Prologue
Cheering. Screams of laughter and excitement roared around my ears and I could hear people running and hugging each other. Was this it? Was it over at last? I could feel liquid falling on me, some fell in my face and I could smell the distinct taste of wine, and soon some dripped onto my lips and I swallowed it appetisingly. Lights seemed to be on as I could feel the heat and intensity of it on my body, but soon a cool breeze ran hurriedly around the room.
I tried to laugh, but something was wrong. My lips wouldn't move and curl into my usual sharp smile. I tried to open my eyes, so I could see the feast of joys occurring around me, yet they didn't obey my orders. Suddenly, I felt hands underneath me, lifting me above the ground. Where were they taking me? I felt a pang of nausea from the inside of my stomach, but nothing rose from my burning pit.
They lowered me back to the ground. It was cold here, no heat reached my body, and I felt the slow shiver run down the length of my body, tingling my toes until it left for the ground. Voices whispered around me, and I felt the slow rhythmic breathing next to my ears, someone crying.
A door slammed shut.
"Move." A clear sharp sound, the voice of a male walked into the room, and it seemed as if two other people had followed him. The person crying into my ear was still there, they had not moved when he had asked them to.
"Is he…is he dead?" asked the man who had entered the room. His voice was shaky, but contained and he seemed to feel as if he was the rightful person to be asking questions, questions about me. Who gave him the right?
"No. He is weak, very weak," another male answered, directly behind me. He seemed to have a very light voice, something I was not used to, after all I was used to people who were strong and obeying, loyal and proud, not weaklings.
"My lord…my lord…" the person weeping in my ear whispered, a woman, with a cracked high-pitched voice. I struggled to find the strength I needed to speak, but somewhere I found something inside me and I latched onto it with all my might.
"I…am here," words escaped my mouth, and I heard shocks and gasps from around me. Whispers started frantically and soon I was propped up onto warm bedding, there seemed to be a fire in the room.
"We shall take him back to Malfoy Manor," the male, no doubted the crafty Lucius Malfoy spoke. "There he can rest until he is strong." Reassurance was heard around the room.
Once again I was lifted, but this time I was placed sitting upright on a wheelchair, as someone pushed me towards the fire. I felt its warmth on my body, making my arms sweat from the roaring heat. A hand touched my shoulder, whilst another squeezed the hand resting on my arm rest. They held on tight, as we travelled through the fire and landed in a colder, darker place.
"Let him rest," Lucius said, "We shall take him back to the Riddle House where the Carrows shall look after him there on." Before I knew it, I was wheeled into the darkness, still alive and powerful as I had been. I zoomed out of what was happening to me, and remembered one thing.
I was Lord Voldemort. I would return once again.