Chapter III Incompertus Inscribo

On Knockturn Alley, the coming of night signified the beginning of activity. Hags selling human fingers for 16 sickles per pound, and diseased witches selling their bodies for not much more were a common sight. All seemed to be striding in the darkness, hiding, having quiet conversations, most generally ending with daggers and wands being drawn. None of that seemed to bother a tall man, dressed in black robes and cloak, with his hood pulled far over his head, effectively concealing his face, as he strode through the alley, head held high. All seemed to avoid him, frightened, or perhaps just cautious. His clothes were of excellent quality, although unadorned, and that made him an uncommon sight; an unknown entity. All these precautionary thoughts meant nothing to a short fat wizard, dressed in soiled robes that stood at the entrance of a shambled brothel.

'Sir, would the gentleman like to have some entertainment tonight?' leered the short man, pulling one of the wretched creatures forward. She looked young, no older than 16 and in a miserable state that did not prevent her master to laude her features telling her how she had Veela ancestors. The mysterious man made no reply but did pause his stride to look at the girl.

'If the sir is shy, I am sure we can arrange…' started the squat man putting a hand on the taller man's arm. Quickly a wand was drawn with a sick green light gathering at the tip, pointed towards the shorter man.

'Did I give you permission to touch me, filth?' spoke the man, holding the curse from ending the life of the vermin in front of him. The brothel master nearly involuntarily released his body fluids, but backed away slowly from the more powerful wizard.

'Sorry sir, I did not mean any, I, Master, Sir…' blabbered the whore master.

'The girl you wanted to offer me. How old is she?' asked the man, his wand still pointed at the annoyance.

'Just turned seventeen Sir, I run a respectable establishment,' said the whore master, his courage coming back to him in small doses. Perhaps he could still make some business tonight. 'I have younger though, if that is what interests you sir…'

'You will release the girl!' ordered the taller man.

'Sir I can't do that. She cost me a fortune, she…' blabbered the man.

'Avada Kedavra!' hissed the former potential customer, releasing the full strength of the curse he had called forward, ending the whore master's life before he had a chance to draw breath again. Turning towards the girl, who was shaking with fear from seeing her master killed, but happy to have gotten rid of him, 'How old are you really girl?'

'I am fifteen Sir,' said the girl. The man reached in his robe, pulling a heavy laden bag with galleons and throwing it at the girl. 'Go and make something better with your life.' said the man, turning to leave, hearing the girl's 'thank yous' being repeated like a mantra.

In the time it took for him to reach his intended destination, he wondered why he had saved the life of one underage prostitute by killing her master. Merlin knows, by the time he would leave the alley, a new one would take the whore master's place and more orphaned girls would become whores. Still, he despised this area of society. The economic failures of the Directorate led to a lack of jobs, turning many elements of society towards despicable practices. Sighing at the apparent collapse of his society around him, he continued towards his destination. His final call in Knockturn Alley showed the same prosperity that the rest of the street exuded. A precarious timber building, with a dingy wooden door and a creaky wrought iron sign, proclaiming the establishment 'The Magi's Cup, established 200 BC'. His thoughts drifted to the history of the place, as he was taught by his father in what seemed centuries ago. Back in those days the establishment was beginning to show signs of its uncertain future, but was still a famous inn in the wizarding world. The whole street was far more prosperous in that age and a gathering place where both wizard and vampire could share a drink in relative peace. Tensions existed even back then, but the necessity to get along made Knockturn Alley possible. With the Ministry becoming preponderant Mudblood occupied, they brought their fear of the darker elements to bear, which degraded Knockturn Alley to the state it was in now. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, the wizard opened the door and entered the bar. Except for the occasional vampire nursing a blood goblet and shabby dressed wizards after an exhausting day at work enjoying some mead before having to return to their families and worries, the bar was empty. Making his way to the bar and quietly slipping a few galleons to the bartender for his discreet arrangement, a young server took him to a back room. A dark man, who looked to be of Italian descent, sat in a large armchair, apparently unaware of the situation around him, or the appearance of another customer. To the trained eye, however, the man was keeping a hand under the table, probably containing his wand, and his posture was tense, being prepared to curse anything or anyone entering through the door. When the man moved to speak, the server jumped in fright, but a few sickles and a pat on the back reassured him enough to go and close the door soundly behind him.

'A lovely weather tonight, isn't it? One Vladimir would enjoy greatly,' said the Italian wizard, without removing his hands from under the table, or raising his head.

'I doubt that, Vladimir hated the cold,' replied the other wizard.

'Not if he had his manticore robes,' said the Italian.

'He would have worn the fur robes, not the manticore ones,' replied the other wizard.

The process, rehearsed and perfected, led to the desired result. The atmosphere relaxed, and a flick of a wand from the Italian individual put up a privacy ward, allowing free speech.

'Lord Black, it is an honour to serve you,' said the Italian, standing up and bowing on one knee. 'I apologise for the mystery and the password, but I am sure you can understand the need for secrecy.'

'Nonsense Roberto, the information you usually bring me far outweighs any discomfort your habits produce…' replied Cygnus ', although, the urgency of the message greatly intrigued me.'

'It is on par with the size of the news my lord,' said Roberto. 'My sources in Europe tell me of the rise of a Dark Lord. One who has been cajoling and persuading wizards to follow him in his ideals. He calls himself Lord Voldemort, although I doubt that is his actual name. The people that were in contact with him, even for a short while were awed by his power.'

'A Dark Lord in the mainland?' asked Cygnus, more to himself than to his interlocutor. 'Well thirty years have passed since the last one. I presume the time was right. What is his ideology?'

'The eradication of Muggles, and the belief that Mudbloods and Half-bloods should be consider lesser than purebloods,' replied Roberto, taking a sip from his wine and grimacing at the sour taste it left in his mouth.

'They are lesser, but that ideology is dangerous. It would draw many young purebloods, ready for someone to champion their cause,' said Cygnus. 'Sadly, it is often the case that Dark Lord's do not ultimately pursue their cause, but use it as an excuse for their attempt at power, for gathering followers. I doubt Lord Voldemort is any different. Thank you for bringing this to my ears, continue to investigate discreetly,' said Cygnus, handing a pouch with Galleons.

'I live to serve, my lord,' said Roberto, gathering the money, and placing it deep in his dark robes. 'The password for our next encounter will be…' Cygnus stood to leave the room, when a cough by his spy made him turn around.

'There is one more thing worthy to be mentioned,' said Roberto 'The Dark Lord is coming to England…'

The House of Lords was quiet, with still two weeks to go until the October session, no one bothered to come to their offices. Of course, normal rules did not apply to Abraxas Malfoy. Having nothing to look forward to at home, he buried himself in his work. He was looking over some briefs sent by the Nobilitas faction in the House of Commons, warning them about what the House was trying to pass now. It looked to be nothing good, and the thick roll of parchment was beginning to give him a headache. Thankfully, the door opened to reveal Cygnus Black, dressed in plain black robes.

'Cygnus, I did not know you were in the building,' said Abraxas, raising an eyebrow at his friend, who looked completely out of place with the opulent room.

'I was not, I've just arrived. Something has happened, which promises nothing good,' replied Cygnus, taking his cloak off and banishing it to the wardrobe at the far end of the office.

'I already know, Cygnus,' replied Malfoy, gesturing towards the parchment spread on his desk. 'An aide brought the papers from the House of Commons.'

'Not the Commons,' said Cygnus. 'Something larger, and with the potential to cause more mayhem in our society than the Mudbloods can in a year,' proceeding to inform his friend about all that his spy reported. By the time he was finished, the elder Malfoy was frowning.

'Do you know what effect this will have on the young,' snapped Abraxas. 'Lucius would join in at the first mention.'

'That is why we need to inform our children,' replied Cygnus 'we need to explain the dangers, and to make sure they would not foolishly jump at the chance this Voldemort is offering.'

It was a stormy night, with rain pouring from the skies and the wind batting it against the windows of an imposing house. Seen from afar, the house would have seemed haunted for the weak minded, with a dark façade and lights flickering from the top floor's windows. The source of the flickering light was a lit fireplace and dozens of candles, giving a warm, comfortable mood to the room. After the dreary nights spent in the northern wilderness, Lord Voldemort certainly enjoyed the warmth.

Footsteps could be heard, pounding against the old wooden flooring. His eyes cast upon the parchment in front of him, Voldemort did not deign to cast a glance. He did not need to, for there was only one other occupant to the house, one far more accustomed to the cold than he was.

'My lord,' started Karkaroff 'I have brought the information you requested,' said Igor, drawing a thick roll of parchment from his snow white robes.

'Excellent, Igor, excellent,' said Voldemort, his eyes never leaving the parchment. 'I shall look over them later. Why don't you summarise their content?'

Although the words were friendly, and the proposal seemed innocent enough, the tone of the voice send a shiver up Karkaroff's spine. The league with the Dark Lord had brought him power he had never imagined possible, but every time he spoke, the serpentine hiss his voice carried made Karkaroff afraid to the bone. Lord Voldemort merely smiled in pleasure, noticing the proud wizard's discomfort.

'Igor? The parchment…'

'Apologies, my lord,' said Karkaroff. 'The two you were interested in will be at the Blood Chalice tomorrow night.' Lord Voldemort merely nodded, then waved his hand towards the door. Recognizing his cue, Karkaroff made a small bow, and then strode towards the door. Although the man was too vain for his own good, he had some use for him. The uncanny ability to obtain information, trivial as that may be, made him his most useful follower. Laughing at the irony of calling his only follower his most useful, he looked down at the parchment he had been studying for the better part of the night. Baring his revenge on his father and his family, he considered it his greatest work thus far. Igor had had his input in its creation, but he lacked the wisdom to see the bigger picture.

The list of all the Hogwarts graduates from the past 5 years, of proper stock, their political allegiances, their beliefs on mudbloods, romantic interests, petty jealousies, inmost desires, any little detail. Nothing had escaped the Dark Lord's attention. Karkaroff's social standing, as well as attending countless useless social events had led to its creation. For what was power if there was no one to see it? How could one ascend to leadership without followers? Gathering and compiling the information had been the work of two years now. A lesser wizard might have rushed things, but Lord Voldemort's patience knew no bounds, at least when it came to ascending to power. Alas, tonight, he would abandon the sickening role of librarian he had been reduced too, and resume the dark lord mantle.

The fates seemed to favour the cold blooded, for in the next day the skies cleared, allowing precious sunlight throughout the land. Wizards and witches throughout the realm stirred from their beds, ready to proceed with another day. That is to say, most of them did. Normal rules did not apply to a Rosier. His father certainly did not think as such, but then again what could the old man know. All he did was go to meetings and rot away. Gladly awaiting the day he would no longer be subject to the horror of being cast into the shadow by his father, Evan turned around cursing at the house elf muttering about the room. His mind went back to the night before, but the results came hazy. No matter, whatever happened was probably typical for him-pleasurable moments with no long lasting consequences.

'What time is it elf?' asked Evan, turning around to look at the diminutive creature.

'It is a quarter past two Master Evan,' replied the house elf. 'Would you like to have lunch served?'

'Of course,' said Evan, his muscles reminding him of last night's revelry as he tried to get up.

'I will notify the kitchens,' said the elf, disappearing with a pop.

After the ritualistic cleaning and dressing, Evan descended to the dinning room, his lunch spread out on the oak table, two house elves in attendance should he require anything. Lunch or breakfast, should one decide to be pretentious about naming them was a pleasant recovery for the young wizard. Satisfied, he dismissed the elves with a wave of his hand and stood, exiting the room for the salon. His wand was in his hand in an instant, a skill he took great pride in and his 'Incendio' was just as efficient. As soon as the spell impacted the back wall of the fireplace, pleasant yellow flames erupted. A quick snap of the wrist and some Floo powder turned the flames green.

'Mulciber House,' said Evan, the complex routing system at the ministry detecting the ambient magic of the words and bringing the destined fireplace in connection with the original, the process unknown to the caller or receiver for that matter. A house elf appeared in the flames, his features distorted by the flickering.

'Elf, get your master, I have to speak with him!' snapped Evan.

'Master Mulciber is currently at the Ministry young master,' replied the elf, his manner respectful.

'Not him, the young one,' snapped Evan. Honestly, couldn't the elf tell whom he meant to call. These creatures were the embodiment of stupidity. If it were not for their efficiency in house cleaning, skills most proper wizards lacked they would have been wiped out long ago. The house elf bowed and disappeared, his face replaced shortly by that of his Hogwarts friend.

'Evan, I see you are up early,' said Maltius, stifling a yawn. 'Why must you bother me with your weird, working class schedule?'

'If I had a working class schedule I doubt I would have called for this matter,' said Evan, smirking at his friend's attempt at humour. 'Now, I don't have time for useless rambling. Have you sorted out the reservations for tonight?' Maltius' face frosted over, as much as it was possible within the flames.

'Who do you take me for?' asked Maltius. 'Am I not Maltius Mulciber, the ever flowing corn of night time ventures and socialising abundance?'

'Enough, you buffoon!' snapped Evan, amused to some extent, but annoyed by the repeating ritual. He guessed it must have been his divine punishment for rising before the official hour.

'If you must be so anti-social perhaps I must not take you with me,' said Maltius, his words retracted once his friend's manner turned to angry. 'Fine, if you must be so stiff about the matter. We have reservations at the Blood Chalice at ten tonight. Pray do remember that the dress is formal and that there are lesser beings around.'

'I do, I do. Now be on your way,' said Evan, cutting their conversation short. 'Wait, do you remember anything from last night?'

'Aside from the fact that I had a smashing time, no,' replied Maltius. 'Why ask?'

'I have this nagging feeling that something significant happened,' replied Evan, his mind trying to clear itself up. 'It's not important. I will meet you at the Cauldron at nine thirty then. Good day.'

Stretching to pass the time, he went into the Library. His monthly Borgin and Burke delivery had come last week and there were some items of interest.

Prompt as always, at nine twenty nine, a crack marked the appearance of Evan Rosier at the Apparition Point on Diagon Alley. The stores were beginning to close and the crowd was migrating towards the pub. After deciding there was nothing worth his interest, he made his way towards the Leaky Cauldron. A quick nod towards Tom, and he was whisked into the private rooms in the back, to find Maltius nursing a glass of Firewhiskey, his feet put up on the chair next to him.

'You do know that drinking before the night has even started will only lead to trouble later on in life,' said Evan, his voice dripping with sarcastic virtuousness.

'You remind me of my father,' replied Maltius 'and, before you start, it is not a compliment.'

'How could it ever be a compliment,' replied Evan, taking the seat across, careful to not let his cloak snag or crumple beneath him. 'Now, do you know more about the place we're going to?'

'Very little,' replied Maltius, 'although it must seem boundless to you. It is not a reputable place, frequented mostly by people who enjoy more forbidden pleasures in life.'

'All I know is that it's not the place you go to in reputable company?' said Evan. 'that and the fact that it is the number one entertainment nowadays in our circles.'

'Ah so you do know very little,' said Maltius sneering at his friend. 'No problems, I understand. I was always the smarter one during school.' Evan angered at the statement and made to draw his wand.

'Dear Merlin you are tense tonight,' observed Maltius, putting his hands up to show he meant no harm. 'Has something happened?'

'Is it true that the place is a gathering of vampires?' said Evan, no longer able to contain himself.

'That is what makes it so interesting,' said Maltius, raising his glass to his lips. 'What better enjoyment to be had then the forbidden, with the outcasts?'

'I don't know… Are you sure Maltius?' asked Evan. 'Vampires are frowned upon in our society for good measure.'

'You are beginning to sound like your father,' replied Maltius, irritated at his friend's attitude. 'Consider this: creatures that roam the land only at night would make for the best party companions. Nonetheless, it is time to go. That is, unless you are scared.'

'Scared?' asked Evan. 'I am a wizard and I have my wand with me. There is nothing to fear in this world.' Maltius shrugged and withdrew several sickles to pay for the bottle, gathering his cloak, sweeping it over his shoulders and leaving the Cauldron with a flourish.

The same wizarding disdain for lesser creatures was experienced by Karkaroff as he followed his master through a dark forest. Except this one was accompanied by a healthy dose of fear.

'Master, why must we approach these creatures?' asked Karkaroff, trying to summon an aristocratic calm, but failing.

'They are merely tools, Igor,' replied Voldemort, annoyed at being questioned, but restraining his anger, filling it away for future use. 'Tools to be used and then cast aside, when they are no longer useful…' A slight twitch of a branch in front of them caused Igor to lose his calm, drawing his wand and casting the Killing Curse in its direction. Voldemort shook his head at the man's nervousness, and then moved to cast aside the leaves, revealing a dead deer.

'I was not aware this was a hunting expedition,' replied Voldemort, pointing towards the corpse. Deep in thought, he considered the usefulness of his servant in the forest and decided his talents would be wasted here. 'Igor, I want you to go to the Blood Chalice and prepare the two for my arrival.'

'Master, I apologise, I didn't mean to…' started Igor, embarrassed at having lost his calm.

'It is no matter Igor,' replied Voldemort, with a voice that would have appeared soothing if one did not know the Dark Lord. 'Now go!' snapped Lord Voldemort. With a quick bow, Igor disapparated, leaving his master unaccompanied in the forest. Thankful, at being alone, Lord Voldemort continued his trek, until he reached the entrance of a large cave. Howls could be heard from the inside, as well as something that sounded like fighting. Curling his lips in disgust at the animal-like behaviour, but quickly hiding it, he turned towards the two guards, who barred their teeth at him.

Resisting the urge to kill the two on spot for not displaying the proper respect, he removed his hands from his robes, showing them he meant no harm.

'What are you doing here, wizard?' asked the leading member, a tall brute, whose wolf features seemed apparent even in his human form.

'Tell your master that Lord Voldemort is here to speak with him,' snarled Voldemort, annoyed at the disrespect he was being shown. Soon, these creatures would learn their place, he promised himself, but he must first use them. Obviously having been announced beforehand that Lord Voldemort was coming, the brute entered the dark cave, leaving the smaller one with the Dark Lord.

Thankful, that he would not have to wait, not trusting himself to torture the creature in front of him for his disrespect, Lord Voldemort raised his eyes to see the brute return. His demeanour changed, Lord Voldemort observed, pleased at his success thus far.

'My apologies, Lord,' replied the lead guard. 'Alpha Greyback will see you now.' The werewolf gestured towards the cave, leading the way for the Dark Lord. As they were going deeper into the wolf's den, Lord Voldemort had the chance to observe his surroundings. The cave seemed a natural occurrence, although dark magic permeated the air. The lights were rare and flickered pitifully, not managing to push back the darkness. Different tunnels branched off from the main one, leading to Merlin knows where, although sounds of fighting and howling could be heard from the rooms. Analysing his companions for tonight, as well as the respect these guards seemed to hold for Fenrir, he realised that the Alpha was the only one he would have to convince. The rest would follow his lead.

The tunnel finally ended to display a larger room, bearing a perverse resemblance to a throne room, with twelve Werewolves sitting, forming a semi-circle around Fenrir Greyback himself. Statutes of wolves ready to attack and devour, in packs as was their habit surrounded the room, as well as crude paintings of the moon and wolves howling at it. Reminding himself that in these chambers, Fenrir was a king in all but name, and adjusting his attitude appropriately, Lord Voldemort overtook the guard and stepped in the circle, now surrounded by werewolves.

'Fenrir Greyback,' started Lord Voldemort, his back straight and his eyes piercing the werewolf's mind. Although the mind was foreign and difficult to comprehend for a wizard, baring the overwhelming bloodlust and hatred, Lord Voldemort saw snatches of intrigue and desire to know what a wizard could possibly offer to his pack.

'Lord Voldemort, I have heard of your exploits in Europe,' said Fenrir, almost the semblance of a civilised being. The open mouth and the slightly hunched figured ruined the illusion however. 'What brings you to my pack?'

'We shall skip the pleasantries then, if you desire,' said Lord Voldemort, his head turning to take in all the occupants of the room.

'For too long your kind has been oppressed by the Ministry. You are labelled as dark creatures, as uncivilised beings, worthy only of being caged like animals…' Fenrir stiffed at the speech, baring his fangs, but allowing him to continue.

'… You have never received the respect you deserve, for the Ministry can never understand you. They are weak fools, fearing those with power. They label them as dark and cowardly hunt them with great numbers and legislation. I hold no such beliefs. As you can see, I have come alone.'

'We know about the situation with the Ministry, Lord Voldemort, you are telling us nothing new,' said Fenrir. 'We cannot fight them, they are too many, and so we are forced to hide in forests while they stay in their gleaming mansions and ministry.'

'You do not have too, my friends,' said Lord Voldemort gravely 'A shifting tide is coming to Britain. Society will change. The labels dark creature, animal, will no longer be applied to any dark being!'

'A change, eh?' said one of the twelve 'And who would bring about the change, you are talking about?'

'I will,' stated Lord Voldemort calmly. 'I will take power in the name of the Dark Creatures. Together we can bring about the revolution that will change our society.'

His eyes moved to take in every werewolf, his arms outstretched to show his intent. He could feel their anxiousness. Never had wizards approached them and propose such a thing. Even Dark Wizards tended to discard them as mere animals. That was not enough to convince them, however.

'Words are nice, Lord Voldemort,' said Fenrir, his mind more suspicious than his brethren 'but words are easy to say. Actions are the hard part.'

'I promise you, if you help me in my cause,' started Lord Voldemort, his manner turning grave, 'that once I have assumed leadership of the Wizarding World I will make you equal.'

He then turned to look directly at the leader. 'Fenrir, I know of your fascination with young children. So long as they are Muggle, I will not hold you accountable.' Looking back towards the rest, like a father handing out gifts to his children on Halloween.

'All of you-as long as it is muggles you go after, I will turn a blind eye. More so, I will give you land to create your own community. No longer will you have to hide in rank forests.'

The werewolves' excitement was reaching the point where their thoughts were broadcasted clear to Lord Voldemort. They had heard of his exploits in Europe, as a member of the Knights of Walpurgis, they knew he had power and he was offering them the chance to strike back at their enemies. Even Fenrir had become far more partial to the idea with the promises he was given.

'We need time to decide, Lord Voldemort,' said Fenrir, pulling a cord from behind his chair, calling a guard. 'The guard here will take you somewhere comfortable while we deliberate.'

'Certainly, I understand,' said Lord Voldemort turning to follow the werewolf. It had been too easy, he laughed inside his mind.

'Thank you, my friend,' he said to the werewolf, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Of course, he had no intention of following up with his promises, but he needed the werewolves. He would use them until they outlived their usefulness, and then he would see if they were worthy to live. They did not need to know that, however. Scoffing at the crude food and drink being placed in front of him, but deciding he could not offend his 'hosts' he took it, again thanking the guard.

The deliberation was short, and before Lord Voldemort's impatience caused him anger, he was escorted back to the council room.

'Lord Voldemort, we share the same ideals,' said Fenrir, his manner respectful. 'We will join your cause.'

'Excellent, friends, excellent,' said Lord Voldemort, drawing a parchment roll from his robes, his tone returning to the usual commanding voice.

'Here is a list of targets I ask you to eliminate,' said the Dark Lord, handing the parchment over to Fenrir, who opened it in curiosity. They were all medium profile targets, half-bloods, business owners, member of the House of Commons. Fenrir smiled when he saw the list included some individuals with the marking, 'families included', and frowned when he saw that some were clearly labelled 'individual only, family is not to be touched'.

'It will be done, my lord,' said Fenrir 'We will strike at them this week.'

'No, I want you to execute them in two weeks, when the full moon comes around,' interrupted Lord Voldemort. 'Let others know your power and fear it!'

With certain discussions aside, Lord Voldemort thanked his hosts, smiling falsely, and then made his way towards the exit, disapparating as soon as he was outside the wards.

Evan smiled, his mind abuzz from the drinks he had had. How could he have been as foolish to doubt his friend? The Blood Chalice was amazing, and some of the female vampires were appetising. They had met their old friend Karkaroff, who they had spent the night with drinking and complaining about mudbloods.

'If you two share my beliefs,' started Igor 'I have someone who can help us with the mudblood problem.'

'Really, who?' started Evan, impressed and rash. Maltius was more subdued, but his eyes opened in astonishment.

'His name is Lord Voldemort, he would meet you tonight, here if you please,' said Igor, gesticulating. 'He has the power to help us, and he hates mudbloods and muggles as much as all of us combined.'

'You praise me too much, Igor,' said Lord Voldemort from behind, causing three heads to turn in surprise.