Disclaimer: Everything but the plot belongs to J.K. Rowling... Obviously.
A picture in the room spoke to him; an eerie voice that filled the room and caused all of the other paintings on the walls to shudder. It told him to pick himself up. What was he doing lying on the floor when there were things to be done? When there were people to be caught and revenge to be gained? When he should be killing?
He wasn't entirely sure if it was his imagination or if the picture was actually moving. No matter. It was right. He couldn't just sit there all day and feel sorry for himself. He slowly picked himself up, the ground feeling unsteady below his feet.
"Nagini?" he whispered out into the darkness. A few creaks echoed throughout the old house but, other than that, there was no reply.
He looked down to his hand. Where was his wand? He felt sick. He felt dizzy. He dropped back to the floor and took a few deep breaths. What had happened?
He tried to remember what had happened before his soul had apparated through one of his mother's old necklaces. Luckily, Lucius had kept a vial of the Potter boy's blood handy and had been at the house just in time for his arrival. He had waved Lucius off after the spell had taken its affect. He did not want to be seen as weak by someone as worthless as him. He regretted it now. He could have asked the wizard what had happened because he had no recollection whatsoever.
The last thing he remembered was killing Potter. Had they won the war? If so, why had he been killed? Had he been killed? He gripped his head as pain throbbed through his skull. He gritted his teeth and a groan sounded through his throat.
Nothing was making sense.
He stood again, this time more steady on his feet. The dizziness had vanished but the sick feeling still resided in his stomach. He had a horrible feeling that not everything had gone to plan.
He looked back at the picture that had spoken to him but now it was still. So were all the others. Maybe he had imagined it. He shook his head; of course he had. This was a muggles house. Those disgusting creatures would probably have a heart attack if they saw a painting move.
He walked out of the room and up the stairs, stopping every few steps as that sick feeling swelled in his belly. He finally made it to the stairs and started his painful and pathetic crawl up them.
He felt empty. His mind ran through all the options why and he finally settled on the reason that it was because he was down to his last few horcruxes. He thought it was strange that he couldn't feel them anywhere in the world but shook his mind off it. He was just feeling ill after having died.
He sat on the landing at the top of the stairs for a few moments until he gained the energy to stand again. He walked into one of the rooms and took a look in the wardrobe. He couldn't walk around in his cloak when he was so weak and his memory couldn't recall anything. He changed into a suit, skipping over the jeans and t-shirts, and looked around the room for something to cover his face. He found a scarf and a hat in the woman's wardrobe. He hesitated for a second before slipping them on. He didn't have the luxury of being fussy over clothes.
He looked down at his feet and found, to his surprise, that he wasn't wearing any shoes. Had he ever worn shoes? He sighed at his own incompetence to remember even that simple thing as he put on some shoes. They were a size too small.
He called once more for Nagini and when the reply was again silence, he left the house. The snake must have still been in the Forbidden Forest. Bellatrix would take care of her. She had her uses.
He found himself on a street. He looked around and was happy to see that no muggles were spoiling his view. However, he had enough sense to pull the scarf up over his mouth and nose.
He knew where he was. He was at the Potter household. The last place they would have thought he'd hide a horcrux. He wasn't sure if they even knew about the eighth horcrux. He wasn't at all happy that he had made it, it had ruined his plan to only create seven. However, he had thought it was better to be safe than sorry. And after the Potter boy had destroyed so many of the others, he figured that he should.
He looked around him once more.
He needed to find a wand.