…And the reborn soul shall thrice deny, twice defy the darkest lord of the age.
Look therefore to the coming of the one who is born to those who have thrice defied him. For to them he shall come, born as the seventh month dies and he shall have power the darkness knows not. Either can die only at the hands of the other for neither can live while the other merely survives… The Ancients' Book of Prophecies.
Tom knelt by his bed, holding the hand of the one person he had ever loved, tears streaming down his face. At 20 years of age he was a striking figure with dark hair and piercing blue eyes. Life had not been easy for him and it showed in a myriad of ways from scars to world weary look that hardly ever left his eyes and it was not about to get any easier. Looking at what had been done to his lover made his grief turn to rage but not even that could stop the tears. Harry had been the first person he had met that had not shunned him almost straight away. Even after learning that he had to return to a muggle orphanage each summer he had stuck by and tried to make it easier. As the boys had grown from nervous 11year olds to confident adults they had only gotten closer, becoming lovers in their 5th year.
And now he was dead, caught by the last of the dead Grindlewald's forces to gain a safe passage from battle and tortured to death by the so called light. He had died before Tom could find a way to get to him. He would be avenged though; the Knights and the order would not get away without punishment. Not while he still lived and he would make sure that he lived for a long, long time.
He stood tall as he vowed vengance, throwing his head back to scream it to the high ceiling. The one chance the wizarding world had of peace in the coming years faded as the mark of such an overwelming rage appeared in the tear filled eyes, leaving the iris's tinged with red. Tom took the remanants of his heart and locked them away behind barriers harder than steel. Settling the cold hand back on the bed he bowed his head once more and wiped the tears from his face. Leaning over to kiss the unmarked brow of his dead lover he whispered, "For you, my love. Good bye." Then turned and fled the room.
No one would ever again speak the name Tom Marvolo Riddle without feeling the full extent of his wrath. He was now Voldemort, for he would fly from death until his vengance was complete. Summoning the serpents to him he told them the news of Harry's death. His familiar Nagini rose into a strike position spitting with rage while Harry's already sluggish king cobra curled up in pain. He had felt the bond snap some time before but hadn't even considered the fact that his master was dead. When Voldemort offered to divert the soul bond to him, the large snake agreed. Together the trio moved to the edge of the wards and pausing only long enough to ensure they were all touching, disappeared from view.
