{Somewhere in Albania}
{12th July 1992}
{Tom's POV}
Cold.
It was all he had felt in the last 18 years, always this unbearable, everlasting cold. This feeling has now seeped into the fragile scales of my new skin. The chilling feeling has now permeated through the bones, yet somehow it helped me focus. Focusing now has become harder than ever, as I'm stuck in this cursed, thin water snake. My new body was little more than a sliver of flesh and scales, the vessel that shelters the greatest wizard of all time. Lord Voldemort.
Time has become meaningless as the forced hibernation, the need of this new flesh, has dulled my senses, drawing thick cobwebs of confusion across my mind. My spirit recoils at the indignity, even now. How far I have fallen, hiding in mud and silt, shivering in the shadows, forced into this pitiable existence by the wizarding world's greatest fool, Albus Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.
My thoughts turn dark as memories slowly crystallize through the haze. It had taken all my remaining strength to escape from Hogwarts after the attempt to get the Philosopher's Stone and a new body failed. Quirrell's pathetic body crumbled when I tried to possess the Potter boy to mess with Dumbledore, but it ended with me exposed and desperate. The magic that surrounds the boy is raw and ancient, and my broken soul could not survive that impact easily. And then Dumbledore, relentless as always, had chased me across the continent, sensing my usage of dark magic like a hound.
In desperation, I was forced into possessing different animals, from rats to birds to insects, each leap leaving behind a traceable thread of corrupted magic and broken corpses. Dumbledore had nearly caught up to me countless times. Forced into one final gambit, I inhabited this weak serpent, plunging deep beneath the riverbed mud and into hibernation. The gamble had paid off, but at what cost.
'How long have I slept? Months? Years?' I thought.
At last, as summer's warmth begins filtering through the riverbed, stirring me awake. My mind slowly sharpened, returning to clarity even as my borrowed body shudders toward the warmth. The sensations were weak, but even still, any hint of warmth was immediately noticeable. Strength, faint but growing, flooded my new body, but my consciousness still felt weak, an aftereffect of no doubt the repeated failed possession attempts. Still, my control tightens upon the snake's sinewy muscles, guiding it upward away from the cold bed where I had spent countless hours. Slowly, I push through layers of mud and silt, ascending through dark, murky waters toward the surface.
Finally, my slender head breaches the surface, drawing the first gasp of cold air in what felt like an eternity. The warmth of the setting sun was exhilarating. Carefully, I swim to shore, every movement of the snake's frail body an agonizing reminder of how little power I currently possess. But I am Lord Voldemort, the immortal, the conqueror of death itself. And this humiliation will not stand for long.
As I slide into the darkness of the forest, phantom pain erupts within me, a burning scar upon my fractured soul. Memories surge unbidden, recalling vividly the agony inflicted upon me by the Potter boy. The sheer impossibility of that child, that insufferable infant who has twice thwarted me, first by surviving the killing curse, then by defying me again as I sought to inflict misery on the world.
My thoughts churn bitterly. How? How had that boy resisted my magic? My attempts to possess him had brought only fiery torment, searing through my spirit. I hiss softly in agitation, my serpent tongue flicking out to taste the bitter air. It was impossible. There is something about the boy, something elusive I do not yet understand—but I will, right after I ditch this body and find something more...suitable.
'I'll survive, and thrive. I always do,' I promised.
My musings shatter abruptly as a subtle feeling pulses through me, a magical signature approaching. Instantly, I freeze, my senses sharpening in an instinctive alarm. My serpent form coils silently, prepared for flight.
Yet something halts me, a faint but unmistakable spark of recognition. The magic felt familiar, weaker than I had anticipated but distinctively connected to me somehow. It clicked, the Mark.
My Mark.
I narrow my eyes, flicking out my tongue to test the air again, tasting a faint metallic tang of dark magic that I could trace. Slowly, from the shadowed trees, emerges a figure I know quite well—Lucius Malfoy, unmistakable as he walked like a cloned aristocrat, though he looked like he had seen better days.
Pale hair gleams in the thin moonlight, his hand gripping the silver serpent-headed cane, his wand discreetly hidden within. The cane points directly toward me, humming faintly with the unmistakable pulse of a Point-Me charm.
"Where are you, my Lord?" Lucius murmurs uncertainly, squinting nervously into the gloom as his eyes slither over my figure. Fear and confusion radiate from him in waves. Weak as always, but still useful. So very useful.
Anger, my constant companion, boils swiftly into contempt. I seize upon the tenuous thread linking my soul to the Dark Mark etched onto Malfoy's arm, flooding it with a sudden, savage intent.
Lucius cries out, collapsing to his knees, cane clattering uselessly upon the forest floor. His gloved hand claws desperately at his sleeve, agony etched across his proud features. I drink in his suffering, savoring the exquisite release of my own frustration through his torment.
"You dare summon me like a dog?" I whisper harshly into his mind, my voice crackling with wrath. "Did you truly believe yourself worthy, Lucius?"
"My Lord," Lucius chokes, voice strained with panic, eyes darting frantically. "Forgive me. I took it upon myself to find you. I have waited—"
"You have failed..." I hissed, slowly relinquishing my hold on his Mark. I felt satisfaction as his shoulders slumped forward in defeat,"...Yet, you may still serve a purpose."
With effort, I slither slowly toward him, my weakened body trembling, but my presence and mana powerful enough to invoke awe. Lucius, pale and trembling, remains kneeling, daring not to move as I wind slowly around his ankles and slowly slither over to his shoulders, reveling in his terror as he tries to subtly lean away from my head.
"I require strength," I whisper and hiss harshly into his ear, tasting his fear like sweet wine. "I require a body, one stronger than this pitiful creature."
Lucius swallows, eyes wide with a blend of reverence and dread. "Whatever you need, my Lord. My service has always been yours."
"Yes," I hiss softly, coiling myself tighter around him. "You and your connections. I need access to your wealth and your influence once again. Slowly gather those still loyal in secret. I must rise again, Lucius, and you shall see to it, or suffer the consequences of your cowardice."
"My Lord," he breathes, relief evident in his voice even through the trembling. He likely thinks that his punishment is over. "It will be done."
Satisfied for now, I unwind from around his neck, slipping down to nestle toward his pocket. A plan begins forming, each detail quickly clicking into place.
I will return, stronger than before. The wizarding world will tremble again before the name Voldemort. And when I do, the Potter boy and Dumbledore will fall, crushed beneath the unstoppable might of my restored power.
'Still, I need to research the protections that Dumbledore has cast on Potter, as I need to announce my arrival with the death of the Boy-Who-Lived. Tch! What a ridiculous title.'
The darkness embraces me as I retreat once again into Lucius's robe, settling into the shadows to wait. My mind felt alive again, focused and determined, fully focused on my impending return. With Lucius as my pawn, things would be easier. Now I just need to think of a ritual that would not only get rid of my current body but also nullify whatever magic is protecting Potter from me.
"Let's go, Lucius. It's time to return..."
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AN: And the plot for the second year begins!
P.S: 54+ chapters on P.atreon!