Marked

A Harry Potter story

OF MORTALITY AND REVENGE

Immortal, he was finally immortal. That was the first thought that entered his mind as they walked through the dark forest heading towards the gates of the majestic castle that was Hogwarts. Twigs and leaves crunched under his heavy footsteps with the howling wind at his eardrums and the occasional sounds of cheering interrupting the otherwise silent woods. He glanced over his shoulder, sinister laughter leaving his lips and blood red eyes glowing with excitement at the sight behind him. There Hagrid was, carrying a dead Harry Potter in his arms, his lips trembling and eyes glistening over. Occasional loud sobs wreaked his monstrous body, which gave nothing but a tremendous amount of amusement to the death eaters that surrounded him. His loyal followers were rejoicing with him at their spectacular triumph, whistling, and cavorting about behind him.

'Move' he commanded the half-giant who had stopped unceremoniously in the middle of the road, brandishing his wand at the mountainous looking fellow. He was not angry, however, for the raptures at his victory had yet to subside.

He looked back at the boy who had been the bane of his existence since his birth, or as he called him the boy-who-just-wouldn't-die. That name would no longer suit him, however, as death had finally taken him. With his mouth lolled open and his eyes shut, the boy looked as pale as a ghost in the darkness. One of the death eaters seemed to have had slammed the spectacles back on this enemy, quite forcefully too. Branches and mud clung to his hair and scars were scattered about on his face, a proof of the pain and misery he had faced before dying. A lightning-shaped mark on his forehead was the only reminder of a crystal ball that foretold the future of two lives, a ball that now lay shattered in the Department of mysteries

Death, that is what had been referred to in the prophecy. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..." it had said.

The prophecy was true, however, and he had lived which meant now he could exact his revenge on his enemies and no one would stand in his way. Those filthy muggles and mudbloods would die horrible deaths. Muggles, like Tom Riddle SR, who had abandoned his mother, taking away her desire to live and leaving her to the dead him. The sire who had deserted, leaving him nowhere to go but the Wool's Orphanage.

That wasn't his home either, it had never felt like one. He remembered it vividly, the square building surrounded by high railings made for a very unpleasant place in which to grow up in. The ruthless fellow orphans dint help and neither did the neglect shown by . It was just another place for him, one where he was regularly teased and abused for being "a monster"- for having magic. Well if they thought he was a monster, he had proven them right at the cave. He took Amy Benson, along with Dennis Bishop, to a cave near the spot where he and the rest of the orphanage kids were taken on a trip. There he had done something so delightfully terrible that the two orphans were frightened into silence.

Then there was Billy Stubbs. He had been a nuisance, continuously picking fights and torturing others. Tom too had been a victim of those bloody fights and bullying. But he had gotten his revenge on the boy, and Billy's rabbit was found hung from the rafters the day after one of their fights. Of course, Mrs. Cole had blamed him for causing trauma to these fellow students all the while disregarding the cause of his actions, what they had done to him beforehand.

'Stop' he commanded more to himself than to the people behind him, as he felt himself getting angrier at his train of thought. He looked about him, eyes blazing. They had reached the castle's gates and now a chill settled over them where they stood, the grating breath of the dementors that patrolled the other trees whistling down on them. The giant, as well as his followers, had jerked to a halt around him. The later looked towards him awaiting his further commands, while the former lurched a little to the front and then stood still, yet sobbing.

The sight of the grand castle bought forward other bitter memories to the front of his mind. His thoughts turned towards the former headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, the flickering images of their first meeting coming to the forefront. At the crack of dawn one fine day, the old coot had shown up, bursting an old cupboard to flames- a wizard and professor at Hogwarts he called himself- and almost eleven-year-old Tom had confessed all that he had done to his fellow orphans. He had trusted the old man, even if to a fairly small degree. And so he had hoped that it would change at Hogwarts, that he would no longer be bullied.

He laughed again, this time more at the naivety of his childhood self than anything else. Hogwarts had definitely started out different. He had been sorted to Slytherin, the house of the cunning and had also found out the truth of his noble ancestry. No one could tease him now, or so he thought. As his popularity in his own house had increased so had the distrust of his fellow students and the professors, regarding him. And from there it had sprung again, the suspicion, torment, and agony. This time though he had people who stood with him, who followed everything he said and believed in him.

He was now proud of his house, his blood, and ancestry, and complimented himself on being a descendant of the great Salazar Slytherin himself, was there anything wrong in that? He was Lord Voldemort, the greatest wizard alive now. Magic was not something to be laughed at and the mudbloods would now learn this fact when faced with death by his wand. They would feel the pain he did. But first, he would get his revenge on all his supposed guardians who had failed him, then gradually rid the world of filth and rule the rich, pureblooded people who stood by him.

Thinking thus, he spoke aloud and challenged the crowd that had gathered, not knowing that in the period of less than an hour he would lose the battle and his life, nor that the one to do so would be the same boy he was thinking to be dead and not knowing the people he called his faithful followers would sigh in relief when he died.

Authors note:-

I do not own any Harry Potter characters or plots, nor do I make money from the content of this story. It is the hard work and brilliance of JK Rowling alone.

Now that the disclaimer is over with, let's continue. Hello dear readers, this is the first fic I have ever written. So please R&R and do tell if there are any mistakes.