Tom Riddle Jr

"Where there is no imagination,

there is no horror."

– Arthur Conan Doyle, Sr.

The Horror of a Name

By:

NRC (Nannii)

He'd always had a flair for the dramatic. It made him almost shiver with glee whenever his enemies fell for his bluff and realized he still had cards to play. He was a Slytherin through and through; he enjoyed the mind-games, the battle of wits and wills, and he savoured the victory that (always) used to be his. (But never mind, he was going to claim that back from the Boy Who Was Going To Die Really Soon.)

Take his Horcruxes.

He didn't have just one, he had six. Admittedly, his goal had been seven, but he had failed when he stepped into the house of the Potters, but still, who else in popular history had made a Horcrux, let alone six? He had chosen seven because it was considered the most powerful magical number, but also because he enjoyed seeing the people's faces every time he came back from the dead, immortal and seemingly with no explainable source or reason other than he was just that powerful.

He'd hidden bits of his soul in, again, a dramatic range of artifacts: Slytherin's locket, Ravenclaw's diadem, Hufflepuff's cup, his grandfather Marvolo's ring, his own Nagini, and (most dramatically) preserving his sixteen-year-old self perfectly in the pages of his diary.

Who could boast to that feat? Who could boast of having their souls in artifacts belonging to the most powerful witches and wizards of the century? (Gryffindor didn't count—he was a ponce.) Who could boast of tethering himself to Earth by keeping his memory alive, literally? He had performed magic no one else had even dreamed of.

Death Eaters—mere humans—weren't enough for his army. He'd recruited giants, Dementors, and even created the largest army of Inferi in history, for his impressive ranks. Half of the victory of conquering the world was the look of utter fear and horror on the people's faces. They knew he was the Dark Lord. He'd surpassed all previous Dark Witches and Wizards, he'd broken rules of magic, and he'd accomplished far more than anyone ever dreamed.

He prided himself in passing on his dramatic flair to his followers. After all, the people would always remember him as the one who unleashed the terror of his Death Eaters to the world.

His particular favourite plan had been Barty Crouch Jr's subtle control of the Triwizard Tournament—and even Hogwarts School and Harry Potter himself. If the plan had succeeded, and wee Potter had been defeated, Barty Crouch Jr would have been rewarded beyond his wildest dreams.

Another particularly enjoyable tale was Bellatrix Lestrange's manic torture of the Longbottoms. Again, Barty Crouch Jr had been a part of that. If he had returned to Lord Voldemort after the successful Triwizard Tournament plan, he'd have been doubly rewarded.

Fenrir Greyback had been another excellent asset. Oh, the horror he knew he inspired by threatening to turn Greyback loose on the people's sons and daughters! He didn't need gold to get his way.

The bites he had inflicted on Arthur Weasley—as Nagini—was another stroke of genius. He would have loved to see the Healers' faces when they realized the venom dissolved everything, and prevented the wound from sealing, by itself or with magic. His Nagini was a special find, almost as if his great ancestor Salazar Slytherin himself was helping him.

There were other schemes that he had enjoyed, including the horror he had leaked into the school by an unassuming little girl and her obsession with a nondescript diary. Even more so, the original opening of the Chamber of Secrets, when a Mudblood had actually died.

But so far, his top favourite plan of all time—besides changing his name (who would remember a generic name like Tom Riddle? Lord Voldemort was unique and far more striking) and creating the Dark Mark (he had to have some sort of symbol that represented him and him alone)—was the placing of double agent Severus Snape. What he'd give to see the look on Dumbledore's face when Snape showed his true allegiance at the Tower tonight!

As it were, he was on the hunt for the cherry on the cake, the piece-de-resistance, the ultimate weapon of glory: the Elder Wand. Only the strongest wand for the strongest wizard; only the best for the best.

But no matter, he'd soon have the whole world bending on its knees under his reign of terror. He would ensure his name would be remembered with fear for centuries to come.

He was Lord Voldemort.