Hey there. I know some of you might be confused. The story's still basically the same. I just decided to restart it and give it a better title. I hope all of you that read the original agree that this is an improvement.
Disclaimer: JKR's creation with my tiny additions
Chapter 1: Creation
August 19, 1980
The night was cool and the stars shone brightly. A wind rustled the leaves in the trees surrounding the cemetery. On the hill above the cemetery was an old manor. It rose to a height of two stories but was in a state of disrepair. The grass was overgrown, the hedges weren't trimmed, and debris from a storm several days ago littered the ground. The house itself was unkempt. The windows needed cleaning, and the floors and other surfaces were gathering dust. Everywhere was dark and empty. With the exception of one room that is.
In a small room at the back of the house overlooking the cemetery, a man worked by the light of a small green fire. He was tall and bald. His skin was chalky gray and his fingers long and skeletal. His eyes were red with vertical pupils, and he had slits for nostrils. He had long ago lost the good looks he once possessed, but that didn't matter to him; what mattered was the immortality that his experiments had gained for him. But that also didn't matter right now. He was working on a different experiment now.
Tom Riddle, or Lord Voldemort as he preferred to be known, had spent months researching the magic behind what he was planning to attempt and the last several weeks performing his own experiments. At last, he was finally ready. He picked up the cauldron, large enough to fit a small child, and placed it above the fire. He prodded the emerald green flames with his wand to adjust their temperature. Precision was essential for the magic he was about to perform. He added water to the cauldron and allowed it to heat.
If he succeeded tonight, and he was sure he would, he would be the first person to have done so. All other experiments, going back for centuries, had failed. Tonight, however, would be different. Tonight he would create a human, a daughter, from out of his own blood.
All the books said it couldn't be done, and just for that, Voldemort was determined to prove them wrong. If he did, he would be the greatest pioneer in magical science, even greater than Dumbledore, the discoverer of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, author of numerous essays on the laws of transfiguration, etc. Though he was honest with himself, there were other advantages to having a daughter. A daughter would follow him without question; she would be obedient; she would completely trust and be always loyal to him. She would never rise up against him, and she would be content to serve him and his cause. All because she would love him, and she would fear him. Oh yes, thought Voldemort to himself. A daughter would be the perfect weapon; no one would know who she was, and no one would suspect her.
He shook his head to clear it of his musings; he needed to focus all of his attention on the task at hand. He quickly turned to his notes on the table and flipped several pages. He then took a silver knife and slit his finger, allowing the drops of blood to fall into a crystal dish sitting on the table. He then took his wand and waved it over his hand. The cut healed instantly; there wasn't even a scar. He then placed his wand over the dish filled with scarlet blood and began muttering to himself. As he muttered his spell, the blood began to glow silver. As the spell continued, it glowed brighter and brighter, almost blinding him. When the spell ended, the silver glow abruptly diminished, condensing into tiny droplets within the blood.
Voldemort smiled. So far it was working. The spell was supposed to identify factors that accounted for gender, and it appeared that it had. He flipped a few more pages in his notes and studied the diagrams intently. According to his research, men had both factors while females only had one. So if he deleted all copies of one factor and duplicated the other factor, the child would be a girl. His eyes scanned his notes, searching. There. He placed his finger under the line in question: the male factor will be a darker silver, almost gray, while the female factor will shine more brightly.
He turned back to spelled blood and set to work. Ever so carefully, he deleted all the darker silver factors and then used a duplication spell on the bright silver factors to restore the copies of the gender factors to their original number.
Now, he added water to the cauldron then allowed it to heat to a gentle simmer. He mixed in his blood, and the potion immediately turned a deep red. He then opened a case that was sitting on the table behind his notes. Inside were several vials containing various ingredients he had collected and prepared over the months. One by one, he emptied each vial into the cauldron, stirring and muttering spells over the potion according to his own instructions. After stirring the potion counter-clockwise for several minutes, Voldemort paused in his spell casting. Only one vial remained. Its contents were a deep violet, almost black. This final ingredient was his own innovation. It would cause a process that would normally take days, even weeks, to take only a few hours without causing any damage to the developing child. He slowly tipped the stimulant and let it pour into the cauldron. Immediately, the potion hissed and frothed, turning a deep emerald-black and giving off deep violet steam.
He lowered the temperature of the flames slightly and sat back to watch and wait. As the hours passed, the emerald-black potion condensed and developed black swirls. It condensed even more, becoming more solid than liquid, and eventually, the general outline of a child developed. As time passed, the figure became more recognizable as a human girl. Finally, a few minutes before midnight, the child lay fully-developed at the bottom of the cauldron. The baby girl had pale skin, a head of black fuzz, and light red lips. Sleeping contentedly, she brought her tiny fist to her mouth and sucked on a couple of her fingers.
Voldemort looked down at his creation in satisfaction. He had done what no one else had ever done before. He had created a human being from his own blood, and he had done it in a matter of hours. Smiling in triumph, he reached in and gently picked up the baby girl. Wrapping her in a blanket, he set her on the table. Now for the next step.
When she was older, the girl would not be able to be seen with him often. It would put her in danger and expose a weakness to his followers and enemies. But he had already thought of a solution. He would make her an Animagus. Reaching inside his robes, he removed another vial containing a gleaming black potion that caught all the light from the fire and absorbed it. He uncapped the vial and drew symbols with the transformation-inducer on the baby girl's body. He then took his wand and, holding it above his daughter's sleeping body, moved it from symbol to symbol muttering incantations in half-lost languages. Minutes later, he uttered the last word, and he set his wand down. He contemplated his daughter for a moment; she was still sleeping quietly, unaware of what he was doing.
He then spoke one word: "Mutarsi." The pale-skinned baby girl lying on the blanket transformed into a small blue-green black snakelet. She had tiny scales running down her body, and her pink tongue slipped in and out of her mouth as she breathed. Her eyes remained closed, fast asleep. "Mutarsi," he repeated satisfied, and the tiny snake transformed back into a baby girl. He took a damp cloth and wiped the symbols off her small body before wrapping her back up in the blanket to protect her from the chill.
He stood in front of the table staring at his daughter for a moment. She needed a name. After a few moments contemplation, he had it. She would be named Nagini. It was fitting, he thought with a small smile. Her name meant snake, and not only could she turn into a snake, but she was also descended from Salazar Slytherin himself, the greatest Parseltongue there had ever been.
He smiled in satisfaction then once more picked up his wand. He needed to make her "untraceable." No one, especially Dumbledore, could know she was his daughter. Placing his wand over little Nagini, he began the incantations. He muttered quietly under his breath so as to not wake the sleeping child. On he continued for several minutes until he finally lowered his arm. His daughter was now "untraceable"; she would use whatever alias he gave her, and that would be how everyone would know her.
All was quiet in Diagon Alley. The moon shone down on a deserted street. All the shoppers had returned to their houses hours ago, too fearful to be out after dusk. Voldemort appeared suddenly and silently in a swirl of his cloak. He had left Nagini at the Riddle Mansion but planned to return shortly. He realized as soon as he began contemplating performing his experiment that having a daughter was dangerous. She was a weakness, one that both his followers and his enemies would use against him. Therefore, no one must ever know she was related in any way to him. Until Nagini was old enough to attend Hogwarts, he would ensure that his Death Eaters and members of the Order of the Phoenix did not know she existed. The other disadvantage to having a child was raising it while it was still young. Babies slept, cried, and ate; he had neither the time nor the want to endure that every day for the next few years. Fortunately, there was a simple solution to both his difficulties. He planned to kidnap a witch or wizard, put them under the Imperius curse, and have them care for Nagini until she was able to walk, talk, and assist him.
So the very night he created her, he had left Nagini wrapped in her blanket back room of the Riddle House overlooking the cemetery. He stood in the midst of the tombstones then vanished into rolling dark gray smoke. He reappeared in Diagon Alley between Flourish and Blott's and the apothecary. He remained in the shadows watching the deserted street, the shoppers too afraid to stay out after dark. Wrapping himself in shadows, he entered the street and made his way toward Gringott's, sure he would encounter someone to act as a caretaker for Nagini.
He had only walked a few paces before he heard the sound of a door opening and saw light flood into the previously dark alley. A shadow stepped out of Quality Quidditch Supplies, looked nervously into the night, then began to walk hurriedly, straight toward Voldemort. The Dark Lord watched as the wizard made his way toward him with a smile on his face. When the man was only a few paces away, he stepped directly into his path and released his shadows into the night. The man stopped short and stared at Voldemort in horror. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He started shaking his head, trembling.
Voldemort smiled coldly and raised his wand, pointing it straight at the other man's chest. "What is your name?" he asked softly.
The man again opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He looked in terror at the raised wand, gulped then whispered, "Will. Will Morrison." Then a little louder as he gathered the entirety of his courage, he said, "Please, I beg you. I don't want to die. All I wanted was to buy my son a birthday present. I got off work late and still had to buy him a present. Please let me give it to him. Don't kill me, I beg you."
"Lord Voldemort is merciful. You will not die tonight." The man sighed in relief, his shoulders slumping. "But I will require a service from you," continued Voldemort. Will Morrison looked up in horror.
"Imperio!" The next moment, the man's eyes had turned glassy, and he stood there with a blank look on his face.
So just a note: This means that the Maurader's Map and anything other magical device will know her as Nagini (insert last name here) rather than as Nagini Riddle. And for those of you who are curious: the name Nagini is derived from the Sanskrit word "naga" which means "snake."
