody know anything about this? Because sometimes the hero is not the one who achieves glory for the posterity but the one who accepted to be forgotten. As should be the story of the Fallen Lords. You should know, dear friends, behind every legend lies dark secrets. And the secret of the Fallen Lords is a very deep one. A myth from old ages forgotten to times and whose power has changed the fate of Albus Dumbledore. A mystery that altered the destiny of a boy named Tom Riddle. A terrible secret that followed the lives of Dudley and his cousin Harry Potter.
Curious? I can understand, but you should know dear friends, that the moment a secret his known it cannot be unknown.
Here again? Quiet persistent are you...
Then let's begin our story would you. This tale begins in 1981, the 31st of October of Halloween at Godrick's Hollow. On this frightful night where even ghosts dare not tell the terrible event that happened...
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31st October 1981 - Halloween
A dreadful cold spreads in Godric's Hollow on this night of Halloween.
Pumpkins, witches, and ghosts ornated some of the houses of the neighboorhood. Vagrant cats could be seen in the dark alleys and the dim lights of the households were slowly dying out. Not a sound was heard at this hour except the hoot of a lonely owl, probably awakening to begin his nocturnal hunt to satisfy his hunger.
Subtly, a shadow appeared and after a short time began to walk silently between the alley. The few remaining lights couldn't show the outline of his face. Only the form of a man draped in a long black coat could be seen.
The last cats on the streets fled at his approach and the owl was put to silence by his coming. The shadow walked silently following a precise direction. There was no rush or anticipation. But by the time the coated man advanced, step by step, a frightful pressure in the air rose. Second, after second, a minute finally fell and the man stopped and what seemed to be an eternity died in the night.
The man looked at his destination. A small house in the neighborhood, not different as any others. A light was still coming from the first (ground) floor. People seemed to be awake in chatted in a joyful manner. The laugh of a small baby could also be heard despite the late hour. A warm feeling could be felt from the house, one that can even melt the most frozen of heart. But unfortunately, the black-coated man could care less, feeling nothing except horrifying anticipation. How can a man have his heart warm up if he doesn't have one…
And a heart, Lord Voldemort has none.
Voldemort, the most terrible dark wizard of his time, watched quietly the small house before him. A light and sinister smile drew on his face. He was excited. As it was fate that brought him here this night.
A prophecy was told. An enemy would appear. His destiny will be challenged. And as the Dark Lord, he could not accept this. His authority was absolute, and all of men will bow before him… or die.
"Let's end this farce no longer", whispered Voldemort.
Voldemort walked towards the fence. His hand, skeletal, came closer to the gate leading to the front garden. The Dark Lord could already grasp the fruits of his triumph. But then, the moment his hand went to land on the door, he stopped. His expression froze and a moment later, the outline of his face molted into an expression of fury.
"Dumbledore, you despicable fox", spat Voldemort.
Everything was already written. His victory. His triumph. The eternal age of Lord Voldemort was coming and none could stop it. But an old dying man believed otherwise and thought he could stop him. He could not. But he still tried to slow his rise to glory, impeding him to embrace his destiny. And on this night, the old man once again stands to oppose him.
Voldemort could feel the magic surrounding the house. The Fidelius Charm was there, lingering and protecting the house… or supposed to. But the moment his hands headed to the front gate, a small whisp of magic stopped him. Voldemort even felt that if he didn't stop on time a terrible force would be unleashed over him. There was another barrier. One more powerful that the Fidelius Charm.
In the end, you can trust anyone but you, Old Man. You always yap over the power of love and friendship for your entourage but look at you. You didn't even believe your own followers to protect themselves. In this regard, I give you credit. You were right. Without you on this instant, the boy would be already dead…but this is only delayed.
Voldemort stopped his thoughts and took out his wand from his sleeve. The long piece of wood, white as a bone, brushed softly before the fence. A flux of invisible power blended together but a moment later only the sound of silence could be heard without anything happen. Voldemort frowned as his spell remained ineffective. This was unusual. The magic of Dumbledore was certainly powerful and even the Dark Lord acknowledged it. But this spell was far more potent than any other Dumbledore could establish.
Voldemort tried again, but again no success. His frown deepened as he continued. Even though he was not in a hurry, he could not delay his visit longer. This spell needed to be destroyed quickly. Only a minute passed, but Voldemort felt like an eternity during which he couldn't break the spell.
'Something is wrong! Even you, Old Man, can not create a spell that resists me this much.'
Voldemort stopped his process a took a step back before casting a different type of spell. A new flux of magic unfolded the surroundings and blended in the night. For a moment nothing happened. But then, a slight and almost inaudible sound escaped from the vicinity of the house and small volutes of light mingled in front of Voldemort. The particles of light melded together before him revealing what appeared to be a strange rune or symbol. Voldemort looked at the rune and the moment he did it, a flash of fear passed through his eyes.
'This is?!... How can it be something like that?'
For the first time since long ago, Voldemort was absolutely stunned and petrified by what he saw. Because he knew this symbol.. and he dreads it. Even though his power was almost absolute among wizards, he knew there were magic forces of fantastic power. Legends and myths were told and past through every generation. But few knew that these legends contained pebbles of truth. And whoever follows the trails will expand the horizons of his beliefs and discover formidable - but terrible - secrets. And the rune whom Lord Voldemort was facing, was one of those whispering secrets… A secret he knew unfortunately too well.
He took only a brief moment for Voldemort to regain his composure, but the problems which oppose him were now far more precarious. A deep frown plastered his face as he studied the rune. It was just an old symbol for a mythical age. An age which died long ago and only its vestige subsist. The meaning of this symbol was clear, even though its sense was lost for the profane, its essence subsisted for all to comprehend it : Death.
A dreadful word indeed, all the more for the Dark Lord. Despise the fact that many symbols, rune and many spells in the wizarding world could define death, only this one can pretend to represent it. And even to the few who know this emblem and wished to use it were, all the same, they couldn't. This was old and terrible magic. You can write it, say it, shout it, but you can't use it… Not without paying the proper price.
"Dumbledore…", voiced Voldemort.
For a moment, the Dark Lord said nothing and just watched the house located behind the rune. Some minute, not even five, as passed and the family inside was still playing in there living room without suspecting anything that could happen to them on this night.
"I underestimate you, Dumbledore. I really underestimated you this time", softly declared Voldemort as if he was facing the man himself.
" I would never imagine you could use something like that. The fact that you know about it doesn't surprise me, but that you could use it… I really underestimated you."
Voldemort stopped only a moment, simply to take his breath. It was like some heavy burden was placed on him for a brief moment before leaving him as quickly. Then, once again, he glared at the rune before his eyes.
" But I understand, Dumbledore… I understand. After all your actions and measures, you knew it was bound to happen. You knew, all along, that your magic couldn't stop me… That is why you used theirs."
Voldemort still looked carefully at the floating symbol, as he was afraid it will disappear from his gaze. A longing and peculiar emotion lasted into his eyes and his hand gently caressed the outline of the rune like the most formidable treasure. All this despite the lingering fear which growled inside him.
" Ahhh… Old Man, how much it must have cost you to invoke this here", slightly smiled Voldemort.
"But unfortunately… Old Man…. In the end....you still have underestimated me", declared Voldemort, his eyes scorching with a grisly fire.
Swiftly, Voldemort took his wand and placed it above his hand. Pointing it on his palm, a small cut was made and a minuscule drop of blood surfaced. Then, very carefully, Voldemort raised the tip of his wand and a thin red string made of blood arose. Above the dark lord hand, the red string of blood stands adamant before softly morphed into the forme a serpentine dagger. The dagger floated in front of Voldemort while the Dark Lord put away his wand to take the short blade between his fingers. Voldemort looked at the dagger and, like the faintly shining emblem, gently caressed its outline.
The dagger was old and rusty and was made of dark red steel similar to blood. The pommel was wrapped in black leather of a strange reflection like the scales of a snake. Except for his sinuous form, the dagger didn't look special at all. However, there was a small detail on it, at the base of the pommel. A rune. An old and rusty rune, very similar to the one before him yet still different. The substance of this rune was more chaotic and malevolent that the floating one. An innocent bystander who knows nothing of this symbol wouldn't be able to tell what it means. However, he would express a strong and terrible fear taking over him.
Voldemort inspected the old dagger carefully as strange and conflicting feeling seethed in his head. This dagger was not his. He was gifted to him time ago. Actually, not long before he began his conquest of domination. Even though he accepted it, he swore to never use it. He could not do otherwise. The power contained in this blade was incredible to a point he only dreamed to possess. But this might have a price, one that the Dark Lord couldn't accept. Yet, in spite of everything this dagger meant to him and after all this time, on this cold night, he took it.
Never did I imagine that a day would come for me to use this, said Voldemort, his voice both excited and trembling.
He… on the other hand, had to know. He knew that I would face their power. I am sure this is why He gave it to me.
Voldemort continued to glance at the dagger then at the floating rune. Once again he looked at the house where again nothing changed since he arrived. The same family still playing in their house. Nothing strange, or unusual.
And for or a moment, Voldemort hesitated.
He could leave here and nothing will happen. He could spare this family of their sinister fate. How could they threaten him? He was the Dark Lord, Voldemort. The greatest wizard of his time. Even the mighty Albus Dumbledore will soon kneel before him and then perish. Why a grand being like him should belittle himself to kill a mere baby from a Mudblood mother. This was beneath him. He is… Lord Voldemort.
'But he is a menace.'
Insidiously, a voice came to his ear. Like a though arising from the innermost of his mind. Since the news of a prophecy, waves of troubles invaded his thoughts. An enemy will appear, one powerful enough to challenge him. Not an old adversary, but a child barely born. The child in this house.
"No… I must do it now. He is weak. He can't menace me. But later… later..."
Voldemort collected his resolve and tightly gripped the dagger in his hands.
"Why should I be afraid? I know the price of this pact, and, as I live, it will never be fulfilled. Death cannot hold me, as I am its master. I am eternal and I will rule them all… all of Them."
Voldemort raised the dagger and then stabbed the floating rune. When the two collided together a powerful blast swept over the neighborhood. A bright light formed between the tip of the dagger and the floating symbol. Voldemort gripped the dagger with all his strength putting his weight into the stab. The two bodies continued their confrontation in an impressive battle of might before suddenly… a crack appeared on the floating rune. At this moment, everything went very fast. The crack quickly recovered all the rune until the symbol couldn't support it and finally shattered in an explosion of radiant particles. After this little skirmish, Godric's Hollow finally returned to his old and tranquil atmosphere. As if nothing happened a moment ago, the alleys of the old village returned to their empty and gloomy state.
Voldemort was still there, a little panting. The dagger was still in his hand, but it was now redder and more lustrous than before. It was like the blade finally awakened from some deep slumber and returned to life. The Dark Lords raised the dagger in front of his eyes and intensely observed the blade. Since the moment he finally used it, Voldemort could faintly feel a connection with the blade as if his soul was forever marked. Voldemort frowned at this sensation. Now that he can sense the weapon, he understood that a pact was made and that he couldn't flee from it, even if he tried. This connection really bothered him, but the Dark Lord did no longer have the time to ponder this.
"What was that?!" howled a male voice in the house.
Voldemort's frown continued to deepen.
"Here and now, I won't have the time to think about it. I need to conclude this, for now", he voiced before hastily went to the front door and then blasted it with a spell.
The door shattered and Voldemort entered the house, directly meeting the peaceful family now fully alarmed.
"NO! Lily, take Harry and GO! It's him! GO! RUN! I hold him off!" screamed the man.
Outside the house, light and noise of green lightning could be heard and seen. A shadow slowly crossed the house as the figure of a man was falling, life exiting his body. Another shape, one of a woman, could also be seen running upstairs holding an infant in her arms. She locked herself in a bedroom and put the child in a cradle while a shadowy figure climbed the stairs. The shadow arrived at the bedroom and once again blasted the door while the woman screamed out of fear, but not for her, for her child.
"Please, no! Not Harry! Everything, but not Harry!" Lily begged.
"Move away, woman!" ordered Voldemort.
But she didn't.
"No, please! I beg you, not Harry!"
"I said move!" raged Voldemort!
But again she didn't move.
Voldemort repeated one last time, but still, the woman didn't obey him. It was his last warning before he cast his spell at her. The room flashed in a sinister green light and then the woman fell on the floor, inert. Voldemort looked at her for a moment, an annoyed look passed through his eyes. One of his followers asked him to spare her. He tried but in the end, she refused to obligate. A hint of incomprehension lingered in his skull but it didn't last. Softly he turned his head to face the baby in his cradle. The child was crying, but Voldemort couldn't care less. He calmly approached the cradle and raised his wand in front of the baby slightly above his eyes, aiming his forehead. The child stared at him still crying with a heartbroken face. Voldemort looked at him then slightly laughed at the side of it. He could not stop to chuckle thinking that this crying child was considered his mortal enemy. What a laughable farce!
"Farewell, Harry Potter."
A crack of thunder was heard and a flash of green lightning unleashed in the house. A pitiful scream was heard and a tremor shook the building. The green light illumined the neighborhood then suddenly vanish. After this, nothing happened, not a noise, only a long silence. Then a cry was heard, the plaintive sobbing of a baby which lasted in the cold night. There was nothing else. No black-cloaked man. No cheerful parents. Only the sound of a crying child, frightened and lost, and the scene of a black cat leaving the house and wearing a silver collar around his neck with a rune stone encrusted on it, the same rune as the one floating before.
SUY NGHĨ CỦA NGƯỜI SÁNG TẠO 
Moustachio
Moustachio What a story!
First Novel and Fanfic.
Hope you enjoying it.
Comment, like, gift me and feed my motivation.
See you soon!
P-S: 'Engrish' is not my first language! Correct me if I am wrong, but please be gentle. I will learn from your notes and comments to improve myself.
Love you all <3
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