Voldemort: Selected Speeches (G)
Title: Two Memories
Author: spessartine
Rating: G
Written for omniocular's Non-Fiction challenge: #16 Voldemort: Selected Speeches.
Item 11099344A (a)
1 (one) recorded memory taken from the mind of condemned prisoner 88758 on March 24th 1980, two days prior to the administration of the kiss.
The following is a transcript of the memory as viewed via pensieve by two officers from the department of magical law enforcement and myself (in the capacity of independent observer) on the 2nd April 1980. No tampering is evident since procuring the memory, however prolonged exposure to dementors, the mental state of the prisoner, and the proximity of two dementors as the memory was extracted despite my express wishes did, in my view, contribute to the confused and sometimes unintelligible nature of the memory. Further information on the circumstances of harvesting can be found in my report numbered A3992 (b), a copy of which has been included with this transcript.
Emphasis is shown in italics.
TRANSCRIPT BEGINS
Memory shows a dark room, two windows: one boarded up, the other cracked but intact, a high ceiling and panelling on the walls which dates the interior of the house to the late 1800s. The walls are dark and display mildewed paintings, both deserted by their subjects. Two leather couches have been pushed to opposite side of the room, and on one a man in his thirties is seated. He is dark haired and looks at ease, though anxious that the dust on the sofa does not mar his immaculate robes. He says nothing for the duration of the memory, but we can be reasonably sure that he is Rodolphus Lestrange (see file L56). The only other occupant of the room is prisoner 88758. He is pacing agitatedly and glancing every now and again towards the tall wooden door which stands just ajar at the far side of the room. Light spills from the gap and from the shadows which pass in front of the light source, we can estimate than within the room there are four people. Three have been identified as Bellatrix Lestrange (file L57), Marcellus Mulciber (file M20a- i) and He Who Shall Not be Named (hereafter referred to as Voldemort for the purposes of clarity). The fourth occupant has yet to be identified.
The subject takes little notice of the voices emanating from the room, but they are quite audible. There appears to be some disagreement between Lestrange and Mulciber: they bicker across one another for some minutes before falling silent, presumably at some gesture from Voldemort. After a long silence he speaks.
VOLDEMORT: You are mistaken, Bellatrix. [long pause] They see it only as a sigil, a sign of violence. They look up into the sky and fear - they are incapable of seeing the true meaning of any symbol: their lives are rife with metaphor and they have lost the truth of their sight. [a pause, a quiet tapping] So when I ask you to cast my mark into the sky I am not asking you merely to alert these animals to my presence. I am infiltrating their consciousness. I am insinuating myself into their very reality - I am to them because of that mark, that brand into their existence. It is not merely a sign of your devotion. [quiet chuckle] I can see that for myself without any need for heraldry.
[Here there is a snort, and Lestrange begins to hiss an insult. Outside Rodolphus Lestrange laughs and catches the eye of prisoner 88758. We can surmise that at this point Voldemort stands and moves to the far side of the room to the door. Mulciber, perhaps in a show of bravado, takes the seat he has vacated.]
VOLDEMORT: So let me say again, I will not tolerate the misuse of the mark. Not from any one of you. The word itself, morsmordre, that word must be your god just as I must be your god. Whisper it to yourself as you fall asleep, whisper it as your devotion, your prayer, your invocation, your incantation. What none of you realise is that its power rivals mine. More: its power is where I draw my own from. The power of words, Lestrange, is more than the power of the wand or the fist. These are mere urges toward greatness compared with the power of language, of words and of symbols. Realise this and you will begin to grasp what it is to have true power.
[Long moment of silence. When Voldemort speaks again his voice is lowered dramatically.]
There are places, do you know, where the people believe the universe itself is the product of the speech of some god. Some believe even that it is itself an utterance. Let god speak the word of life, they say. Let him speak the rain. [Voldemort moves into view, shaking his head.] This is what you all fail to grasp. If this moment, now; this life that you all cling so desperately to is a word - called like any other into the darkness, there must be other words. A word means nothing unless everything else is also named. And what am I? The speaker? [a long pause. The others in the room remain silent, Lestrange letting a slow smile cloud her face. Four seconds of a woman crying in front of a bay window are superimposed over the image of the room.]
No. Even my own ascendancy has not progressed so far as yet. Some other word perhaps? But you are all words yourselves; dull, clumsy conglomerates of sound falling half-shaped from the lips of an infant. Am I perhaps some other language - some other mode of thought? These muggles, they stamp out their own languages, one by one. And each of these has words untranslatable into any other; concepts lost with the silencing of their thought. Languages corrupt one another just as disturbed water settles to a level mirror, so languages blend and will form one grey uniformity of thought - one uninspired lexicon.
But I am different. I am the indrawn breath, the moment of light. I am the silence between words. They dare not speak my name.
[Prisoner 88758 looks up at the door. There is silence from within. Through the crack Mulciber’s face is half visible. He is nodding, smiling slightly. At this point the memory becomes once more subject to what I might term interference. Fourteen seconds of what appears to be the prisoner being debriefed after a mission - perhaps interrogated would be a better term - by an unknown man supersede the memory in question. When it is restored, a loud humming sound blocks all noise. Rodolphus Lestrange is pointing towards the door at the far side of the room. The prisoner is shaking. Memory ends.]
END OF TRANSCRIPT
**
Item 77566B3A (c)
1 (one) recorded memory taken from the mind of Severus Snape, February 13th, 1987.
The following is a transcript of a memory verified in accordance with statute 6H of the 1985 Impunity Act (for Death Eaters supplying certifiable evidence against Voldemort or his followers). It was observed on two subsequent occasions when certain doubts were cast on its veracity in relation to those followers of Voldemort’s shown as being present. However, on neither occasion were any inconsistencies supported.
This transcript has been abridged. The original gave incredibly detailed reports of the scenery, behaviour of others present, and actions of Voldemort as he spoke. This has cut back to provide a more streamlined and focussed account of Voldemort’s appearance at the Malfoy Manor, June 29th, 1979, after reported disturbances among his ranks reached our sources.
Emphasis is shown in italics.
TRANSCRIPT BEGINS
Memory shows the large, sunlit entry hall of Malfoy Manor, consistant with floor plans, photographs and blueprints taken from the later raid on the premises. Doors lead through into the grand salon, where an estimated gathering of forty (40) people are present. The subject, Severus Snape, then aged 21, lingers in the hallway with Narcissa Malfoy (see file M07). He is conversing in urgent hushed tones with her, and has his right hand wrapped around the top of her left arm. This conversation is of little relevance and has been omitted here. A transcript of it can be found in appendix 6c of this file.
Soon afterwards Snape turns on his heel and makes his way into the salon. A full list of those present can be found in appendix 2. He settles himself at the back of the room and does not interact with any of those present, save to offer a few of them slow nods of greeting. He appears tense and aloof. At approximately 2.56pm Lucius Malfoy (file M06) sits himself next to Snape. They do not speak nor look at each other for the duration of the memory.
At the far side of the room, Voldemort gets to his feet.
VOLDEMORT: I know that some of you are restless; hungry for more, for decisive action. Some of you tire of hiding your faces behind masks; some of you, I am sure, think it a mistake to do so. Why hide our faces when we act only for greater good? You ask yourselves. Why hide our own nobility like scared children? There is only so much that can be done in anonymity, I grant you. But what you have forgotten is that you do not act anonymously: you act as one, as a single entity gaining notoriety in the moments of showmanship it adopts. The masks I ask you to wear do not remove anything, they enable you to become more than mere men striving towards a common, noble goal. They let you become agents of a divine will: not the petty god of muggles with his stone churches and his morsels of bread, but the glory that is wizard-kind.
Donning your masks you become not your self, but wizard. It is the only identity you need: it is sufficient reason, sufficient might, to support any action you might choose to take. And you act as one. Just as a great river is formed of many tributaries, countless millions of atoms acting individually while swelling the strength of the torrent, so you too will show the strength of wizards to these muggles.
And it is not the bright flashes of power that die so quickly among their kind, but the inevitable rise, the calm, comprehensive power of water, of the sea. Just as a flood plain is nourished each year, so too will our world be after its cleansing. Always remember, these people we fight against, these people with their spreading, nearly unstoppable influence - they do not see you as people. That is the great irony, my friends, they see you as animals!
Such displays of dominance, they say, are barbaric - they have no place in civilised society. But let them remember their own subjugation of lesser races; let them look to their own homes and witness there the barbarism of conquest: they have not the might to flow together as one and must stoop to the slow seep of the stagnant pool - the creeping infiltration of stagnant waters.
Theirs is a failing race: breeding itself into a corner of cultural destitution and stupidity; prizing above all else the bovine conformity of its vacant workers. They do not safeguard and nurture what little chance they might have to rise above their drudgery, instead stamping out and victimising the spark that might once have been the beginnings of magic. They fear what they do not understand, and they have long since bred out the capacity to comprehend us. Instead they deny us. They fear to look upon the truth of our existence and turn their heads from the illumination we might grant them.
And so we will deny them the right to look upon us in our unmasked glory. We will deny them that moment of revelation until the last second, and then, my friends, then we will show them what true power can be.
[Voldemort finishes speaking and stands slightly breathless at the centre of the room. Snape licks his lips nervously and looks down at the floor. Memory ends.]
END TRANSCRIPT.
Author: spessartine
Rating: G
Written for omniocular's Non-Fiction challenge: #16 Voldemort: Selected Speeches.
Item 11099344A (a)
1 (one) recorded memory taken from the mind of condemned prisoner 88758 on March 24th 1980, two days prior to the administration of the kiss.
The following is a transcript of the memory as viewed via pensieve by two officers from the department of magical law enforcement and myself (in the capacity of independent observer) on the 2nd April 1980. No tampering is evident since procuring the memory, however prolonged exposure to dementors, the mental state of the prisoner, and the proximity of two dementors as the memory was extracted despite my express wishes did, in my view, contribute to the confused and sometimes unintelligible nature of the memory. Further information on the circumstances of harvesting can be found in my report numbered A3992 (b), a copy of which has been included with this transcript.
Emphasis is shown in italics.
TRANSCRIPT BEGINS
Memory shows a dark room, two windows: one boarded up, the other cracked but intact, a high ceiling and panelling on the walls which dates the interior of the house to the late 1800s. The walls are dark and display mildewed paintings, both deserted by their subjects. Two leather couches have been pushed to opposite side of the room, and on one a man in his thirties is seated. He is dark haired and looks at ease, though anxious that the dust on the sofa does not mar his immaculate robes. He says nothing for the duration of the memory, but we can be reasonably sure that he is Rodolphus Lestrange (see file L56). The only other occupant of the room is prisoner 88758. He is pacing agitatedly and glancing every now and again towards the tall wooden door which stands just ajar at the far side of the room. Light spills from the gap and from the shadows which pass in front of the light source, we can estimate than within the room there are four people. Three have been identified as Bellatrix Lestrange (file L57), Marcellus Mulciber (file M20a- i) and He Who Shall Not be Named (hereafter referred to as Voldemort for the purposes of clarity). The fourth occupant has yet to be identified.
The subject takes little notice of the voices emanating from the room, but they are quite audible. There appears to be some disagreement between Lestrange and Mulciber: they bicker across one another for some minutes before falling silent, presumably at some gesture from Voldemort. After a long silence he speaks.
VOLDEMORT: You are mistaken, Bellatrix. [long pause] They see it only as a sigil, a sign of violence. They look up into the sky and fear - they are incapable of seeing the true meaning of any symbol: their lives are rife with metaphor and they have lost the truth of their sight. [a pause, a quiet tapping] So when I ask you to cast my mark into the sky I am not asking you merely to alert these animals to my presence. I am infiltrating their consciousness. I am insinuating myself into their very reality - I am to them because of that mark, that brand into their existence. It is not merely a sign of your devotion. [quiet chuckle] I can see that for myself without any need for heraldry.
[Here there is a snort, and Lestrange begins to hiss an insult. Outside Rodolphus Lestrange laughs and catches the eye of prisoner 88758. We can surmise that at this point Voldemort stands and moves to the far side of the room to the door. Mulciber, perhaps in a show of bravado, takes the seat he has vacated.]
VOLDEMORT: So let me say again, I will not tolerate the misuse of the mark. Not from any one of you. The word itself, morsmordre, that word must be your god just as I must be your god. Whisper it to yourself as you fall asleep, whisper it as your devotion, your prayer, your invocation, your incantation. What none of you realise is that its power rivals mine. More: its power is where I draw my own from. The power of words, Lestrange, is more than the power of the wand or the fist. These are mere urges toward greatness compared with the power of language, of words and of symbols. Realise this and you will begin to grasp what it is to have true power.
[Long moment of silence. When Voldemort speaks again his voice is lowered dramatically.]
There are places, do you know, where the people believe the universe itself is the product of the speech of some god. Some believe even that it is itself an utterance. Let god speak the word of life, they say. Let him speak the rain. [Voldemort moves into view, shaking his head.] This is what you all fail to grasp. If this moment, now; this life that you all cling so desperately to is a word - called like any other into the darkness, there must be other words. A word means nothing unless everything else is also named. And what am I? The speaker? [a long pause. The others in the room remain silent, Lestrange letting a slow smile cloud her face. Four seconds of a woman crying in front of a bay window are superimposed over the image of the room.]
No. Even my own ascendancy has not progressed so far as yet. Some other word perhaps? But you are all words yourselves; dull, clumsy conglomerates of sound falling half-shaped from the lips of an infant. Am I perhaps some other language - some other mode of thought? These muggles, they stamp out their own languages, one by one. And each of these has words untranslatable into any other; concepts lost with the silencing of their thought. Languages corrupt one another just as disturbed water settles to a level mirror, so languages blend and will form one grey uniformity of thought - one uninspired lexicon.
But I am different. I am the indrawn breath, the moment of light. I am the silence between words. They dare not speak my name.
[Prisoner 88758 looks up at the door. There is silence from within. Through the crack Mulciber’s face is half visible. He is nodding, smiling slightly. At this point the memory becomes once more subject to what I might term interference. Fourteen seconds of what appears to be the prisoner being debriefed after a mission - perhaps interrogated would be a better term - by an unknown man supersede the memory in question. When it is restored, a loud humming sound blocks all noise. Rodolphus Lestrange is pointing towards the door at the far side of the room. The prisoner is shaking. Memory ends.]
END OF TRANSCRIPT
**
Item 77566B3A (c)
1 (one) recorded memory taken from the mind of Severus Snape, February 13th, 1987.
The following is a transcript of a memory verified in accordance with statute 6H of the 1985 Impunity Act (for Death Eaters supplying certifiable evidence against Voldemort or his followers). It was observed on two subsequent occasions when certain doubts were cast on its veracity in relation to those followers of Voldemort’s shown as being present. However, on neither occasion were any inconsistencies supported.
This transcript has been abridged. The original gave incredibly detailed reports of the scenery, behaviour of others present, and actions of Voldemort as he spoke. This has cut back to provide a more streamlined and focussed account of Voldemort’s appearance at the Malfoy Manor, June 29th, 1979, after reported disturbances among his ranks reached our sources.
Emphasis is shown in italics.
TRANSCRIPT BEGINS
Memory shows the large, sunlit entry hall of Malfoy Manor, consistant with floor plans, photographs and blueprints taken from the later raid on the premises. Doors lead through into the grand salon, where an estimated gathering of forty (40) people are present. The subject, Severus Snape, then aged 21, lingers in the hallway with Narcissa Malfoy (see file M07). He is conversing in urgent hushed tones with her, and has his right hand wrapped around the top of her left arm. This conversation is of little relevance and has been omitted here. A transcript of it can be found in appendix 6c of this file.
Soon afterwards Snape turns on his heel and makes his way into the salon. A full list of those present can be found in appendix 2. He settles himself at the back of the room and does not interact with any of those present, save to offer a few of them slow nods of greeting. He appears tense and aloof. At approximately 2.56pm Lucius Malfoy (file M06) sits himself next to Snape. They do not speak nor look at each other for the duration of the memory.
At the far side of the room, Voldemort gets to his feet.
VOLDEMORT: I know that some of you are restless; hungry for more, for decisive action. Some of you tire of hiding your faces behind masks; some of you, I am sure, think it a mistake to do so. Why hide our faces when we act only for greater good? You ask yourselves. Why hide our own nobility like scared children? There is only so much that can be done in anonymity, I grant you. But what you have forgotten is that you do not act anonymously: you act as one, as a single entity gaining notoriety in the moments of showmanship it adopts. The masks I ask you to wear do not remove anything, they enable you to become more than mere men striving towards a common, noble goal. They let you become agents of a divine will: not the petty god of muggles with his stone churches and his morsels of bread, but the glory that is wizard-kind.
Donning your masks you become not your self, but wizard. It is the only identity you need: it is sufficient reason, sufficient might, to support any action you might choose to take. And you act as one. Just as a great river is formed of many tributaries, countless millions of atoms acting individually while swelling the strength of the torrent, so you too will show the strength of wizards to these muggles.
And it is not the bright flashes of power that die so quickly among their kind, but the inevitable rise, the calm, comprehensive power of water, of the sea. Just as a flood plain is nourished each year, so too will our world be after its cleansing. Always remember, these people we fight against, these people with their spreading, nearly unstoppable influence - they do not see you as people. That is the great irony, my friends, they see you as animals!
Such displays of dominance, they say, are barbaric - they have no place in civilised society. But let them remember their own subjugation of lesser races; let them look to their own homes and witness there the barbarism of conquest: they have not the might to flow together as one and must stoop to the slow seep of the stagnant pool - the creeping infiltration of stagnant waters.
Theirs is a failing race: breeding itself into a corner of cultural destitution and stupidity; prizing above all else the bovine conformity of its vacant workers. They do not safeguard and nurture what little chance they might have to rise above their drudgery, instead stamping out and victimising the spark that might once have been the beginnings of magic. They fear what they do not understand, and they have long since bred out the capacity to comprehend us. Instead they deny us. They fear to look upon the truth of our existence and turn their heads from the illumination we might grant them.
And so we will deny them the right to look upon us in our unmasked glory. We will deny them that moment of revelation until the last second, and then, my friends, then we will show them what true power can be.
[Voldemort finishes speaking and stands slightly breathless at the centre of the room. Snape licks his lips nervously and looks down at the floor. Memory ends.]
END TRANSCRIPT.