:Four:
Everyone thought he was selling himself short, so to speak. The most brilliant student to ever walk the Hogwarts halls, the boy who should have been the next Minister of Magic, working as a salesperson in Borgin and Burkes? A shame, they said, a real shame.
But Tom knew what he was doing.
He wasn't going to fall into line like the rest of the Wizarding world after their graduations. He wasn't going to have a wife and kids and a pretty little cottage with a white picket fence. He wouldn't spend his days conforming to the rules of the drooling idiots who worked for the Ministry. Oh no.
He had bigger things in store for him.
He would get the items he wanted off of that Smith bitch and use them to his advantage.
He was the Heir of Slytherin. A legend at Hogwarts. He would get the DADA position, he knew it. He would mold the minds of young witches and wizards to his words, he would make them bend to his will.
Lord Voldemort. The name that he made for himself, to cast away the unfortunate common Muggle name he had been christened. It had been sitting in his mind for some time now. He liked it, it sounded worthy of him.
I am Lord Voldemort now. He would make the world afraid to utter his name, fear him and his followers, his wrath. He would rule, the world free of Mudblood and Muggle filth.
Like his early days in the library, he was now in search of immortality, of new Dark objects, for what were the Dark Arts but forbidden knowledge?
There was no good and evil, he had decided. Only power and those too weak to seek it. Lord Voldemort was not weak. He would reign supreme, and nothing would stop him...
until a little boy with green eyes and a lightening-shaped scar thought otherwise.
Fin.