It was midday when he saw the young man on the road. He peered closely at the looking-glass, nodded grimly, and cursed softly as he pushed the ginger-haired cat off of his white wool coat.

He Apparated outside and waited on the narrow mountain road, a shadowy, crooked mark against white stone. It did not take the man long to come around the bend.

The young man smiled as he looked at Aganin.

“Mereditai Enver Aganin,” he said pleasantly, offering his hand to the older man. Aganin ignored the proffered hand and gazed menacingly at the youth.

“Your attempts at Albanian are an insult to my language. If you must mutilate a tongue, let it be your own, Englishman.”

“My apologies, I had only meant to please,” the youth said as he stepped closer. He smiled, the sun lighting up his features.

Bloodshot eyes roamed over the dark and handsome figure. The solid stick-straight back, long nimble fingers, the self-assurance of power, and the dark gleam in the young man’s eyes… he felt it, and knew it to be true, that this man would be great. He saw, as the youth stood in the glory of the sun, that his was a life of promise, that his was the future.

Aganin felt his brittle bones crick and strain. His dry and papery skin was flecked with the signs of age. His joints creaked. The wind blew, chilling his temples and ruffling scant thin white hairs. His eyes did not move from the youth; he could not look away from all the future and possibilities this young one would behold. A part of his memory toiled to recall when he might have been peer to this strange new specimen. Years had erased those memories and all he could feel was his old frail body. He hated the younger man then.

“What do you want boy?”

The young man’s smile twitched slightly, much to Aganin’s secret delight.

“Nothing that should make you so nervous, Mr. Aganin.” The young man stopped smiling and looked seriously at the older man. “I came here to find a teacher.”

“This is not an academy, go back to your filth lovers. I do not teach presumptuous brats.”

“I am no presumptuous brat.” His face twisted, and Aganin was satisfied to see an ugly look spread across the young man’s handsome features. However, the satisfaction was short-lived. The man’s face became calm once more. “I have come here under the suggestions of a close acquaintance of yours— a Mr. Theodosius Thompsett.”

“He’s an idiot, and you must be a greater ass if he thinks highly of you.”

“At least he does not cower in exile, as the filth lovers taint the great traditions that were bestowed upon us by our glorious ancestors. At least, he has not resigned himself to the world for the last thirty-years in a self-imposed exile. He did not accept the defeat of of the great general Xhumalii as the end of the world. He does not hide in his home ignoring those who would fight to achieve the master’s great dreams. You, the great librarian of the Illyrians, you who Xhumal called ‘the most learned of our brethren,’ have allowed the filth lovers to win.”

“You’ve overstepped your limits boy! Who do you think you are?”

“I am Voldemort.”

“Is that supposed to impress me?” The old man sneered. He pointed his wand menacingly at the youth. “What a ridiculous generation is being born, little brats still swaddled in their mothers blankets—” the youth twitched at this— “pretending to be important. Now tell me, dear Lord Voldemort, whatever should you want an enabler of the desecration of wizard kind?”

“I am not the enemy to the true ones. You are. You hide away not only yourself but the previous of history of magic from the families of the Yagas, Malis, and Medeasiii. You bolt away your ancestor’s knowledge as the filth lovers erase the ancient magic. You said so yourself once; ‘The great traditions of the past have become the black arts and dark magic, things forbidden by cowering fools whose blood is as filthy as a used piss potiv. We, the true heirs of magic, have become the slaves of weaklings and fool—’ you look upset Mister Aganin; perhaps you have forgotten your speech. ”

“Save me from the shit I expelled in my youth! I have had enough time to vomit those words up for the past thirty years. They had come to me in nightmares, even before you were born.” He glared. “Do you know of how I scavenged the country side. I kept those backward mongrels away from the hallowed arts. I fought even when dear France and Britain threatened the parliaments of the Balkans to accept those little half-shits into the schools of the true; they encouraged us to mingle our blood with shit-faced bitches and to allow our daughters to be raped by mongrels. I fought believing in the greatness of my fellow brethren, now they welcome the shit-faced bitches into their babies. They give birth to half-freaks.”

“What the Prime Minister did was a shame, an outrage to all wizard kind. We true British wizards sympathized with your plight. The true bloods of England had looked at the Balkans as the ideal. We had trusted our children to its education knowing that they would not be tainted. But the filth-lovers destroyed it. They forced upon this holy place their own perverse morality.” He paused for a moment and stared intently into the older man’s eyes. “I know how much you have done for the cause. I know how much you fought. I know that there isn’t a single inch of this mountain that has not been covered in blood from your efforts.”

“Are you accusing me of murder boy? The council tried that once before. If you were so suicidal, boy, you had merely to tell me in the first place. I can assure you though, no matter how hard they try, the Council will never find your body; your death will be completely in vain.”

“I am not a trap set by your enemies. I am Lord Voldemort, last of the descendants of Slytherin. I am the foreseen heir. I am here to fulfill Xhumal’s promise at Valbuenav, and to redeem the failure of Grindelwald.”

Enver’s eyes shot up.

“Idiot, do not speak of that here! Come with me.” He led the youth off the road, through the twisting undergrowth of the slanting mountain side, and then finally through a narrow crack.

“I can Apparate,” the young man said crisply.

“Yes, any brat can Apparate. Don’t you think I know that? If you think you are so clever, Apparate into my house. It took seven years to clean out the last fools that tried.”

“If it is under protection, how could you Apparate out?”

Enver’s eyes twitched upward from the youth’s remark. The youth was powerful to have been able to detect Aganin Apparating unto the mountain.

“It is my house, and I its owner. It will not refuse its master.”

Aganin watched the small smile form on the youth’s lips. As they stepped through the crack and entered the dilapidated stone court yard of the dark house, the damn cat hissed in fear before running to hide in one of the cracks in the stone.

They walked silently into the main hall that was more like a series of tunnels into the white cliff side of the mountain than any house meant to comfort man. The long hall walls of jagged white stone contrasted with the finely laid wooden floor and carpets of red, green, brown, black and gold. Here and there gaunt portraits frowned from behind aged panes of glass. Arrogance hung like a thick smoke choking the air. Aganin led the way into a room made tiny by a giant stuffed two-headed eagle whose wings and beak still hung out open in a silenced scream of rage. Behind the eagle, above the furnace, a vibrant gold tapestry depicted two golden eyed felines watching the scene fold carefully. The embroidery had been one of the few useful things his wife had ever left him.

He sat on a crooked chair and motioned the youth to the old coach. They sat across from each other, only a few feet apart, separated by a dark stump of wood that passed for a table. Aganin scratched his head, the fireplace came to life and spread a dark orange glow across the occupants of the room. Aganin had no doubt that he looked like death itself just then. Staring at the youth he was annoyed to find the man’s ethereal beauty had turned ghastly grim in the amber light. He was a specter to behold in horror. This was a man to be feared.

“What is your proof, boy? Slytherin was an ancient and respected line. I knew Malvolio; consider it a compliment when I say you look nothing like him.” Voldemort’s mouth twitched as if ready to ask a question, but then the lips were still. No words came from the youth. Instead, he withdrew a dagger and a scroll from his robes. He laid out the blank but ancient scroll bound with the seal of Slytherin and then brought the dagger to his right palm. With a swift movement blood dripped through the spaces between his fingers. As it hit the ancient parchment the blood came alive and slithered across in tight lines forming ancient characters that glowed ominously red in the firelight.

Aganin’s eye twitched as he observed the writing. It was Germanic, annoyingly enough. Still he could understand the words and signs.

This is the blood of my heir. This is the blood of a son of Slytherin.

Suddenly the blood congealed together forming a serpent that reared its head off the paper and hissed at Aganin before falling backwards and disappearing into the scroll. The youth wiped his blade, the blood from his hand instantly stopping as if on command. The dagger disappeared and the youth smirked.

A sneer formed on the old man’s lips. “Don’t get so cocky boy, it has been over a thousand years since the death of Slytherin. You maybe a relation of his, but it does not mean you possess any of his talent.”

“See for yourself Mister Aganin.” The youth pulled out a dark wooden wand and pointed it at the older man. Aganin stiffened grabbing his own bone inlaid wand before a dark ray of light burst from the wooden tip and shot past his ear.

“Boy that will be the last spe—” his mouth hung open as a spider the size of his hand came across the room flipping backwards unnaturally. Its legs bent over and under breaking at the fragile joints, and the youth smiled like a tiny conductor issuing forth a bizarre and silent melody of pain.

“Imperius.” Aganin said in approval.

“It is not the only forbidden spell I know, I know the killing curse,” Voldemort whispered excitedly.

“Death? Do you think death is the worse thing there is?”

“What else could be greater?” Serpent like eyes smiled up at him, stirring with some strange hidden glee.

“Don, Don Cappa Don!” the old man bellowed rising to his feet. With a sudden snap sound an old gnarled house-elf appeared in the room. He motioned the house-elf to sit between the two men. A sudden look of horror and understanding shone upon its face. The thing began to sob uncontrollable. “Watch boy!” Aganin bit out before lowering his wand upon the sniveling form. “Crucio!”

A loud scream filled the air as the house-elf writhed and bawled upon the ground, blood flowing from its mouth where it had bit its tongue. Aganin smirked to see the look of awe and wonder on the youths face. It was as if he had given the boy a Christmas present.

“Pain, suffering, torment beyond what any normal mind could bear . . . this is the gift of the Cruciatus curse. Voldemort lay your knife upon my table.” He boomed over the suffering creature. Eagerly the youth laid out his dagger. He lifted up his wand breaking the torture curse. “Watch carefully now, boy.”

The elf raised its dark and maddened eyes to the laughing humans in front of him. Within seconds, he had grabbed the blade from the table and hurled himself at his master.

“Impedimenta!” his master roared sending the elf slamming backwards against the wall— effectively knocking it out.

“That is impossible; house elves can never harm their human masters.”

“There is no such thing as the impossible. All notions of morality, all expectations and natural behaviors, and all thoughts of sanity are destroyed by the hands of agony and despair. With the proper application, Crucio can destroy the very makings of humanity. ” Old lips curled back into a cheerless smile.

“Teach me!” The youth whispered excitedly. Aganin stared at the man. This strange boy, so full of promise, would curl his fists around the world. He could feel it. Perhaps the youth’s foolishness had rubbed off on him, or the strange promise this boy held had intoxicated his once clear mind . . . whatever the reason, he turned his head to Voldemort and nodded.

The boy would have another teacher.

ii Xhumal (a non-canon character) is something of a predecessor of Grindelwald (a canon character mentioned in the cards). He lead a brief uprising affecting the Balkans and other large blocks of eastern Europe during the first World War. If it’s not clear several eastern nations were forced to accept Muggle-Born wizards into their schools and accept them as citizens who have the right to vote on Wizarding affairs. Old families openly rebelled and vicious attacks on Muggles sprung throughout these nations. The Governments refused to protect the Muggle borne. This forced Britain, France and other more enlightened nations to take drastic actions. A brief but bloody war followed.

iii These names were taken from folklore and mythology. Baba Yaga, is a Russian and Slavic mythological figure known for living in a walking house and having an appetite for children. Malit is both a location in Albania and a folktale figure that dominated one of my mother’s darker fables. Medea is the wife of Jason, Greek myth. After being abandoned by Jason, she poisoned his second wife and slaughtered her and Jason’s children.

iv Piss pot – is a chamber pot. Before there were toilets people relieved themselves in these. Aganin is in his late nineties so he’s more used to chamber pots than toilets.

v A city in Albania