All recognizable characters belong to JK Rowling. No money is being or could be made.
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He tells himself not to be afraid.
As he gazes at the steaming body of his former mentor, he reminds himself of all the promises he's made. That he would never be under anyone's thumb but his own. That he would never submit his ambitions to the rule of lesser men's petty morals. And that, unlike his mother, he would never allow himself to give in to the weakness of death.
He reviews everything in his mind. He renews the wards around the deserted wood, just in case Aurors looking for the escaped Dark Wizard happen to search this area. He runs through the complicated wording of the ritual, and examines the nine objects spread in a circle around Grindelwald's body, his nine most precious possessions. He hisses sweet nothings to the snake on his shoulder, the one he saw that day in the Munich zoo and knew right then was the destined vessel of his soul. It had taken days of planning to take it, and his mentor had been furious, but he had stood up to the old man. It had been too exquisite a serpent to leave in the hands of Muggles.
At last, he is ready. With the stink of Grindelwald's murder still hanging the air, Tom Marvelo Riddle raises his head and begins to chant, the air roiling around him as his soul begins to split apart at its seams and funnel a tiny sliver of itself into the thrashing snake.
The pain is exquisite. He cannot imagine a better beginning for the future ruler of all that is.
