Fic: Tradition for floweringjudas
Title: Tradition
Author:
Giftee: floweringjudas
Pairing: Voldemort/Igor Karkaroff, quickly. I suppose if you squinted, there's a second pairing as well.
Rating: PG, at the very worst - for some imagery and implied oral.
Word Count: 1,610
Author's Notes: I know that I can write so much more with this particular topic, but real life demanded much more time than I had available. I am sincerely considering writing a longer version of this fic somewhere down the road. If I do write out such a story, floweringjudas, you will be the first to know. Anyway, I hope that you enjoy your fic. = D
Summary: And so they came once a generation. . . (= D Sounds very “Buffy the Vampire slayer” to me. Heh.)
-
Igor knew that a change was coming before the whispers of the Dark Lord's arrival had reached his ears. He knew from the shift in the wind and the shortening of the days, even though Winter had not yet fully set in. He knew from the stillness of the school's grounds and the uneasy quiet of the birds that refused to sing and the tiny insects that refused to fill the night air with the sound of their incessant buzzing.
He knew, with all certainty, that the students must have felt it, too. For it was as though a force none of them could name had settled over the castle and had taken all of the squeals of laughter and any inclination the students possessed to do what they were told not hostage. This unnamed presence had clearly stolen it all away when none of them were looking, or were too busy sleeping off the day's exhaustion. The presence slid along the school's corridors with an air of immediacy. It was the chill of doom and the fresh breath of hope all at once.
Igor knew that he should have expected as much long before the signs of the Dark Lord's approach made themselves known. After all, his school was famed for its curriculum in those circles of the Wizarding world that knew what was best for the coming generations; not to mention, possessed the ideal family bloodlines to associate one's self with.
It went without saying that these circles were populated by those of the purest ancestry, plain and simple. Anything less would have been a further insult to all of the distinguished wizards and witches that preceded the uncountable scores of Mudblood trash that spread throughout the Wizarding community with a speed that even Igor had never believed possible.
As he approached the southernmost window of the castle that looked out over the school's grounds, Igor pushed all of those thoughts away. The small inconveniences that the Mudbloods created, along with their distinctive stench of never-ending shame, would soon disappear. The one honorable wizard who would do what needed to be done to ensure the very survival of the wizarding bloodlines would see to it that all of the filth was washed away.
And Igor, for one, would do everything in his power to help him.
-
On the 24th of January, he came with a slither of his dark cloak and the astonishing the feat no one else had yet managed; he had found the Durmstrang Institute without so much as a hint from the castle's secret keeper. It was believed to be impossible, but for this one man, this one wizard, who was closer than any other to being the sole embodiment of true greatness, it was no more difficult than pouring a cup of hot, hot tea into one's favorite cup.
Based on this act alone, before the words of appeal and thoughtfully crafted demands were uttered, Igor realized that he had been right. He had been right to listen to the rumors of hope and vengeance that followed Nature's forewarning. He had been right to stand ready to offer his loyalty and anything else asked of him to the man sitting across from him looking as though he was preparing to take the entire world for his own.
If Igor had allowed himself to follow that path of thought, he would have realized then and there, in that moment, that he truly would have done anything to see the wizarding world cleansed of the mutating virus that ate away at the pride the community once held. Nevertheless, it hadn't taken him long to come to that same conclusion after that first night, that first meeting.
Even so, without that sure knowledge, he had accepted the Dark Mark upon his forearm on his knees before his new Master; moments before he had accepted the second part of his initiation with shaking hands that delved underneath the Dark Lord's robes to find all of the catches and buttons that held his trousers and shirt closed.
-
Igor knelt with his head down, but his mask firmly pressed over his face. He had been attending the meetings for several months now, and their numbers had grown significantly. He had taken it upon himself to see to it personally in the weeks following the Dark Lord's visit.
He had begun with the older students, those further along with their lessons and had long since mastered the most basic curses, jinxes, and hexes. He took those talented few and molded them, telling them everything they needed to know and showing them the spells that they would soon be casting for a celebrated cause anyone would be proud to be loyal to.
When he was certain that every one of them could cast any given number of spells without hesitation, Igor had arranged for intensive lessons to begin. He needed to witness their newly-honed skills in use to see if they were truly ready to move on to practicing alone, instead of in his presence during their evening sessions.
The first outings had been brief, mere trips into the closest Muggle villages that were some several hundred miles away. The distance never mattered, for Apparition would surely deliver them anywhere they needed to go.
Igor had been proud to see his best students strike down every Muggle within reach as their wont guided them. He had been especially pleased to note the lack of remorse when Chiana and Gabriel simultaneously cast the Cruciatus Curse on the same little girl whose body jerked violently in response. They did not raise their wands away from her until even the ends of her pigtails curled in on themselves to try and stave off the pain that surged through her insignificant body.
He had cast the Killing Curse himself upon her after he had moved closer to inspect their work. With a cavalier flick of his wrist, the devouring rush of green light had given them his approval.
When the small village had been cleared to Igor's liking, he had bid the students to Apparate back to the exterior of the school grounds and await his arrival. He shifted through the debris they had left behind as he allowed his mind to wander back to his own days as a student of the Durmstrang Institute.
-
Professor Jankowski had once taken him on a similar outing. He, too, had attended evening sessions limited to small groups of students that alternated the nights on which they met with the headmaster. But that particular night, it had been them alone, walking along the darkened road that led into out into the countryside. The very same that he currently stood amongst new rubble as several houses burned to the ground.
Igor had asked Professor Jankowski why they did not simply Apparate directly into the village and begin from there. The headmaster had frowned over at Igor in response to his impatience and told him that there were more ways to accomplish the goals he sought, than to barge blindly into a situation, heedless of the risks. Even in the low gloom of the night, Igor had been able to make out the reproach that not only colored the headmaster's voice, but his stark features as well.
A growing part of him had wanted to sink in on itself in shame and embarrassment. Here, he was being given the opportunity to learn the lessons that truly mattered from one of the greatest wizards of his time in private, and yet, he had not appreciated this special allowance that he was being granted.
Igor had fell silent then and walked in the shadow of the headmaster's footsteps, answering quietly only when asked a question and altering his course to match that of his instructor's. When they reached the outskirts of the village, Igor had been able to see the nightly bonfire shooting ash and flame into the still night sky as it consumed its varied pile of fuel. The headmaster had drawn his wand then, and Igor moved to do the same. Before he had even stepped foot into the perimeter of the village and the first body of the night fell, Igor knew that he would one day bring his own chosen few to this same village to introduce them to this right of passage.
As the Unforgivables' power and hatred flowed through him that night so long ago, he knew that he would never find anything as satisfying as that moment; that act of worldly purification. And so he had shared that same rush of wildly consuming euphoria with those that he knew would appreciate the privilege for what it was, and would one day return to Durmstrang to pass on the instinctive need to wipe out those that threatened the wizarding existence.
Igor smiled to himself at the thought. Although the headmaster of his day was now no more than a faint memory in the minds of himself, Antonin Dolohov, and his other contemporaries from those selected groups, the tradition lived on; just as he had intended for it to do so. Although Igor knew that the practice had not started with Professor Jankowski, he also knew that it would not end with his own students, his own sowed seeds for the future of the Dark Lord's army.
No, it would be a long time coming before Durmstrang Institute did not make their presence felt. Let the simpleminded villagers speak of cursed plagues and robed demons that came once every generation, but Igor knew the truth behind it all. And that knowledge alone made the future something worth anticipating.
-
The End
Author:
Giftee: floweringjudas
Pairing: Voldemort/Igor Karkaroff, quickly. I suppose if you squinted, there's a second pairing as well.
Rating: PG, at the very worst - for some imagery and implied oral.
Word Count: 1,610
Author's Notes: I know that I can write so much more with this particular topic, but real life demanded much more time than I had available. I am sincerely considering writing a longer version of this fic somewhere down the road. If I do write out such a story, floweringjudas, you will be the first to know. Anyway, I hope that you enjoy your fic. = D
Summary: And so they came once a generation. . . (= D Sounds very “Buffy the Vampire slayer” to me. Heh.)
-
Igor knew that a change was coming before the whispers of the Dark Lord's arrival had reached his ears. He knew from the shift in the wind and the shortening of the days, even though Winter had not yet fully set in. He knew from the stillness of the school's grounds and the uneasy quiet of the birds that refused to sing and the tiny insects that refused to fill the night air with the sound of their incessant buzzing.
He knew, with all certainty, that the students must have felt it, too. For it was as though a force none of them could name had settled over the castle and had taken all of the squeals of laughter and any inclination the students possessed to do what they were told not hostage. This unnamed presence had clearly stolen it all away when none of them were looking, or were too busy sleeping off the day's exhaustion. The presence slid along the school's corridors with an air of immediacy. It was the chill of doom and the fresh breath of hope all at once.
Igor knew that he should have expected as much long before the signs of the Dark Lord's approach made themselves known. After all, his school was famed for its curriculum in those circles of the Wizarding world that knew what was best for the coming generations; not to mention, possessed the ideal family bloodlines to associate one's self with.
It went without saying that these circles were populated by those of the purest ancestry, plain and simple. Anything less would have been a further insult to all of the distinguished wizards and witches that preceded the uncountable scores of Mudblood trash that spread throughout the Wizarding community with a speed that even Igor had never believed possible.
As he approached the southernmost window of the castle that looked out over the school's grounds, Igor pushed all of those thoughts away. The small inconveniences that the Mudbloods created, along with their distinctive stench of never-ending shame, would soon disappear. The one honorable wizard who would do what needed to be done to ensure the very survival of the wizarding bloodlines would see to it that all of the filth was washed away.
And Igor, for one, would do everything in his power to help him.
-
On the 24th of January, he came with a slither of his dark cloak and the astonishing the feat no one else had yet managed; he had found the Durmstrang Institute without so much as a hint from the castle's secret keeper. It was believed to be impossible, but for this one man, this one wizard, who was closer than any other to being the sole embodiment of true greatness, it was no more difficult than pouring a cup of hot, hot tea into one's favorite cup.
Based on this act alone, before the words of appeal and thoughtfully crafted demands were uttered, Igor realized that he had been right. He had been right to listen to the rumors of hope and vengeance that followed Nature's forewarning. He had been right to stand ready to offer his loyalty and anything else asked of him to the man sitting across from him looking as though he was preparing to take the entire world for his own.
If Igor had allowed himself to follow that path of thought, he would have realized then and there, in that moment, that he truly would have done anything to see the wizarding world cleansed of the mutating virus that ate away at the pride the community once held. Nevertheless, it hadn't taken him long to come to that same conclusion after that first night, that first meeting.
Even so, without that sure knowledge, he had accepted the Dark Mark upon his forearm on his knees before his new Master; moments before he had accepted the second part of his initiation with shaking hands that delved underneath the Dark Lord's robes to find all of the catches and buttons that held his trousers and shirt closed.
-
Igor knelt with his head down, but his mask firmly pressed over his face. He had been attending the meetings for several months now, and their numbers had grown significantly. He had taken it upon himself to see to it personally in the weeks following the Dark Lord's visit.
He had begun with the older students, those further along with their lessons and had long since mastered the most basic curses, jinxes, and hexes. He took those talented few and molded them, telling them everything they needed to know and showing them the spells that they would soon be casting for a celebrated cause anyone would be proud to be loyal to.
When he was certain that every one of them could cast any given number of spells without hesitation, Igor had arranged for intensive lessons to begin. He needed to witness their newly-honed skills in use to see if they were truly ready to move on to practicing alone, instead of in his presence during their evening sessions.
The first outings had been brief, mere trips into the closest Muggle villages that were some several hundred miles away. The distance never mattered, for Apparition would surely deliver them anywhere they needed to go.
Igor had been proud to see his best students strike down every Muggle within reach as their wont guided them. He had been especially pleased to note the lack of remorse when Chiana and Gabriel simultaneously cast the Cruciatus Curse on the same little girl whose body jerked violently in response. They did not raise their wands away from her until even the ends of her pigtails curled in on themselves to try and stave off the pain that surged through her insignificant body.
He had cast the Killing Curse himself upon her after he had moved closer to inspect their work. With a cavalier flick of his wrist, the devouring rush of green light had given them his approval.
When the small village had been cleared to Igor's liking, he had bid the students to Apparate back to the exterior of the school grounds and await his arrival. He shifted through the debris they had left behind as he allowed his mind to wander back to his own days as a student of the Durmstrang Institute.
-
Professor Jankowski had once taken him on a similar outing. He, too, had attended evening sessions limited to small groups of students that alternated the nights on which they met with the headmaster. But that particular night, it had been them alone, walking along the darkened road that led into out into the countryside. The very same that he currently stood amongst new rubble as several houses burned to the ground.
Igor had asked Professor Jankowski why they did not simply Apparate directly into the village and begin from there. The headmaster had frowned over at Igor in response to his impatience and told him that there were more ways to accomplish the goals he sought, than to barge blindly into a situation, heedless of the risks. Even in the low gloom of the night, Igor had been able to make out the reproach that not only colored the headmaster's voice, but his stark features as well.
A growing part of him had wanted to sink in on itself in shame and embarrassment. Here, he was being given the opportunity to learn the lessons that truly mattered from one of the greatest wizards of his time in private, and yet, he had not appreciated this special allowance that he was being granted.
Igor had fell silent then and walked in the shadow of the headmaster's footsteps, answering quietly only when asked a question and altering his course to match that of his instructor's. When they reached the outskirts of the village, Igor had been able to see the nightly bonfire shooting ash and flame into the still night sky as it consumed its varied pile of fuel. The headmaster had drawn his wand then, and Igor moved to do the same. Before he had even stepped foot into the perimeter of the village and the first body of the night fell, Igor knew that he would one day bring his own chosen few to this same village to introduce them to this right of passage.
As the Unforgivables' power and hatred flowed through him that night so long ago, he knew that he would never find anything as satisfying as that moment; that act of worldly purification. And so he had shared that same rush of wildly consuming euphoria with those that he knew would appreciate the privilege for what it was, and would one day return to Durmstrang to pass on the instinctive need to wipe out those that threatened the wizarding existence.
Igor smiled to himself at the thought. Although the headmaster of his day was now no more than a faint memory in the minds of himself, Antonin Dolohov, and his other contemporaries from those selected groups, the tradition lived on; just as he had intended for it to do so. Although Igor knew that the practice had not started with Professor Jankowski, he also knew that it would not end with his own students, his own sowed seeds for the future of the Dark Lord's army.
No, it would be a long time coming before Durmstrang Institute did not make their presence felt. Let the simpleminded villagers speak of cursed plagues and robed demons that came once every generation, but Igor knew the truth behind it all. And that knowledge alone made the future something worth anticipating.
-
The End