Exploring
Tom had visited the world during his extended absence, and had managed to soak up all sorrow and misgiving he had seen. Power had come naturally, and the facile step to follow this inclination, of course, was to experiment beyond the boundaries of what wizards called "ordinary magic". Tom believed theories stand indefinitely due to human desire to keep them as such, and not press forth into yet more wondrous discovery. But why accept the questions of nature and the axiomatic answer of death, when Lord Voldemort could be built out of material that necessitated an unexplored question, with an entirely different answer?
Tom stood behind his cauldron in the House of Gaunt; his eyes narrowed as he scanned the room. His inability to physically see traces of magic had been a source of bother, as this meant having to rely only on instinct and guesswork to decipher these. Not being overly fond of any reliance on chance, Tom had always wanted to change this…
The plunge into Darkness had given Tom Riddle new insight. A simple misinterpretation of an ancient text on gruesome transformations of interest to Tom had yielded a fortunate discovery: a potion could be made to change the dynamics of the human eye, giving it a predisposition to spotting traces of magic. The effect was christened "Snake-eyes" by Tom, due to his careful investigation of Muggle physics and the nature of spell-work, which always invoked heat, which in its turn could be visible by virtue of any infra-red filter inserted into the human retina. Pondering this revelation, Riddle muttered to himself:
"The thermoreceptive ability of snakes is derived from pits located beneath the eyes. However, I need a filter mechanism inside of mine; this would cause the destruction of natural flowing blood vessels, giving my eyes a permanently bloodshot look. But that's not important …"
The muttering soon grew indistinct, and Riddle was silent again. He needed new eyes. He needed to see magic, to be feared, to be respected and to be all-powerful. Tom looked in the mirror; a handsome young man gazed back at him through expectant brown eyes, a gaunt face, and hollow, sunken cheeks. The figure cracked a smile; it was a strained grin, but his gaze glowed a delusional happiness, giving the man a demented air.
With that, Tom Riddle strode out of the shack, and conjured a phial of thick red liquid he had acquired on his travels. He had found it in Arabia, and the rumour in circulation told that it was filled with the blood of Ibn Saud himself. Riddle, however, had performed several tests on it, only to come to the conclusion that the object was a thousand years old, hence making an anachronism of the matter. Instead, Riddle concluded, the blood had belonged to the exiled Salazar Slytherin. The blood of Slytherin, or any powerful wizard for that matter, Tom knew, acted as a catalyst on all potions. He set it aside.
Then, quickly, as though fearing this particular step, Tom hissed:
"Come to me, great comrades; bring me your dead."
Immediately, three snakes appeared, bearing a fourth on their tails. The last was undoubtedly dead. Tom flinched, picking the snake up and dismissing the rest. He shook as he brought it inside, and dropped it next to the cauldron, revolted. The dead frightened him so.
Opening his ingredient bag for the first time, he quickly spotted the constituents of a basic Shape Shifting Potion. He worked intently, his brow furrowed and his long, pale fingers moving eerily, bent oddly at the joints, in sudden but accurate motions. When he had finished, a bubbling orange brew awaited in the cauldron. To ensure it would be a permanent transformation, he had to drop the blood inside the potion quickly. Besides, he did not have much time. Dark magic was easily detectable by the Ministry, and he believed Dumbledore had already been attempting to prove his guilt to the Auror Corps. Tom wondered vaguely why the incompetent fools were not swooping down on him this very second. A powerful artifact such as the blood of Slytherin would surely register somewhere…
The last ingredient was the grotesque part. Tom flicked his wand at the snake. The thermoreceptors popped off the snake, and hung limply, suspended in mid-air. He levitated them above the cauldron, and dropped them in, together with the blood. The potion became red, and Tom wasted no time. All decency aside, he picked up the cauldron, put his mouth to the rim, and drank deeply, spilling some over the front of his robes.
A sharp pain converged on his head, and Tom crouched to bear the worst of it. But it was over in less than a minute, and he stood up and walked cautiously to the mirror. There, he saw himself once more.
The eyes, formerly so brown and full of wisdom, had turned a chilling crimson, mere orbs looking through the slits that he now bore on his face. His features, too, were a little more blurred than he knew they had been, and his jaw line looked faded and burnt, almost like a fuzzy picture.
However, when Tom laughed his mirthless laugh, it was because of his newfound sight. The magic around him emanated a faint blue glow. Dark magic was a deep red, and it permeated the room.
Before this happy revelation had settled in, Tom heard three sets of footsteps, and a voice:
"Drop your wand!" said the voice of the Auror whom Tom believed was the head of the task force at hand.
He took his wand out of his pocket, in no great hurry for action, and turned around. The Auror entered, and his eyes immediately settled on Riddle, who stared back from the corner with a deranged smile on his features.
"Avada Kedavra!" Tom screeched. The Auror was briefly engulfed in the green jet that made contact with his hip, before dropping to the ground, lifeless.
The two other Aurors fired immediately, but Tom conjured a shield almost lazily. He was going to enjoy this. A split-second later, Riddle began taking small steps towards the two Aurors, both of whom attempted to disarm him. Riddle deflected both of their curses.
"Now, now, play nicely," he said. "Try that again and you won't like the results."
The Aurors, trained to deal with such insults, did not hesitate, and sent identical jets of blue towards Riddle. These, too, were deflected. Riddle continued talking as though nothing had occurred.
"See here, my friends, I already know that you intend to use classical Auror protocol, which involves attempting to disarm, confuse, stun and obliviate a target in that order," he said.
"If all else fails, you two will attempt to Stun me once more, before firing a potential killing spell, either in the form of a Slicing or a Bludgeoning Curse," he continued, defecting another three spells from each of the two, who were growing quite disturbed by this time.
Tom continued walking towards the Aurors, who began to back towards the doors. However, these slammed shut as Riddle raised his left arm. The Aurors, knowing that turning to attempt unlocking the door would be a big mistake, raised their wands again.
"Expelliarmus!" Riddle cried, before they could do anything.
Their wands soared in a graceful arc, and were caught by Lord Voldemort, who promptly snapped them. What followed amused Riddle immensely. The Aurors closed their eyes simultaneously, a look of intense concentration upon their faces; they were obviously attempting to Apparate to another location. But Riddle had taken precautions about this many hours before his expected guests arrived.
The Aurors opened their eyes, horrified that Apparition had not worked. Tom sneered at them, and they realized their mistake.
"Crucio!"
Screams filled the House of Gaunt, and the walls seemed to reflect the sound waves, pleasing Riddle to an extraordinary degree.
"Crucio!"
Again.
An hour later, two green flashes lit up the house. Riddle walked out, triumphant. His Legilimency and wards had worked just as he had expected them. The bodies were vanished, and the house Scourgified.
He calmly Apparated away. Riddle had gone, but the pain and misery surrounding the House of Gaunt remained. Lord Voldemort's transformation was complete. His destiny was reached.
Tom Riddle had lost his mother to shame, his father to prejudice, and the last shred of his humanity to the Dark.