Snake Boy

16 - Enemy

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry stared down at a thick photo album frowning. He caressed the edge of the leather cover unconsciously. This book was a tribute to all of those who had died to support the cause, his contribution to the preservation of Wizarding history. For that was what he was doing, making history, and he would see these great Witches and Wizards lauded as heroes – even if some of them weren't in reality.

History was written by the winners and Albus Dumbledore was aiming for the 'jackpot', as the muggles said.

He sighed at the picture before him. James Potter, such a promising young man, ruined by that mudblood Evans girl. Albus had done everything in his power to free James of that woman's influence to no avail and so he'd had to sacrifice his favorite student.

But of course the Potter's had not fulfilled that role either, just as James had not become the leader of Dumbledore's army like he was supposed to.

Their half-blooded spawn had survived the Dark Lord's attack, destroying Albus' carefully laid plans. So the old Wizard had compensated, after all improvisation is the truest test of genius; he had laid new plans – only to have those destroyed as well when the boy disappeared.

What was it about this creature that defied all his calculations? Dumbledore ran his thumb over the giggling toddler's image.

Harry James Potter.

Soul mate to the Dark Lord, a disgusting-unnatural-homosexual-half-blooded-thing. Albus rarely admitted it to himself, but he was secretly relieved the boy had disappeared. He was unsure if he could have kept up the kindly grandfather image he portrayed around it. It defied the very laws of nature with its tie to another male – a male mudblood cur with delusions of grandeur.

The Headmaster closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Dwelling on the impurities plaguing the Wizarding world would only make him angry and prevent him from planning logically. He needed to focus on stopping these things from being introduced and then he could weed out the existing ones.

He had finally allowed Minister Fudge to declare the boy dead and morale in the magical community was at an all time low. He needed an event to boost their spirits, something that would at the same time further his goals.

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Dumbledore kicked the dead child's arm out of his path with a sneer of disgust. He was decked head to toe in a Death Eaters robe, his distinctive beard hidden under a layer of disguise charms. Around him the mostly werewolf village burned to the ground.

He could hear the shouts of his Aurors, similarly disguised, finishing off the remaining survivors.

Lord Voldemort would get the credit for this 'vicious massacre' of this 'commune for the afflicted', or some such nonsense.

A screaming woman staggered out of an alleyway and collapsed and few feet away, her flaming corpse still twitching. Dumbledore watched, impassive, as the fire grew. The corpse's flesh peeled away to reveal the muscle and bone beneath. Veins burst with audible pops and sizzles.

The werewolves had proved themselves unwilling to support either side of the war. As they were neither helpful nor desirable, Albus had made them useful. The destruction of the only werewolf commune in England would be attributed to the Dark Lord as retaliation for their refusal to join his 'Dark Horde'. Combined with the death of their 'Savior', fear would paralyze the Wizarding community.

This would allow him to push through several 'emergency protective acts'. These acts seemed innocuous on the surface, but they would sever to set the Wizarding world on the right path, his path. While this hadn't been the type of galvanizing event he had originally wanted, it would serve.

"Sir."

Dumbldore pulled his gaze away from the disintegrating corpse to focus on the disguised Auror before him.

"Report."

"All of the villagers are dead Sir, with a handful of the elderly being allowed to escape as per your orders, Sir."

"Vermin."

"Sir?"

"They are vermin, son, not villagers. This was a cleansing."

"Yes Sir."

"This was a good night's work. Gather your men, we're done here."

The man nodded and turned away. The elderly had been allowed to escape so they could tell others of what they had seen, after all there must be survivors to spread the fear and bear witness to the Dark Lord's wrath. The elderly had been chosen because they had only a few years left in them and were well past breeding age.

Dumbledore took one last look at the smoldering black lump that had only an hour ago been a living, breathing, talking, thinking piece of 'vermin'.

"Good riddance," he muttered as he apparated away.