A/N: Sorry it took so long to get this out – I wasn't sure anyone was reading this. (I'm still not sure; after all, there are no reviews.) Hopefully somebody's reading this, and whoever you are, this is for you.
Rising
There were so many things that I'd wanted to do before that night, and so many things I'd already done that were detrimental to not only my cause but also my sanity. Those blessedly few hours that I was out of my body, I reflected back on them and realized the cold hard truth of the situation: Dumbledore had too much pull with the current Ministry administration for me to take him head on politically as I had been. I needed to be far sneakier than I had been, as well as completely and utterly sane. So, while I was out of my body, I gave up some of the powers I'd worked so hard to get. They were Dark, yes, but more than that they would ultimately cause my downfall by creating insanity where there had been none before. I needed all my wits about me to maneuver the world out of Dumbledore's fierce grip, and no amount of power was worth failure. Failure meant that innocents – like I had been, like Severus had been, like my own mother had been – would suffer as we had or worse, and I couldn't allow that. I had to win, if only for those hopeful few who were still green enough to be saved. So I did what I never would have thought to do without the aid of my future self: I re-absorbed all but three of my Horcruxes. Then, gathering two of the remaining ones, I combined them and then redistributed them into nine equal parts, placing each one in a newborn kitten.
Eighty-three, that was the number of chances I would have to escape Death, myself and Potter included. The number that Rasputin had advised in Volta de Morte was less – only seventy-three – but with that infernal Headmaster lurking about I wasn't about to take any chances. The world needed saving from him, and I wasn't about to gamble with the lives of innocents if I could help it. The more chances I had to defeat him, the better. And with Potter – soon to be Black – alive and on my side, I could essentially live forever. Of course, I'd hope to see some kind of victory long before then, but people could be stubborn when faced with change – even when that change was in their best interest. It scared them, and I could sympathize: falling in love with Eileen was the most frightening thing that ever happened to me. I don't for a moment regret it – better to have loved and lost, after all – but until I loved her, I'd lived for myself. For my knowledge. And now…
My eyes alighted on Severus, who was in deep conversation with Lucius and Igor.
Now, I live for them. For my family. I couldn't save Abraxas, or myself, or even (loathe as I am to admit it) my son, but hopefully… hopefully, I can save my grandson. Maybe, just maybe, I could save that generation, and the ones after.
Dumbledore may have been good once – I wouldn't know – but he wasn't anymore. Everyone thought he had their best interests at heart, but the only person he was concerned with was himself. Look at what he did to the Potters. He set them up for failure "for the greater good" – that is, in hopes of getting rid of me. But he wasn't counting on my Horcruxes, and had pompously reported my demise without actually seeing for himself that I was dead. Such folly… he'd come to regret his oversight, as now that I had regained corporeal form I could operate in the shadows with him none the wiser. No one would be looking for a dead man, after all, and they certainly wouldn't be looking for a dead man that appeared as I did. With my Darkest powers shed my body had taken on the less-threatening form that it would have naturally progressed to. Gone was the tight, waxy visage, flat nostrils, and snakelike crimson eyes, and in their place was an altogether different face. The new (or should I say proper?) me had thick, dark, wavy locks, and intelligent blue eyes. I was tall and lithe – just like my two sons – and had the overall look of a genteel, witty aristocrat. Which thanks to my traitorous father, I exactly was. If we met in a duel, Dumbledore would likely underestimate me due to my genial appearance. It was the perfect guise for keeping a low profile, and only a trusted few would be the wiser.
I smirked as I examined myself in the mirror. Let the games begin.