Scotland
The leathery withered corpse of Azag writhed in the sunlight. He was a mere shadow of his former glory... nay not even a shadow. His soul, his magic was naught but vapor. Around him the grass browned and crumbled to
dust as his insatiable hunger devoured their life force. Yet the life of plants which barely sustained him did not restore him. He needed to consume something more substantial. He needed animal life... there above him he felt the flaps of their wings on the air.
"Birds... they shall do."
He reached a gnarled claw like hand and the buzzards descended to feast on his rotting flesh. Yet it was a trap as they closed he grasped their very life force and tore it from their bodies. The dozen vultures began to plumit
as they withered and died. Azag looked to his mummified hand and smiled painfully. His skin has a little more life to it. Yet in order to become fully restored he would need to feast on human life force. Their souls torn from their bodies would return his body to its former beauty. His magic was another story... it would take decades possibly centuries before he could attempt ascension again. He snarled in rage.
"No ascension is not an option. I will not suffer this agony again."
He rose on shaky legs and looked to the east. He needed to find clothing it isn't proper for a man of his status to walk the world naked. As soon as his magics are capable he will weave a robe from the ashes of his victims.
TWO DAYS LATER
Voldemort the most feared Dark Lord in centuries was vanquished by the magic weaved by Lilly Potter. Her son Harry is heralded as the hero at the word of Albus Dumbledore. In his ignorance he left the child with his Aunt and Uncle in foolish hope that they would care for him... he would later regret this decision.
Voldemorts spirit flees across the channel heading for Albania to regain some of his strength. His spirit is wracked with agony as the ley lines shift from a sudden burst of magical power.
"This power... no records have been seen since ancient Sumer. What could it be?"
Voldemort was knowledgeable in the darkest of magic even now his spirit clings to life. Had he not been vanquished he would have achieved his ultimate goal... no not the conquest of the world. That was a side goal. Voldemort craved power and what is more powerful then a god? He was merely two Horcruxes away from his goal. Dumbledore and Potter would pay for this! How embarrassing for the Darkest Lord in centuries to be vanquished by an Infant.
"No the child had nothing to do with this... it had to be some ancient Potter magic. Were they not descended from the Pervells?"
Yes that had to be it. Potters parents had used some ancient magic to save their son from his wrath. So Voldemort fled England for a time yet he would return.
Meanwhile in Scotland an elderly man who looked moments from death stood amidst a swirling vortex of dust and ash. His violet eyes glowing faintly as his insidious laugh echoed for close to a mile. The vortex faded leaving the man clad in grey robes. He took a stone into his hand and waved the other over the stone transforming it into a glassy substance. He gazed into the stone muttering under his breath.
"I must head east."
He had seen a settlement... a family living isolated. Their souls would serve him well. So Azag began to walk gathering his strength as he did. He would need all the magic he could muster to face these people. Who knew what strange magics they could bring to bear against him. Also he required a great deal more power to feed on humans. The stronger the soul the more power is needed to rip that soul and life from the body. Few beings had souls stronger than humans although most sapient beings had souls of equal strength.
"Soon I will not be so feeble."