Magically Musing Dexter

Lord Voldemort awoke to find himself immobilized, strapped down to a table by what appeared to be several layers of some sort of plastic film. This was not a position in which the Dark Lord was used to finding himself. The limited movement his head was afforded allowed Voldemort to see the rest of the room was covered in plastic, and several photographs were put up around him. He recognized a few of the subjects: James and Lily Potter, Regulus Black, the Riddles; the number of photos was overwhelming.

Moments later, a face appeared in his field of vision. "Oh, good, you're awake." An American accent, and a face Voldemort did not recognize.

"What is the meaning of this!" the Dark Lord railed, as he began to struggle against his bindings. "Do you have any idea of just who I am? Any idea of how foolish you are being? These bindings will not hold me for long, and once I have my wand in my hand…"

"Oh, you mean this?" Dexter interrupted, holding up Voldemort's wand… well, the two pieces of Voldemort's want. He had snapped it in half.

"HOW DARE YOU!" the Dark Lord bellowed.

"Tsk tsk tsk. Now now, there's no use getting so worked up. What's done is done, and now, you're done." Dexter gestured to the pictures hanging all around. "You've been very, very busy. So much killing. So many deaths. I understand you're considered the most feared man in all of magical Britain."

Some things that the man were saying didn't sit well with Voldemort. He looked again at the pictures. "You fool. I did not kill all of these people. I certainly did not kill the Black boy. Some of them I have never even seen."

Dexter grinned down at the prone form. "You're right about that. No, you didn't personally kill all of these people. However, they all died as a direct result of your actions, or your orders. Believe me, I did a lot of research on you. I had to make sure you were really worth the trip over here. It was a long flight from Florida."

This last statement clicked something else into place for the Dark Lord. "Flight? Magical Britain? Surely you do not expect me to believe that you are a muggle!"

"Muggle, yes, your term for non-magical people." Dexter paused for a moment to cut Voldemort's cheek with a scalpel. He took some blood in a dropper, and then transferred it to a glass slide. "You are correct, o dark lord. I am, as you say, a muggle. I bet you never thought this is how it would end; strapped down to a table at the mercy of someone who can't even use magic." Dexter adjusted his gloves, taking one more look around to make sure everything was in place. "Yet, here we are. Now, I know how you villain types like to go on and on, but I really don't want to spend all night on this. I'd like to be able to enjoy at least some of my vacation. So, do yourself a favor, and keep your last words brief."

"How DARE you!" Voldemort was incensed that a lowly muggle would dare treat him in such a manor. "You will be the one in need of favours once I am loose, but you will find me rather short on any to grant."

Dexter chuckled down at the hideous man. "If you're thinking of trying any of that wandless magic, the money I paid to those goblins ensured that the enchantments on my plastic wrap would negate your magic tricks."

Voldemort was taken aback. He paused a moment and probed within himself. Yes, he could feel that his magic was being suppressed. Something the Dark Lord was quite unfamiliar with tickled the back of his mind; the early stirrings of fear.

"Foolish muggle. Even if you do manage to kill me, you fail to understand the futility of your actions. You will only be marking yourself for death."

That easy grin reappeared on Dexter's face. "You must not have heard me when I said I did a lot of research on you. It wasn't cheap, but I'd say it was well worth it. I'm aware of your soul anchors; your horcruxes, which bind your soul to this plane. I'm also aware of exactly what you did to create each one. Just more senseless killings. No, those won't be much of a worry either. Again, those crafty goblins. They assure me that the runes they've inscribed on this knife," Dexter held it up for Voldemort to see; a large hunting knife, "will connect to each of your soul pieces, and destroy them all, so long as I manage to pierce your heart. Oh, don't worry about that. I have a lot of practice at this."

The fear grew within Voldemort. "No matter what you do to me, my Death Eaters will never stop until…"

Dexter actually laughed aloud at this, interrupting the Dark Lord once again. "I wouldn't worry much about them either. Again, research. I also know what each of them had to do to take your "Dark Mark." Each and every one of your followers is responsible for at least one murder, for certain. Another pile of gold pushed towards the goblins, and they threw in one extra feature. When you die, the magical discharge that will destroy all of your horcruxes will also travel through the Dark Mark of each of your followers. Down to the last one, they will die a quick, but very painful, death. This really is the end, Tom Riddle."

Using that name was mere salt in the wounds at this point. Voldemort had been trying in vain throughout the entire conversation to tap into his magical core, but he was still unable. The goblins had been thorough with their enchantments. He had little reason to doubt they had been equally thorough when it came to the knife.

Death. The one thing Lord Voldemort feared more than anything else in the world. He had done so many things to circumvent death. The rituals he had performed, and the lives he had ended, all so he could go on, with no fear of ever dying. Even now, with it staring him right in his red, serpentine eyes, the Dark Lord could not accept that this could be the end.


Dexter brought the knife down in one smooth motion, piercing the heart of the most feared man in all of magical Britain. The Dark Lord let out a last gasp of breath, then fell still. Dexter felt an almost electrical pulse pass through the air.

Elsewhere, several items suddenly crumbled into dust. A young wizard fell to his knees, grasping at the lightning bolt scar on his forehead; the pain was intense, but only lasted moments.

All over Britain, several prominent pureblood members of the magical community screamed in pain, before falling over dead, a look of absolute horror on their faces.

Meanwhile, back in the Shrieking Shack, Dexter began the dismemberment of the Dark Lord Voldemort. He couldn't think of any of his previous subjects who had better fit Harry's Code.