Rethink
1. Prologue
He floated.
Or no, floating felt different. He could do that on his own, after all and it was far more exhausting. No, he floated, but there was no gravitation. He looked himself over. Maybe there was gravitation, but he was not affected by it. His body was... incorporeal in a very bizarre way.
Then he realized something else: He was not alone. Curious and strangely detached he looked around. There was nothing. Literally. The vague thought that that should be quite disconcerting, crossed his mind, but he did not dwell on it. Somehow, he knew it was irrelevant.
The feeling of company grew stronger. This time he could actually see something, or, more precisely, seven things. They looked a lot like glowing orbs. Genuinely curious he reached out and touched one of them. It glowed even brighter and... it stuck. With a little frown he shook his hand, but the stubborn little ball was glued to him. Even more, it seemed to sink into him. The feeling was ways less disturbing than it should be. In fact it felt... good. Really good. Like a missing part finally returning to his rightful spot.
The other orbs, seemingly encouraged, came closer and attached themselves to his not-body. He looked in wonder, as they sank into him.
Suddenly, he felt a pull. He tried to balance himself, but in vain. At least the impact with the ground was not painful, which was perhaps down to the fact, that there was no ground. There was, still, nothing. Not caring about oddities a part of him insisted were not normal at all, he stood. His body was more substantial now. Something tickled his neck. He reached up, startled. Black and grey streaks of hair. That was okay. It was normal to have hair, wasn't it? Why did it feel so significant, then? He had the distinct, but very sure feeling that he was human, after all.
Troubled, he sat down, still pulling absently on his hair. He missed something. Something important.
"You miss your memories."
He blinked.
"Right. I don't... remember..." he trailed off with a frown.
"Do you want to remember?"
Well, why wouldn't he? Memories were important, weren't they?
"Yes, I guess."
"Very well", said the voice. He was just coming to the conclusion that it was kind of weird to sit in nothing and speak with an incorporeal voice, as a wave of pain hit him. Crying out he clutched his head and doubled over, convulsing on the non-ground.
He did not know how long it lasted, but it felt like an eternity. When he finally pulled himself together, the voice sounded amused.
"So you remember Tom Riddle."
"Yes, I do", Voldemort said hoarsely. He wanted to say more, but was too overwhelmed. Orphanage, Dumbledore, Hogwarts, basilisk, his first horcrux, his new name, allies, studies, travels, more horcruxes, Hogwarts again, war preparations, speeches, the dark mark, and bodies, so many, many bodies. Then the prophesy, hunt, traitor, the Potters, his death. His attempts to come back, his resurrection, death, death, death, in the end his own.
"I'm dead", he stated, feeling indifferent.
"Yes."
The former dark lord was quiet for a long time. Maybe it had been just a few seconds, who knew? At the last he asked quietly.
"...Am I going to hell now?"
"Maybe."
"Maybe?" He had never been a religious human, but as far as he knew, afterlife consisted in two choices, the way up and the way down.
"Maybe", the voice confirmed, "You see, you're a special case."
I am? Tom wondered silently.
"Yes, you are. Normally a being has a birth and a death. You on the other hand, have one birth but two deaths."
"I see your point with the two deaths, but haven't I been reborn three years ago?", Voldemort asked confused. He didn't even care about his usual attitude. Hell, he'd just been bested by a seventeen year old kid. Besides, he did not feel like acting up, since he had touched the glowing orbs. A thought stuck him: His horcruxes, of course. He had felt so ripped apart... even if he was going to hell, at least he was whole again.
"You are not going to hell. Not yet, anyway. Haven't you listened?", the voice admonished, "your ritual doesn't count as birth. You see, the requirements to fulfil death are much easier than birth", the voice explained. Then she, the voice, sighed and muttered."It has gotten really troublesome lately with the muggels and their defibrillators."
"Ah", Voldemort said unintelligently "And now?"
"Well", the voice trailed of, "Ah, yes. See, usually I just scratch out the death date and send them back. Unfortunately, your questionable death happened sixteen years ago. Because of your horcruxes you could not come here, though." At this point, Voldemort felt distinctly uncomfortable and squirmed a little."So, you see my problem."
He supposed he could. He just could do nothing about it.
"So, I've been officially dead for sixteen years and had the galls to just die again."
"Yes."
"Hm."
"Exactly. I was looking forward to a free afternoon today, you know?"
"Oh. Well, I'm sorry."
"Yeah, you should be", the voice grumbled, "Anyway. The only date I can scratch out, is your second death date. Now, for a lot of complicated reasons, the most prominent of me not being willed to spend the next eternity filling out paperwork because of you, I can't simply do that and ignore that you've been, in fact, alive for the last sixteen years. So you have to live after your first death. Unfortunately you had no body back then." Again, Voldemort felt the urge to shuffle his feet ashamed.
"So I have to give you second, proper birth. When you die after that, it will be alright, as long as you don't mess with your soul again."
"I won't!" Voldemort exclaimed, before he could stop himself.
"You better! So, this is not exactly an easy thing to do. You know, usually I'd just stuff your soul into a newborn. But since all of that is technically the past, all available bodies already have souls allocated. So... you'll get a whole, new body."
"Will I have my complete soul?" Voldemort asked nervously. He did not want to loose the nice, whole feeling.
"Of course! I don't want to deal with this mess again in case you die before all the other parts of your soul have." The voice sounded quite testy.
"Ok..." slowly the meaning of all this sunk in. He would get a second chance. A new body. A new life! He could continue his work!
"There is one problem, though."
Damn! Figures it couldn't be that easy.
"Due the circumstances of your death, you initially lost a part of your soul. Now, when I send you back, the piece, which is the closest one to you, is in the body of a fifteen months old, so..."
Dread. Pure dread filled the former dark lord.
"I'll be fifteen months old. Oh no! You cannot do that! It's... it's inhuman, that it is!", he whined. Damn, Voldemort did not whine! Not even when he spoke to incorporeal, godlike voices, which let him feel like a naughty five-year old!
"Get used to it. After all it is suspected from a toddler to whine. Watching you will be the compensation for my troubles," the voice said with a positively sadistic streak in it. Voldemort just hung his head.
"Now, be reborn, Tom Marvolo Riddle, at the 31th of October in 1981!"
Oddly enough, the last thought of Lord Voldemort was, that he would share his birthday with the boy who lived.
AN: The story will be more or less in drabble style, so the chapter length will vary.
I'm not a native English speaker, so I apologize for eventual mistakes. Feel free to call it to my attention, if I should make a mistake repeatedly or an expression is not fitting.
Have fun with the story!