Chapter 1: The Locked Door
Its pitch black and not a sound can be heard. Gliding through the hallway, a shrouded figure makes his way silently towards a door. The figure glides straight through the closed door and finds him in a circular room. When the figure reaches the centre of the room; the room begins to spin. When it stops spinning, the man finds himself surrounded by doors. In contemplation, he absently caresses the head of the snake that is coiled around his shoulders. The snake slithers down and circles the room flicking its tongue every now and then, anticipation of a particular scent. After she has locked onto that scent, she coils at the door to the figure's left, waiting patiently for her master to come forward.
With a flick of the wand, he unlocks the door, gliding straight ahead in urgency with Nagini in his stride. The door opens into a long, seemingly endless and empty corridor, with a small door at its far end.
The stone walls are thread bare and plain, devoid of any décor. The absence of windows keeps the corridor immersed in darkness. The corridor is so dark that the door at the end would have gone unnoticed had thick black silvery smoke had not been emanating from its base.
As Voldemorte advanced towards the door, the thick black smoke now started coming out in frenzy, in billows, in puffs and draughts and nearly engulfs the door. The silver snake rears its head in anticipation and hisses softly, almost like a moan.
The explosion flings the door clear off its hinges as if the darkness from within the room had exploded and was uncoiling like a lethal snake engulfing everything in its vicinity. Then suddenly amidst the darkness and smoke arises a beacon of light, a light so bright that it shines like the light of a thousand suns. The bright light seems to pierce Voldemorte's eyes like sharp daggers forcing him to shield them with his hand. Nagini hisses as though calling out to somebody, with whom she had a long forgotten relationship.
The bright light was blinding and Harry woke up in a cold sweat, and covered his face with his hands. Beads of sweat glinted on his forehead, as his scar fired up with searing pain. It seemed to rip his head apart. He jerked his hand up to the scar, rubbing it furiously, hoping desperately that this would ease the pain. For a minute, Harry imagined himself standing in the smoke-filled corridor and then it dawned on him that this had been one of his frequent incursions into Voldemorte's mind that Hermione was so scared of. However he could not make out what this meant- Voldermote moving in for another kill- that's the first thought that occurred to him. He vowed to tell Ron and Hermione about this, first thing in the morning.
He sat still waiting for the pain in the scar to subside and as he looked around the room he saw Ron sleeping in the adjoining bed. Suddenly the ghoul in the attic gave a moaning wail bringing Harry back to full consciousness.
As the door flew open, torn off its hinges, Voldermote stopped in his tracks. The silhouette of a man appeared in the doorway, radiating blazing light, making Voldermote shield his eyes. The man beckoned Voldermote forward, his order coming in a long drawn whispery hiss. As Voldermote moved closer to the man, he noticed the small stature of the man. In spite of his small build, the man looked imposing with flowing black hair and a haggled beard that reached down to his waist. He was wrapped in a ragged blanket which gave off a reeking smell.
As the smoke in the corridor thinned out, the room that it led to came into clear view. It was a small room completely made up of stone, with a heavy set of chains that had been snapped clean into two, apparently by this frail man. The small room, like the corridor housing it, was threadbare, devoid of windows and had a strange aura of finality to it. What the Dark Lord could not comprehend was how this seemingly common looking man had survived this nearly eternal imprisonment. The door showed no signs of any opening of any sort through which food could have been passed into the room. How then, had this man survived- was it sheer determination to live or an ulterior motive so powerful that he had even overpowered Death to pursue it.
As the man moved towards Voldermote, unbeknownst to him Nagini had slithered towards the frail being and had coiled herself around his body. For a split moment Voldermote thought that Nagini was intent on killing the man but then he realized that he was actually stroking the snake's head with gentle, undisguised fondness. His pupils glowed like burning coals in the deep hollow sockets of his eyes and his lips curled in a snide sneer as Voldemorte's eyes, for the first time, betrayed a hint of fear and confusion. However overcoming that dash of indecisiveness, Voldermote confronted the frail man pointing his wand at him. Who is this creature… just another of my countless victims. However he does seem to be deeply familiar. Am I making a grave mistake...?
He opened his mouth to speak but the man raised a bony finger and silenced his instantly. The boldness of this man, the strange behaviour of Nagini and the sudden unintended obedience that he had just shown to this frail man left Voldermote confused and bedraggled. He was spellbound for a moment and for the first time began to regard him with a renewed respect that he had never had for anyone else before.
His attention was drawn towards the long nails on the man's fingers and toes. They seemed to be filled with centuries worth of dirt and scum. Finally his eyes settled on a ring that the man wore on the third finger of his right hand. It was a silver ring shaped like a serpent eating its own tail. The serpent's eyes were made of diamonds, but what captivated his eye was the large green emerald that was set in its fangs.
After what seemed like hours, actually could have been just a few moments, the man cleared his throat and addressed, not Voldermote, but Nagini in a hiss, "Have you come to take me home, my darling. But I can't return home wearing rags."
He snapped his fingers and out of nowhere sable green robes appeared clothing his body, replacing the reeking shawl. Without another word, he snapped his fingers again, and the walls of the corridor began to close in on them and Voldermote felt himself spinning as everything around them blacked out. The next instance, Voldermote found himself facing a massive door encrusted with emeralds and rubies. The door seemed to be set in an imposing stone wall, an entrance to a very ancient and large, apparently desolate castle.
The castle was shrouded with overgrown creepers and the hedge around its unkempt garden had grown erratically and seemed to effectively play its role of walling off any intruders. The prickly thorns on the creepers would have been a daunting obstacle to overcome, had some intruders managed to filter in through the hedge. The garden, though unkempt and untended, seemed to be in full bloom tonight. Every flower, every bud, every leaf seemed to be aware of the fact that the rightful master of the castle had finally returned to take control and seemed to sway rhythmically, even though the air around was dead still.
Voldemorte turned his attention back to the towering castle. Its stone towers and turrets were high, with tiny windows set in them. The door had a massive silver door knocker shaped like a basilisk's head, encrusted with emeralds. The man who had brought Voldermote to this unknown destination had been standing in silence observing him take in all the sights around him.
Suddenly the sky went dark as the moon took refuge behind a cluster of clouds. With a deep sigh, which signalled the finality of his homecoming, the master of the castle, delicately touched the massive door knocker and the door opened noiselessly. The man strutted into the castle, beckoning Voldermote in behind him. The hall they had entered into was dark, but was apparently large and spacious. The man walked into the centre of the room and snapped his fingers- green flames erupted in the several lamps that were hanging from the ceiling, giving the room a magnificent green halo. With a high strung, cackling laugh the man seated himself on a throne like chair placed under the now brightly lit chandelier, and said just three words, "Home Sweet Home!"
After a moment's hesitation, Voldemorte tore his eyes away from the green flames of the chandelier and found him-self gazing at the room filled with heirlooms of his ancestor- Salazar Slytherin.