Try a little remorse...
'Dumbledore's last plan went wrong, Harry Potter!'
As the fearsome being, known to most as Lord Voldemort, uttered those last few words, he felt positively jubilant. Even after everything this boy had tried, there would still only be one victor, one person to rise to ultimate power.
Potter had been foolish, he thought, foolish not to have gone into hiding, as even though all of his horcruxes had been destroyed, he still had the Elder wand, the Deathstick, the fabled Wand of Destiny. Horcruxes had only ensured a route back for if he died... with the Elder wand, death was no longer a factor.
'Yeah, it did,' replied the boy, as calmly as if they were discussing the evening news. The arrogance! Did he not realise who he was talking to? Tom felt a remarkable urge to crush this child now, to make him suffer, but something about him intrigued him. One doesn't merely come face to face with undeniable, inescapable death and act complacent.
'You're right. But before you try to kill me, I'd advise you to think about what you've done... think, and try for some remorse, Riddle...'
'What is this?' For once, Tom was actually shocked. What was this boy suggesting? How foolhardy and ambitious to expect the greatest wizard of all time to show remorse!
'It's your one last chance,' The boy answered. 'It's all you've got left... I've seen what you'll be otherwise... be a man... try for some remorse...'
'You dar...' Tom only got midway through this sentence. He had inadvertently thought of the boys parents, who were the people he assumed the boy wanted him to feel remorse for. He expected hatred, but something else was there... was it regret? ... more images flashed up in front of him... Severus, Albus, his faithful servant Wormtail, even the fool Quirrel... all dead because of him, some by his own hand. Then out of the darkness came a man's booming voice, laughing... constantly laughing. The face of a stout man appeared, followed by a blinding white light, and Lord Voldemort, the greatest dark wizard of that age, was gone forever.
The next thing Tom knew, he was lying face down, listening to... nothing. For the first time in many years, Tom Riddle could hear nothing. Could sense nothing... could feel nothing. He dragged himself to his feet, and gasped in shock. His hands! They were no longer their aged and scarred selves, but young, and as fresh as if he had been born yesterday.
'How could this be...' he pondered, before raising his hand and feeling his face. The same as his hands, young and fully formed... he no longer had the appearance of a snake, but the appearance of a handsome, healthy teenage boy.
'I don't unders...' he muttered, before...
'Oh, I think you do Tom' That voice... that could only be...
'Dumbledore!' Tom spun round, reaching for his wand, but there was nothing to reach for.
'You won't find any weapons here, Tom' Said Dumbledore. 'Indeed,' he chuckled, 'This might be only place you've never been able to do any damage'
Albus Dumbledore was looking upon Tom with an expression that could only be pity, and yet, Tom wasn't sure... it had been so long since he'd felt any of these emotions, he was having difficulty grasping the concept of it.
'Of course I understand, you bloody fool!' He bellowed, not containing any of his anger, but directing it at the one person he could blame. 'Why wouldn't I understand!'
'Well, remorse Tom. Remorse never was one of your strong points. I just imagin...' But the old fool was cut short.
'Oh you 'imagined' did you Dumbledore! You imagined I could feel no remorse! No sorrow! I'd bet the things you CAN'T imagine would barely fill the head of a Hufflepuff!' Tom was going full force now, he remembered what this had cost him, and he was aiming it at the one person he could.
'You should know, 'Professor' Dumbledore, that the destruction of a Horcrux is often accompanied by the return of a small amount of a persons soul! When Potter destroyed all of my precious pieces, a substantial part was regained! But CLEARLY, you imagined this?'
Dumbledore looked rather taken aback by this, as if he had not expected this negativity from his greatest enemy.
'Where in the name of Merlins large bludgers are we, anyway?' Tom asked, an air of impatience in his voice. He had taken stock of his surroundings earlier, and had the awkward sense of familiarity. Like he had been here before, but several lifetimes ago.
'Ah Tom, that much is easy' The old man answered, an air of confidence returning to his feeble voice. ' This is the Slytherin common room'
'And why, pray tell, are we in the Slytherin common room?'
'I should assume, Tom, it is to give you a sense of warmth and familiarity before the true end arrives,'
'The true end?' Tom asked, although he already knew the answer.
'I believe you already know what that is Tom' Albus said softly, in a warm voice.
Hell, thought Tom. 'But I never meant for any of this to happen... when I made that first Horcrux, it all kind of, spiralled out of control...'
'Well what did you expect, you fool!' Dumbledores tone had suddenly turned to anger. 'Making a Horcrux isn't a game. Splitting your soul isn't a game! KILLING SOMEONE isn't a game!'
Tom didn't reply. He was struggling with his memories... memories of a long forgotten past. A ring... a picture... a book... a face. All these things were swimming back to the forefront of his mind. He tried to focus, but he couldn't, it was all so... blurry.
Then the hard truth hit him. For the first time in many a year, Tom Marvolo Riddle, gasped.
'No...' he muttered. 'No...I must have forgot...'
'What is it, my boy?' Inquired Dumbledore.
But Tom wasn't listening. 'Splitting the soul... must have blocked off those memories... no...'
'What on Earth are you talking about?' Dumbledore asked again, with an increase in volume that just reeked of impatience.
'I didn't make my first Horcrux willingly ... someone else forced me to do it.'
'Why on earth...'
'Would someone do that?' Finished Tom, senses returning at last. 'Simple. He's a genius. A damn evil toad-wart, but a genius nonetheless. He's been biding his time, just waiting for the moment this war began. Then, the moment the wizarding world is at its weakest, he'll strike, and take all of the rewards for himself.'
'But how...'
'Would a lone man do that?' Riddle finished the old man's sentence again. 'Even simpler. Some methods of control don't require a wand, Albus. Surely you've heard of 'Love potions?' They induce the brains of a wizard into instant infatuation with the maker. Imagine that effect, but used to control people. Imagine, if this potion were to spread to the livestock, the oceans, the sodding atmostphere?'
'Merlins beard,' whispered Dumbledore. 'How could I have not known... Wait! I saw it! You asked Professor Slughorn how to produce a Horcrux! In the memory... you weren't forced to!'
'But of course, Albus. I trust the first time you saw that memory, it seemed modified? Hence, you discarded it without a thought?'
'Why yes but...'
'Well you see Albus, not only is the man doing this a genius, a trickster of sorts, but he is also the most accomplished memory modifier this world has ever seen. Producing a poor edit of a memory will make you quick to believe the pristine edit of a memory. Genius.'
'But then, Horace...'
As Lord Voldemorts body crashed to the floor, seemingly from the mere internal conflict of feeling remorse for his actions, Horace Slughorn stood there, watching. Shouts of joy and happiness exploded around the hall, echoing off the walls.
Ha, he thought, they don't expect a thing...
Just a mere one-off I produced. I suppose the main idea for this just bases from me never liking the character of Slughorn very much.
Be interesting to see how this goes, this is the first 'story' I've wrote in about 2 years. :)
Review this please :). If it works, I might make a series. If it doesn't... meh. Win some, lose some 'eh :P