Remember this is an alternate universe story. Changes in characterization are meant as results of the different timeline, but overall the characters are very similar. Violence warning and slight sick humor warning.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J. K. Rowling, Warner Brothers, and all of her publishers. If he left me alone, I'd stop playing with him.]
They're letting me out today. I've counted the days as best I could, readjusting my estimates whenever news came of the outside, and I was accurate at the end when the news became regular. It's been fifty wasted years.
It wasn't long before the war was long over, that Hitler was dead before the muggles could wipe themselves out and then that Grindelwald was killed shortly after. He was dead before I could even meet him, and we had shared a common enemy, the one who put me here, the one I would kill soon.
The Dementors sense the fluctuations of my emotions from cold numbness to fury and move in for one last attack. I'm ready for them.
After the screams had ripped through the Great Hall at breakfast that Myrtle was dead, I became addicted to the palpable fear around me. I was the calm center of a storm of turmoil. The adrenaline in their veins strengthened me, made me more powerful, despite the unpracticed awkwardness of Myrtle's death.
I needed to do it again.
I drank in the false sorrow and platitudes around me before I slipped out in the opposite direction of the exiting students to see the professors remove her body from the bathroom. I watched discreetly in the shadows. Transfiguration Professor Dumbledore and Potions Professor Morgan passed me in a few minutes, murmuring and sighing. Shortly, they reappeared, bearing a glorious sight.
Myrtle's mudblood whining had been silenced, her stiffening arm hanging from the stretcher, white fingers beautifully unfurled. I regretted that I couldn't see the shocked look on her face one last time.
I stepped forward just a little, and Dumbledore shot around to face me instantly, fury blazing in his blue eyes. Despite the slight shaking in his hands, he asked evenly, "Why are you standing there, Mr. Riddle?" The stretcher jolted Myrtle's arm as the procession stopped.
His gaze cut through me, emptying all my pleasure in an instant and leaving me afraid. "I had to see for myself, sir. I couldn't believe that something so terrible could happen at Hogwarts." The fact that my voice hadn't wavered bolstered my confidence.
"I don't recall Miss Hornby announcing to the students where she'd found Myrtle, although she was quite distressed. Do you recall, Malcolm?"
From the other end, Professor Morgan shook his head.
My mind was racing in circles as Dumbledore waved his wand to magically support the body and stepped closer to me, trapping me against the stone wall. Morgan continued on his way, leaving us alone.
"Why did you follow us, Tom? Professor Dippet asked all of the prefects to take the students to their dormitories so that the halls would be cleared."
I had been so caught up in the atmosphere in the Great Hall that I hadn't noticed any professors speaking. I truthfully answered, "I didn't hear. I was distraught."
"Distraught." He stared at me over his glasses in that infuriating way of his. "Perhaps we should go to my office." He reached for my sleeve and I pulled it away swiftly, cracking my knuckles against the wall.
"I should really check on the students, sir." I slipped around him, bumping my shoulder in an undignified way and did my best not to run down the hall, thankfully unpursued. It wasn't like Dumbledore's infinitely patient style to chase people; somehow they usually came to him of their own accord.
Not me.
I waited behind a statue on the second floor before rushing back downstairs. The Chamber was the only place I could really think without the mindless chattering of children interrupting. I paused in the lavatory and closed my eyes, to breathe in its lingering fear, to separate it from myself and become cold and controlled again. I could almost still hear Myrtle's cries as I opened the lavatory and went down to my sanctuary.
Instead of comfort, anxiety returned. Dumbledore knows. I forced it down, transformed it to rage. "I hate him. I have to kill him. He deserves to die." My voice echoed against the walls, sounding louder and stronger than it really was.
He knew, and I wouldn't be caught. Never. I called my basilisk and ordered her to roam free throughout the school, to kill everyone she saw, and most of all, to find Dumbledore. I watched her receding tail shine in the torchlight with a small sense of regret that she wouldn't live after her mission, but a much larger regret that I wouldn't be able to witness the destruction myself.
My worthless education had come to an end, and I wasn't leaving without taking out as many of my enemies as possible. I gripped my wand and prepared for battle.
First in the quiet halls, I met Caretaker Filch, the disgusting servant squib, who was chatting with half-breed Gryffindor Rubeus Hagrid about the rat problem. Hagrid knew more about me than I cared to imagine, having caught me in the girls' lavatory once. I had discovered his acromantula, so we'd struck a bargain. But bargains with non-humans certainly don't count. I hadn't seen that oaf earlier in the day, so it was likely he didn't even know what had transpired before breakfast. As for Filch, I hated his nosiness, disdain for purebloods, and his ugly, dirty cats.
Hagrid turned toward me, ready to greet me until he saw the look in my eyes. I stunned them both in an instant, unsure of my killing skills on people. The Avada Kedavras took less effort than I imagined, and they were both lying dead on the floor with stupid expressions, and the cat was yowling until I kicked it against the wall.
My confidence rose. It was just too easy.
I was a bit disappointed to make it all the way to the school entrance before I saw someone else. It was doddering old Headmaster Dippet, his predominant look of confusion intensified when he recognized me.
"I've been looking for you, Mr. R-Riddle. It's quite urgent--"
"You've come yourself instead of sending Dumbledore? I'm impressed." He was too meek and too old to command respect, and I loathed his senile stuttering.
As I expected, he merely fidgeted when I pointed my wand at him. "D-don't be hasty, Tom."
I hated that name, and I wasn't going to put up with it any longer. "Don't call me by that filthy muggle name! My name is Lord Voldemort!"
He stared blankly.
"Crucio!" With a little imagination, it looked like Dumbledore writhing there, but it didn't take long for Dippet's heart to give out and the illusion to end. He lay there like the discarded puppet he was and drained me of my satisfaction. He wasn't the one I wanted, but it was time to go, for behind me, the screams had begun.
"Morsmordre!" I shouted before I left and began the walk to the school boundary slowly and deliberately, savoring the power in my heart but wishing it had been more of a challenge. Once in the forest and out of the wards, I could disapparate, a useful little trick I'd taught myself in my spare time. I wasn't satiated, and I knew where I could go to remedy that.
I'd known for a while where my father lived, since he had the largest house in the little town near the city orphanage. I'd never gone, never known what to say to him... what to do to him until I began to realize my potential at Hogwarts. It had been very difficult to resist paying him a visit the previous summer, but I had been under the mistaken impression that I should not draw too much attention and finish my education before seeking out Grindelwald to join his cause. Now it seemed my timetable was conveniently moved forward, and I was going to enjoy this immensely.
I'd spent years imagining what I'd do to Thomas Riddle, Senior, picturing every sort of dismemberment and torture possible. And now I was standing before his offensively extravagant house in Little Hangleton, and it didn't feel like it could be real.
When I barged in the door and saw an old woman and man sitting alone at the table, I was a bit shocked. I wondered if I'd been mistaken, and my father had moved away. Then he appeared, carrying a pot of tea... my father, the man who had infected me with his muggle blood, dirtying the Slytherin line forever, abandoned my mother to die, and left me in a muggle orphanage to be starved and beaten.
He was a nervous man, who had once been handsome, but now becoming overweight, with gray mixed into his black thinning hair. He looked distressingly like an older version of me, and I found myself revolted at the thought. Never, never would I look like him. As soon as he met my eyes, dropping his teapot at the expression on my face, I lunged. I shoved him against the wall, wand forgotten, and began to strangle him.
The elderly couple screamed, and since it was the third time of the day, it was beginning to wear on me. I released my father, retrieved my wand, and silenced them quickly with the Killing Curse. I was starting to grow tired from the magical exertion and opted to tell my father what I thought of him verbally until I recovered.
He knew it was me, recognized his muggle blood in my appearance. I wondered how much he even knew about magic, what it could do to him, until I had done my little demonstration on his parents. "Tom," he gasped from on the floor, "Is it you?"
"Tom Riddle's dead, as dead as you will be soon. My name is Lord Voldemort. Say it."
"Lord Voldemort," he murmured, and he even managed to make it sound stupid, which made me stand over him to point the wand at his throat. "Please don't hurt me. What did you do to my parents?"
"They're dead!" His ignorance made me hate him more.
He started to rasp and reached out toward me feebly.
"Are you afraid?! You should be afraid. The pitiful thing is that you don't even know who I am. Why do you think I am here?"
"You're angry. And-and you should be. I'll make it up to you. We can be a family. I promise!"
"I don't want your lies, Father! All I want is for you to die for what you've done. You left me with those bastard muggles, but worst of all, you made me like you. You--" I broke off, suddenly nauseated at all the memories of my childhood resurfacing. This wasn't the time for weakness; this was the time to kill those feelings forever. I had to focus on my hatred, my desire to see him suffer. "Crucio."
I let it go on longer than I planned, until he was beginning to bleed and was covered in his own filth. How fitting. He shrieked until he was hoarse, and it eased my fears, the earlier betrayal of my emotions becoming a faint memory, and the coldness inside me growing as his life slipped away. I started to laugh, and the euphoria that had started with Mudblood Myrtle's death returned. When Thomas Riddle's body made its last spasm and gave out, I left without a second glance.
Flushed with pleasure, tired, and still laughing, I sat down outside on the porch in plain sight, daring anyone to challenge me. I felt invincible, and I was still laughing as I shot the Dark Mark into the air, and I didn't even notice as the Aurors approached, that I was too magically and physically drained to resist.
I was told that Dumbledore was there in Little Hangleton; he'd led them to me, certainly afraid to face me alone, and he was the one who encouraged them to incarcerate me without a trial. They snapped my wand on the spot, after stunning and binding me. The next time I awoke, I was in Azkaban, an ugly number branded on my chest and wearing what appeared to be already cast-off prison clothes.
I didn't mind the damp darkness; it was comfortingly familiar to my Chamber. The stench was intolerable, but worse were the Dementors... at first.
It was a game we played. The Dementor attacks filled my younger self with trepidation then fear. Soon it became a test of my will, and I welcomed the chance to strengthen my defenses. The visions of my childhood in the orphanage faded, hardening my mind into a focused shell that wouldn't be distracted from its goals by emotional weakness. I'd bid them to attack me beyond my previous endurance each time, channeling the pain to hatred. It was then that I found I had some measure of control over them, to send them away when I needed concentration. Still, the cold lingered, and they wouldn't assist in my escape.
My hair grew longer and thinner, and my beard was filthy and unkempt, as the years dragged on. Lacking a wand, I could only develop my mental skills. I began to learn to influence, even possess the prison rats, but even they had only a rare opportunity of escape from the island.
I went fifty years without opportunity for escape until a certain balding, rat-like ministry inspector visited my cell, a man named Peter Pettigrew who was very susceptible to persuasion, particularly with the added assistance of the Dementors, which left him twitching in fear. He was easily convinced to introduce a prison reform bill to the Ministry and even smuggled dark arts books and newspapers to me during my wait.
To my fury, my eyes had atrophied during the long years of idleness, and reading was very difficult. I was so frustrated that I had to clench my fists tightly to suppress the urge to gouge out my eyes, reminding myself this was only another challenge to overcome. For now I had to endure it, but soon the time would come to improve myself beyond even my original condition.
I read of alchemy and necromancy, blood potions and curses, dream manipulation and possession. It was slower work to read than I could normally tolerate, but I was always in total command of each subject when the time came to command Pettigrew to return with a new one. The newspapers were primarily drivel, with a few useful bits of information about my enemies and the new world outside.
The Daily Prophet's discussions of the reform bill showed me that it was becoming well-supported. Pettigrew's interview on the horrors of Dementor and inhumane conditions in Azkaban had been explicit enough to sway public opinion. Fifty years of peace in the wizarding world left it complacent and sympathetic, vulnerable to attack. Freedom was so close that I could taste it. When Pettigrew opened the door to release me, I was dizzy with elation.
I could sense his fear as he explained to me, "T-Tom Riddle, You are banned from carrying a wand and taking your place in wizard society. You will be placed in a muggle flat in London and will be given a job after you successfully pass your next hearing. You have lost your full rights and will be incarcerated for life or executed if further crimes against wizarding society are committed. Do you understand this?"
"Yes," I answered sharply, and he flinched. "Do you understand what I require of you?" His eyes went unfocused and he nodded. Despite his conscious desire to rid himself of me, he had performed admirably. He'd even named himself my parole officer. He did need a little reminder of his duty, however. "You know what I will do to you if you fail me. And do not call me by that name again."
He sniffed and fidgeted but didn't avert his beady dark eyes from mine. I followed him triumphantly to the office and took the portkey off the island. I was free.