Title: A Return to Normalcy
Author: Sinoka
Rating: T
Genre: Action/Adventure/Romance
Pairings: Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, Hermione/Tom (AKA Voldemort)
Summary: Old age is accompanied by a slew of medical complications that even the Dark Lord is not immune to. In a fit of discomfort, Voldemort finds a brilliant solution with startling consequences.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: There are spoilers for books 1-6 + this fic is another one of those Voldemort-rejuvenation things, so it's not too original and it's a slight AU.

Chapter 1: Surprising and Swooning

Even Lord Voldemort had to admit that senior citizen status had a few perks. Finally, he could walk into movies and dine in buffets at discount price. He relished the benefits saving fifty percent on every muggle-killing excursion. But sadly, his faltering age was reflected in his inept body. Being born out of a cauldron from his father's bones, Wormtail's hand, and Harry Potter's blood certainly did nothing for his appearance, and after about two years of use Voldemort soon discovered the astonishing lack of agility and grace his new body afforded. Not to mention the skeleton-like appearance made him look dirt poor, as though he hadn't eaten in months. When the Dark Lord was feeling wistful, he would often revisit his Hogwarts days, when he was easily the best-looking human in the castle. None of the aforementioned reasons, however, had ever bothered Voldemort for more than three seconds. No, he was far too busy brooding in his green leather chair or whipping out his wand for some Deatheater discipline. But soon his old age did something Voldemort could not ignore.

Around the summer before the seventh year of his archenemy, Harry Potter, Voldemort had awoken from his chair and tried to stretch his hands, as he always did to prepare for the wand-wielding day ahead. He was unpleasantly surprised, then, to find a sharp pain in his right hand. After muttering a number of healing spells, Voldemort was relieved to find that the pain had numbed away. A few moments later, however, the pain appeared again, this time in his left hand. Voldemort cursed again and beckoned the pain again, resolving that it was nothing important to place in his memory. Several days passed before Voldemort experienced another bout of pain, though this time from a different source. Dear old Lucius Malfoy had paid him a visit, and Voldemort had happened to have been standing at the time, walking thoughtfully around the room in deep thought. The room was hardly lit; understandably, the Dark Lord liked his darkness. Lucius had allegedly heard a suspicious noise in the room, and had whipped around quickly to find the source. In doing so, he had swung his wooden staff like a helicopter propeller and hit Voldemort squarely in the back as he passed by. The stick had initially displaced only one vertebra, but with a body like Voldemort's, the rest of the little bones collapsed like dominoes. Lucius had to carry a crumpled heap, the remains of a spineless Voldemort, to the nearest table. It took nearly an entire day to recuperate. Needless to say, Lucius was punished. As these bodily accidents occurred with increasing frequency, however, Voldemort began toying with the idea of a stronger, more powerful body, to match his strong and powerful magic. These woeful accidents explain why on this particular summer day, Voldemort sat at a table absorbed in dark rejuvenation spells, while chewing thoughtfully on a handful of women's calcium tablets.

His first notion when he gave serious thought to the matter was the he had two goals. First, he needed youthful agility and a less senile mind. Second, despite the onset of senility, he still needed to keep his mind, memories, and most importantly, skill, intact. None of the spells really had these qualities, so at the end of the day Voldemort decided on a little creation of his own. Voldemort refused to resemble any other person, and in his mind the only person worthy of looking like was himself. His thoughts dwelled momentarily on his youth. Yes, he would regain his good looks, his charm. Voldemort neglected to inform his Deatheaters of the impending operation, though he did send Wormtail to secure several potion ingredients. The next step would not be as easy. He needed a copy of his younger self. For that, he needed the horcrux he had used many years before. The horcrux was a non-descript, muggle-made diary, currently residing in the hands of….

"Lucius," Voldemort said.

"Yes, my Lord, I am here," Lucius Malfoy replied, bowing lowly.

"Recovered from Azkaban, are you? I trust you have the diary I entrusted in you several years ago?"

"Yes, my Lord, of course. I am most indebted to you for securing my freedom. But I am afraid…" Lucius paused. He had no idea the diary would ever be of importance to Voldemort; he imagined it was just an old school keepsake. Had the Weasley girl and Potter tampered with it? Surely, it did not matter.

"You let Potter come into possession of the diary," Voldemort sneered, reading Lucius's confused facial expressions. Behind the sneer, however, he feared the worst. Potter must have encountered the memory sealed inside and destroyed it. One seventh of his soul, gone.

"My Lord, I … slipped it to the Weasley girl. I believe the diary possessed her, unlocking the Chamber of Secrets."

"Certainly, Lucius. But the girl lives, does she not?" Voldemort said quietly. Lucius felt it was best to remain silent. He lowered his eyes to the ground in a gesture of humility. Voldemort, however, cared nothing for whatever traits his Deatheaters might display. All that mattered was the precious horcrux. And now, thanks to Lucius's utter lack of judgment, Voldemort could feel the life draining out of himself by the minute.

"Master, I apologize deeply. It won't ever - " Lucius started, deepening his bow. Voldemort contemplated hitting Lucius with a Cruciatus Curse, but thought better of it. It might harm his precious diary.

"No matter. I am feeling forgiving today, Lucius. Give me the diary now, unless…" Voldemort smiled, his serpentine features spread taut across his brittle face. In his mind however, he was quite alarmed at what he had just said. Feeling forgiving? He sounded like an old lady with a mouthful of biscuits. To make up for his slip, Voldemort rolled his wand around carelessly in his hand, as though he were a torturer deciding what spell to use on a victim. Lucius got the message, and Apparated back to his manor to retrieve the book. The longhaired man returned seconds later, holding a tattered leather book in his right hand. He bowed again, presenting the priceless artifact to Voldemort. The Dark Lord snatched it and tucked it in his robes. "Now get out of my sight," he spat.

"Of course, my Lord. If you need me again, just - " Lucius bowed again, withdrawing cautiously. Voldemort glared at him with red eyes.

"Get out of my presence," Voldemort hissed. Lucius needed to further warning. He Disapparated without a word.

Voldemort took the beaten diary from his robes with his white spindly fingers. "Tom Marvolo Riddle, such sweet passing," he said, laughing softly. He opened to the first page and wrote, "withdraw", and tapped the words once with his wand while muttering "animus abstulium". To Voldemort's dismay but not to his surprise, nothing happened. Potter had indeed succeeded in destroying a portion of his soul. That was no matter; with a bit of skill he might be able replicate another portion his soul and lock it away again. The process, however, took several months, and now was not the time. At the moment, he needed to retrieve a facsimile of his teenage body. Voldemort put his wand to his wrist and drew out a drop of blood, carefully dropping it on the first page. Hopefully the old charm would still work, even with some of Potter's filthy blood running through his veins. "Corpus substulia " Voldemort said, again the same muted voice. This needn't be so secretive, he thought. He could finish it earlier, faster even, if he had his Deatheaters to aid him. Voldemort stopped himself again. His thoughts were certainly running amok lately. Had he become dependent upon others? Was he so physically and mentally strained that he needed to renew his body? No, Voldemort repeated to himself, watching the fire in the corner of his eye, this is not weakness. I am never weak. He twilled the paper's surface with the tip of his wand, as though he were stirring an abnormally calm potion. The pages of the diary softened, regurgitating thin fibers that stuck to Voldemort's wand. He added another drop of blood, and the fibers coagulated into a thick, maroon-colored substance. Voldemort carefully withdrew his wand, taking the viscous liquid with him. Dropping the pea-sized globule into an awaiting cauldron, he could not help but stretch his face into a triumphant smile.

Wormtail, a round man who skittered rather than walked, arrived early the next day with several potion ingredients, accompanied by Avery. "My Lord," he said, grasping for Voldemort's robes, "if you need any assistance, any at all…."

Voldemort cut him off abruptly. "There is no need, Wormtail," he said coldly. "Avery, surely this little errand didn't require two Deatheaters? Or am I overestimating your abilities? If I remember correctly, I asked you to find the oaf Hagrid. Don't tell me you can't track down someone half the size of a small house…" Voldemort ended, drilling his blood red eyes into Avery's skull. Avery crumpled like tissue paper under his stare.

"My Lord, no, I am working on it diligently, right this very moment, I just found - " Avery began, clearly fearing an oncoming Cruciatus or Avada Kedavra.

"You lie, Avery," Voldemort said, probing the blonde man's mind. "I hope you don't need any… motivation?" Voldemort fingered his wand gently, curling his lips into a slight sneer. Wormtail backed up against the wall, terrified, as though he might be punished as well.

"My Lord, please, I am not as wise as you," Avery stuttered, gripping Voldemort's robes as Wormtail had done minutes before.

"No need, Avery, no need, Lord Voldemort is forgiving," Voldemort said in a high cold voice, about to turn and walk away. He wondered momentarily why in Merlin's name he was being such a pushover today… forgiving people all over the place, first with Lucius, now with Avery. Voldemort shook the thought from his mind and stopped abruptly, pointing one last glare at Avery. "But, should I find - " Voldemort said, twirling his wand casually.

"My Lord, thank you, you are most gracious, most kind, most worthy," Avery said, sounding very relieved as he bowed and backed away. The rest of his praises drowned out by Wormtail's sudden squeal.

"Wormtail, you have the ingredients?" Voldemort said, turning swiftly upon the Wormtail's wide cowering figure.

"Yes, yes, my Lord, of course," Wormtail said meekly, holding out a bulging paper bag and trying desperately to stabilize his trembling hand.

"Good, Wormtail, good. Perhaps, next time, I will give you a more … challenging assignment," Voldemort said, smirking slightly. "You may leave." The two Deatheaters Apparated a little too quickly, and Voldemort was once again left alone with his near-empty cauldron.

It took Voldemort a month to prepare, mix, and brew the potion, and by the time he was complete, in early August, he was thoroughly pleased with himself. "The last ingredient," he murmured, his hand seizing with a familiar pain. No matter. It would be gone momentarily. Voldemort added a dash of ground unicorn horn and breathed deeply as the potion turned a murky green. He gingerly filled a cup and vanished the entire cauldron with a flick of his wand. He retreated to a nearby chair, barely denting it with his thin body. The solution burned his throat as he swallowed it, and he waited momentarily for the effects to take hold. In a matter of seconds, Voldemort felt his frame crumple. He blacked out with a rare look of uncertainty in his eyes.

When Voldemort awoke the next morning, he felt wondrously energetic… almost happy. The clock read 6:14 AM. He walked over to the old antiqued mirror, and was nearly blown of his feet. The potion, it seemed, had succeeded. Voldemort admired his sixteen-year-old physique. Dashing, certainly. But more importantly, his bones wouldn't be breaking on their own volition for quite a while now.

At 6:32 AM someone knocked on the front door. "Master, we are here," declared two voices that Voldemort recognized immediately as Rodolphus Lestrange and his wife Bellatrix.

"Enter," he said. The Lestranges appeared in front of him, already kneeling on the ground.

"Excuse us, my Lord," the mound on the left with a male voice said.

"Late again, are we? Nevertheless, I trust you have made the map?" said Voldemort, his voice hinged with the usual coldness.

"Of course, master," Bellatrix rose slightly, producing a thin white roll of parchment from her robes. Now both she and he husband stood, still with their heads down, to await Voldemort's approval. Voldemort unrolled the parchment in his hands and was pleased to see that the Lestranges had indeed succeeded. The map was a perfect duplicate of Hogwarts, with every inhabitant labeled in minute detail. At the moment, only a few ghosts roamed the halls, but Voldemort knew the situation would get interesting once September rolled around.

"You have not failed me," Voldemort nodded curtly. Bellatrix and Rodolphus' heads remained down-turned. "Bella, you have kept a firm watch on 12 Grimmauld Place?"

"Yes, master," Bellatrix replied, speakinggleefully to the floor. "The animagus Black left the house to the worthless Potter. But the house elf, Kreacher, is still loyal to me. He will be of help to us in the future, as he was before."

"Very well, Bella," Voldemort nodded again. She had made up well for her blunder at the Ministry two years previous, unlike some of his less capable servants. Now Bellatrix and Rodolphus raised their heads, slowly. Voldemort expected praise for being able to complete such an age-defying piece of magic, or otherwise compliments scattered carelessly before him. He had not, however, anticipated Bellatrix to widen her eyes in surprise and blush lightly before fainting face-forward on the ground. Voldemort cast a raised eyebrow and a look of incredulity at her standing husband, whose mouth nearly three times as wide as it should have been. Rodolphus quickly composed himself, and Voldemort was horrified to see that his face had flushed pink as well.

"My Lord," Rodolphus started, stammering slightly, "Is that… what…." Voldemort glared at him, almost lost for words. Deatheaters doubting his identity? Surely, there was some resemblance between his current appearance and the one he held before? Voldemort resisted an urge to throw a Cruciatus on Rodolphus right on the spot. He stopped himself, for some reasons unknown. I should excuse for their abominable stupidity, Voldemort thought, though he felt disgusted with himself. The potion must have turned him soft.

"Rodolphus," Voldemort said in a hard voice, "you believe me to be someone else?" Voldemort pulled his hood a little further over his head. No need to give anyone a heart attack.

"No, no, my … Lord," Rodolphus said, looking down again. Voldemort, however, sensing his residual uncertainty, found an opportunity to teach them a lesson of humility. He pressed two long and pale fingers against a skull and serpent mark on his arm. It burned a bright white, almost disappearing. Immediately, hooded figures appeared all around them, their heads bowed blissfully low. Rodolphus took the initiative to roll his shamefully unconscious wife to the side.

"Rodolphus and Bellatrix," Voldemort began, curling his lips at the edges, "were kind enough to pay a visit this morning." Rodolphus made a small gurgling noise, his face darkening exponentially. Voldemort continued, still smiling. "Clearly, one of them has had a mishap. Dear Bella here," Voldemort smirked, walking over to Bellatrix's half-turned body on the floor, "passed out when she saw me. Now, my friends, I must admit I have undergone some … changes … these past few weeks. My old body was not up to its usual standards, as you might understand. I managed to fashion myself a fresh one, a replica of my younger self. I neglected to inform Rodolphus of this, and he doubted my identity." Rodolphus's face deepened to a ripe plum color. He murmured something unintelligible towards the floor tiles, still staring in horror at his wife's body, which still showed no signs of waking. "Do not worry, Rodolphus, Bella will come around in time. To the rest of my friends, I trust that you will not collapse when you see me?" Several dozen hooded heads nodded, muttering comments such as "You are most ingenious, my Lord" and "My respect for you is unparalleled, master". Voldemort smirked again. "Good." He lowered his hood and attempted to begin giving out new assignments, but not before Wormtail, also known as Peter Pettigrew, yelled out in surprise.

"Master, you are … beautiful…" Wormtail stuttered, looking up at Voldemort's unlined, pale face and black wavy hair in awe. Several Deatheaters murmured their agreement.

"Enough," Voldemort said, slightly irritated. He went through a list of new assignments, setting the Cruciatus Curse on a few lazy Deatheaters and even managing to kill off one. Ah, back to his old self again. Voldemort was, however, unnerved by the abnormal looks some of the Deatheaters gave him. He did not mind terribly, of course, it was always good to stand out, to be different, but he swore that amid the expressions of fascination and subservience, he caught a few looks of… lust? No, he thought, shaking the disgusting idea from his mind. He was once inclined to rethink this notion, however, when Nott and Lucius approached him after the meeting. Most of the Deatheaters had left by then, though a scarce few were bent next to an awakening Bellatrix and a bright red Rodolphus, slowly hoisting the woman up by her bony arms.

"My Lord," Lucius began, inclining his head, "with your renewed physique, I would be most honored if you would accompany me on my next muggle - "

"My Lord," Nott interrupted, "muggles require hardly any strength. Now dangerous creatures are another matter. I would be most sincerely deeply- "

"MASTER!" shrieked Bellatrix, who had apparently just woken up properly. The Deatheaters surrounding her jumped back in surprise. The black-haired woman pulled her self to her feet and kneeled on the floor before Voldemort, securing her hands around Lord Voldemort's ankles. Lord Voldemort blanched and tried to shake her off, put the bawling woman only shook harder. "MASTER! Forgive me! My behavior was … inexcusable … please master, PLEASE!" Rodolphus gestured empty-handedly at his wife, and Voldemort glared at the few Deatheaters in the room. All were bowed in silence, their lips unmoving, Voldemort noticed, except for one. The young one in the corner, hidden in Lucius's shadow, had a trace of a smirk on his mouth. Voldemort pointed his wand at the boy, causing the youth to appear right before him.

The blonde was as surprised as anything, his smirk vanishing immediately when Voldemort declared, "You! Lucius's son, Draco, is it not?" The boy nodded meekly and his father cast a disapproving glare, looking as though he wanted to knock the boy off his feet with his staff. "Tell me, Draco, what are you laughing at?"

"Nothing, master, nothing," Draco said softly.

"Nothing indeed …" Voldemort laughed, staring into Draco's eyes. The weak were so very easy to manipulate. "Let's see now, you're deathly afraid at the moment, aren't you? Poor boy, and you're afraid of what your father will say as well. Yes… I can feel your anger, your fear for me. Now to find what you're smirking at…" Voldemort laughed, and Draco's cheeks burned. "You're wondering how I became handsome all of a sudden… understandable. And you find Bella's display of … affection … unusual?" Voldemort chuckled quietly, tilting Draco's head up with a thin finger. "But you're in no place to laugh at anyone are you? CRUCIO!" The air filled with Draco's wails and Lucius looked on unsympathetically. Voldemort lifted the curse rather quickly. "You may have succeeded once, boy, but Lord Voldemort does not take kindly to those who mock others more worthy than themselves…"

"Yes, sorry, my Lord," Draco panted, his face flushed red.

"Good, good …" Voldemort laughed again, as coldly as before. "Now the rest of you, don't waste my time." The Deatheaters nodded in agreement and one by one they Disapparated (Rodolphus had to hold Bellatrix on his shoulder). "Now, my dear Nagini," Voldemort said, turning towards a snake stretched out languorously in the corner, "time for breakfast." Voldemort composed himself in his green armchair and turned to face the morning sun. He stroked the serpent as it swallowed a live rat.

Many miles away, Lucius Malfoy paced around his son, tapping his cane in a rather violent manner. "Draco, you have disgraced me as well as the Malfoy family before the Dark Lord."

"Sorry, father…" Draco mumbled, in a voice very unlike the one he used with other people.

"I don't want you getting a big head after Dumbledore's… demise," Lucius smirked. "The Dark Lord has many challenges ahead for you. If you can't prove yourself…"

"Sorry father, I will," Draco said, biting his tongue. The elder Malfoy exhaled smugly.

"And you might do better at convincing some of your little friends to take the Lord more seriously…"

"None of them are Deatheaters yet, father," said Draco. Honestly, his father was rather dense at times. Did he really think Crabbe and Goyle were made of Deatheater material?

"Well I daresay if you fail, the Dark Lord will look for replacements… you need to be a leader, Draco, not the whining brat you are."

Draco Malfoy resisted the urge to say, "Whatever, you long-haired bastard", and instead settled with a distant mumbling. Lucius, having felt that he had subdued Draco enough, left the youth alone in the study.

PLEASE REVIEW :D