Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any affiliates thereof… I only hope to provide my own prosaic point of view…
(AN: In this story, different fonts represent different points of view.
Speech
~ Parseltongue ~
Description )
Riddle's Rant
After all this time…
The handsome young man stares at the papers laid before him. He lies prone on his stomach, heedless of the water that surrounds him in his sanctuary. Stone serpents glare around every corner.
What a … disappointment…
His elegant veneer is split by a sneer, and he glares at the papers as though willing them to burn in the heat of his gaze.
My ancestry, finally revealed… Both less and more than I had hoped.
He suddenly stands, the motion's grace belied by the tensing of his muscles, like a cobra on the verge of striking.
Mother… You were, at least, pure.
The smooth tenor voice becomes a low hiss, fury barely contained.
~ And yet you were so near squibdom that you ensnared a filthy muggle to satisfy your wants! ~
He explodes into movement, gliding inexorably towards a monolithic head of stone, at whose base he stills.
But you were a descendant of Slytherin, and in that light, your failures can be … disregarded…
Kneeling before the great monolith he looks up, as though in rapture, until the Furies contort his face.
My filthy muggle ~ father! ~
The watery gloom is lit by the red of unadulterated rage, until the feeling is ruthlessly quashed, and darkness creeps in once again.
~ Yessss… You, father dear, shall pay! ~
A chilling smile steals his face as he turns away from the great head of his ancestor, and slowly walks towards his chamber's egress.
Tom Marvolo Riddle… My name shall be transformed, purified!
Standing deathly still, he concentrates on his goal, then regains his grin of ice, and writes his name in the air before him, with letters as red as blood.
A more fitting name… ~ A name of power… ~
The letters shift positions, moving, morphing, until…
I am Lord Voldemort!
With arms upraised, Voldemort laughs. A high, clear, mirthless sound; it echoes throughout the chamber that he has claimed for his birthright.
Now to cleanse my blood of it's … ~ taint ~ … Father must die!
His face once again an elegant mask, the new Lord strides from his chambers, bent on new destruction.