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Answering to the name Pitch Black, he found himself in the form of a pale-skinned man in a black robe. This form looked out at another pale-skinned man in a black robe.
Pitch usually took several minutes to remember how all the little facial muscles worked to convey emotions, but his sneer of contempt was immediate and instinctual. Mirroring never boded well. Usually it boded boring. Or, not usually. Always. At least when he showed up with horns and a tail, there was the potential for something interesting to happen.
“Do not show me such scorn, Pitch Black, Nightmare King,” said the man, “I have named you, summoned you, and bound you.”
Pitch glanced down at the circle of symbols surrounding him. From the smell, blood had been involved in their making somehow. And they were holding him to this form, but not because of the blood. It was just, well…they exploited an old psychic backdoor that his counterpart knew of, and had told to a human some centuries ago during one of their fights. Pitch had revealed the same knowledge about his counterpart himself, naturally. So, he should have remembered about the possibility of being trapped and not looked. Alas, this physical brain worked so differently from what he was used to. He would just have to make the best of this situation while it lasted.
He folded his arms. “Those aren’t good reasons for me to not show you scorn.”
“Your pride reflects your power, I am aware,” the man said.
“I doubt you understand my power or my pride,” Pitch said. He wondered when the other was going to take notice of his predicament and free him.
The man gave a superior little smile. “Oh, I think I do,” he said. “I am Lord Voldemort, and I have studied you more deeply than any other wizard who ever lived.”
And still, he hadn’t known that he didn’t need to use blood to make the symbols. So he wasn’t saying as much as he thought he was. And it wasn’t very interesting at all that he claimed to be a wizard. For one thing, any human could perform the summoning and binding if they knew the symbols, and for another, wizards weren’t very distinct from other mortals, anyway. It was far easier to pick out the talented musicians, for example, in a crowd of minds than it was to pick out the wizards.
“So what if you have?” Pitch asked, not bothering to keep the boredom from his voice. “It doesn’t seem a wise thing for a mortal to do, to summon me after learning so much about me.”
Voldemort sneered. It seemed like a technically accomplished sneer, but it wasn’t worth anything to Pitch and he didn’t react in any way. “I am not like other mortals,” Voldemort said.
“That’s what they all say,” Pitch said. Perhaps the other would get here faster if he fell asleep? The binding circle was big enough for this body to curl up in.
“But when I say it, it is true,” Voldemort said coldly, with no trace of irony.
Pitch gave him a skeptical little grimace. He needed to get out of this. Now that he had a head, this Voldemort was supplying it with an ache. “So why have you summoned me?” he asked, hoping to speed the business along.
“You survive on the fears of wizards and muggles,” Voldemort said. “Allow me to direct your powers, and you shall never want again. You will grow ever more powerful. You will be able to defeat the enemy that has kept you in check up till now.”
Pitch blinked at him slowly. Where had he gotten the idea that Pitch wanted for anything? Where had he gotten the idea that Pitch was being kept in check by some enemy? He and his counterpart—well, they didn’t always get along, but they didn’t keep each other in check, in any way. The only being keeping him in check right now was the one who had drawn the symbols around him, and Voldemort had no apparent awareness of this. Pitch gave him a sickly, insincere smile. “I would love to defeat the enemy that’s keeping me in check,” he said. “How do you propose this shall be done?”
Voldemort told him.
“No,” Pitch said flatly, as soon as Voldemort finally fell silent.
“No?” Voldemort narrowed his eyes. “Do not forget that you are bound.”
“I haven’t.” Pitch looked down at himself, then back up at Voldemort. “But this binding will only last as long as the mortal body you’ve imagined me into, and, well…you’ve imagined me into someone quite like yourself. Fragile.”
Rage flashed across Voldemort’s face. “You have nothing in that circle to help you destroy that body.”
“Are you a fool?” Pitch asked Voldemort quite seriously, staring directly into his eyes. “I can strangle myself in minutes with the clothes I’m wearing, and if you somehow manage to remove them without breaking the circle, I’ve still got a few other options, though they may be slower. After all, you don’t seem to have summoned me into the most sterile of rooms.”
Voldemort seethed. “Even if you escape, I’ll only summon and bind you again.”
“You can try that,” Pitch said. “But you’ll still have to do the whole ceremony. That will give me more than enough time to prepare for my next appearance in one of your circles. I’m sure you noticed in your studies that no one has been able to write about summoning me twice.”
“Why?” Voldemort spat out. “I’m offering you what you want! I’m offering you free reign over muggles and mudbloods and blood traitors, more direct influence in the world, a place of honor—”
“Shut up.” To the surprise of them both, Voldemort did. “Your studies failed you,” Pitch went on. “You offer me nothing I want. I care nothing for any honor you would claim to bestow on me. I do not want more direct influence in the world, and if I did, no mortal could help me take it. I already have free reign over mortals. What you offer me is death.” Pitch shook his head. “You are blind to my nature. Mortals fear death, but the dead do not fear. I want no death. I kill none. I may be present at the death of mortals, but mortals die only because it is their nature to die.”
“The fear of muggles and mudbloods will grow vast if you add your powers to my Death Eaters! The deaths they see—”
“You only reveal more ignorance of my being. A local spike in fear means little to me. I will hear nothing more from you, but you will hear this from me: I hate all death-bringers, and I hate being bound. I will not long remain in this binding, and you will never hold me again.” He stepped up to the edge of the circle. “And from this day forward, fear will be your enemy. You will destroy loyal servants out of fear that they are traitors; you will never be certain that you have found every traitor. Your fear will sow the seeds of your own destruction even as you desperately try to avoid it. You will be unable to resist building defenses and trying to strengthen yourself, but all these actions will only multiply your weaknesses.”
“You cannot know these things!” Voldemort protested. “You are no prophet!”
“No,” said Pitch. “I am fear. And I know that you fear death. You put that fear in your name for all to see. And all you are going to get out of summoning me today is a memory that fear itself looked you in the eyes and told you: All mortals must die.”
And then, before he could see Voldemort’s reaction, and before he could even start to scream from the pain of it, the other atomized his bound body and he was free again.
watchingwatching?WHOLETIME?
justenoughenough attention not to botherinterrupt, don’t like thatone either, darkscreamschills better with words, betterbetter to watch.
alltrue alltrue though.
yes.
yesyes.