Warnings- Language, lots of it, ranting, and very broken up thought process (it is done sort of on purpose).

Also a warning that someone is very very Ooc in this chapter. It kind of came out like that as an accident and somehow in my illogical part of my brain, I think it makes absolutely perfect sense and I don't have the heart to fix it. Whoops.

THIS CHAPTER IS VERY OFF THE WALL. You may skip this chapter and pretend it doesn't exist, but some of the points mentioned will be carried out throughout the story. Otherwise you can read and enjoy the insanity of it all.


Chapter 9-What a Marvolous Day

When one spends a decade as an disembodied spirit, there is no distractions or bodily demands to keep from thinking and losing train of thought. And one Tom Marvolo Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort, had a lot to think about.

In hindsight, many of the things he had done should've been handled differently. His goals of keeping the Muggle and Wizard worlds separated were somehow lost along the way- Really, what had he been thinking, believing that killing Muggles and Muggleborns would prove anything? Muggles weren't weak- they just happened to be at a disadvantage. True, Wizards could kill a Muggle with one spell, but so could one Wizard die from a shotgun to the face- as one unlucky Death Eater had found out. That didn't prove Muggles to be weak- it proved that they would protect themselves by any means necessary. And if one thing Muggles did not like was facing an unknown variable. They would either examine it like a scientist with a strange cell under a microscope or shoot first, ask questions later. Wizards treated magical creatures the same way, so it made absolutely no sense whatsoever. Fucking hypocrites.

And Muggleborns! Half the time they weren't even true Muggleborns, having a squib somewhere within their family tree. Study of where Muggleborns come from was not a very well researched area, but with ten years to ponder on the topic, he had some ideas, of which once he would look into when he got himself a body.

Speaking of bodies, there was the topic of how he found himself in this damned predicament. He really shouldn't have jumped into the whole Horcrux business without completely researching it. True it did it's job- he wasn't dead, was he?- but breaking his soul up into several pieces didn't help matters, especially when he got the idea from a book he had stolen from Dumbledore's office of all places. Really, he shouldn't known the old coot was up to something, leaving a dark and mysterious book on forbidden magic laying around for any student to stumble across. He had been young and stupid, and really should've listened to Abraxas Malfoy instead of jumping into it like some bloody arrogant Gryffindor. He had been eager to prove himself to a fault, and now look where it led him.

He was pretty sure someone had been pulling at his strings like a damned hidden puppet master by the time he had gotten wind of the Prophecy. Why did he go right after it like a dog to a bone when he knew Divination was utter shit? He took one day of it during Hogwarts and dropped it for Arithmacy when the Professor at the time told him he was going to fall off his broom that day. Too bad the bastard didn't know he didn't like flying on brooms because he could levitate and fly by his own power, thank you very much.

Then there were the Potters. Why did he pick them out? Hell, there were thousands of baby boys born at the end of July in the entire world! Any of them could be tied into the Prophecy- if it wasn't a bunch of hot air- but nooo! He had to go and pick one from England! Then he didn't noticed, but now when he thought back to that time, he could feel the power of a ritual around the home. Someone had been playing with Black Magic, he had felt its tendrils coil about him, but at the time he hadn't paid any attention to it. Fuck, he shouldn't have been bat-shit crazy, because then he wouldn't be in this predicament! Gods damned mother fucking shit of a self-fulfilling Prophecy made by some cunt of a hag in a dank hole-in-the-wall owned by the bloody brother of a bastard of a manipulative old soggy cock sucker!

Okay, so he had to work on his aggressive tendencies. One step at a time here. Body first, insanity second, and then wring Dumbledore's neck. Yes, that's about right.

Working on the body part- a pathetic excuse of a man had stumbled across his spirit, wanting power or fame or something of the like. He didn't really care and possessed the stuttering man anyway, who just so happened to know the whereabouts of the Philosopher's Stone.

He was pretty damn sure that this was also Dumbeldore's working, but without much other choice he played along, got himself into Gringotts and then into Hogwarts where he tried- in vain- to come up with some plan to get himself through the third floor corridor and to the Stone. As time went on, and the host he was in was weakening, he had started to panic- no, Dark Lords do not panic!- he was concerned, then, that he wouldn't make it to the Stone in time before his host completely fell apart.

And then some graying blond haired man showed up at the door to his office one Friday in March. The man was fucking nuts; giving him a notebook and blabbering about it being a very good book review and that he should really REALLY read it. Then he stared straight into his eyes- the silver orbs seeming to look right through him, and smiled, waved, and proceeded to shut the door in his face.

Perhaps those eyes could see right through him. After all, the review was actually a copy of a book on Black Magic and Rituals, illusioned to look like a simple notebook. Inside the cover was a note, of which contained a page number, a warning that the Stone was no longer within Hogwarts, and a strange comment at the bottom that said "I've heard that goblins would do anything for a bit of gold, even forge family trees. How does politics sound? Britain could use with a little serpentine in the Wizengamot".

It had been both cryptic and bluntly simple at the same time. The page number was that to a ritual to both regain his body as well as reabsorb either soul fragments or stored magic within objects to the person if the item or items were used within the ritual. It was complex and highly volatile if done wrong, but it was exactly what he needed. The comment was also intriguing to him- in truth he had never thought of claiming his title as Lord Slytherin, or Lord Gaunt for that matter. Technically he could, because he was last remaining blood relation to both Ancient lines. There were no estranged cousins or long lost squibs- both lines killed them off- and the disinheritance of his mother did not apply to any heirs she produced aka him. Why in the hell he didn't think of this before? He blamed his stupidity and blindness to finding decent objects to host his soul bits. There probably was some highly complex compulsion charm on that damn book he had stolen or something! Damn the bastard named Albus Dumbledore!

Not wanting to make anymore mistakes, he had pondered and thought over this new idea, and then a little before four in the morning on Saturday, he had decided to fuck it- packed what little he felt would be of use, made a short stop at the Room of Requirement, and fled Hogwarts grounds. Next stop- the Gaunt ring and the Slytherin Locket.

The ring was easy enough, but then he had ran into trouble with the locket. Apparently, judging from the oh-so lovely note left behind, Regulus had replaced the locket with a fake and hid the real one. Or destroyed it. No, he didn't- he could still feel the soul fragment, all of them were still safe and sound. So then where the bloody hell was it?!

No, he couldn't be angry now. He still had three left to pick up- maybe only use two. Although the ritual wouldn't destroy the host, he wasn't eager on sicking Nagini into the middle of it.

Speaking of Nagini... he had to pay a visit to Abraxas.

He stopped off at the Malfoy Manor- what luck! Lucius was there too! Of course he had to explain everything though to them- Abraxas, the fuck tard- couldn't help but laugh at his not-so-eloquent use of language throughout the whole explanation. It wasn't his fucking fault he had lived with poor excuses of Muggles and the docks had been much more interesting than the rest of the slums of a town when the library was closed and ten years of kicking himself and his damned twenty-twenty hindsight didn't help matters!

Still, it had some use this time around, other than the old Malfoy Lord's amusement. It proved to them that he wasn't as insane as before (well, not suicidal maniac on a warpath insane- he would probably fit perfectly in a Black Family Reunion though), and agreed to assist him in the ritual.

So with the Helga cup taken from the vaults in Gringotts, the Diary from the hidden room in the Malfoy basement, Nagini from Abraxas' care, and with the help of the Malfoys- the ritual was ready, set, and completed by the end of May, and Tom Marvolo Riddle had a body again, as well as four of his six soul pieces back tucked away snugly where it belonged. His head did feel a bit better- but his temper was still shorter than ever, but at least he hold his tongue without insulting everyone like a drunken Muggle. Mostly.

However, he still couldn't help but feel that, apart from Nagini and the Locket, there was something else missing... Hm... he would have to look into that.

But that was for later! Now he had to sneak around Dumbledore and shake the Wizarding World of England in the new and improved ways. His days as a spirit helped him realize that Britain was utter shit compared to many other countries of the world. They were so... dark ages! Even Russia, the most 'barbaric' of the European Wizarding societies with its deep roots in Dark and Black Magics, had superior schooling and government than Britain did!

So, to sneak around anything that Dumbledore could plan beforehand, he and the Malfoys schemed and plotted. It was Narcissa who came up with the idea of changing his name through a variation of a Blood Adoption. Fucking yes- he had always hated the name Tom Riddle! Plus it would get around any magical oaths or Family Lineage potions- of which Dumbledore would easily recognize and assault him for.

With a lucky Malfoy squib cousin- who had lost her magic through an illness as a child living in France who quickly agreed to assist, and paying the goblins in Gringotts more money than one could shake a stick at, Tom Marvolo Riddle had become Marvolo Arviragaus Malfoy- a man who had been a spawn of an unagreeable encounter with the Malfoy squib and Tom Marvolo Riddle during the time where he had dropped off the face of the earth after he left Hogwarts (really he had been looking for the Founding Four's trinkets). One night and -whoops!- he had been born. And it hadn't been until he did a Family Line test in Gringotts that he found out he was actually a Gaunt- and the Slytherin heir! No one would be ever the wiser. And all he had to do was throw in a French accent. Who's his daddy now? He was!

No, he was being too childish with all of this. He was a Slytherin Heir- soon to be Lord. He had to keep these raging emotions in check.

Now that he had a background story, a body, and several soul pieces back in place, Marvolo did something he never done before- he celebrated, broke down, and swore up a storm in a ten minute span. Really, damn his emotions- where did all of these come from? He was like a moody woman!

Abraxas nearly passed out from laughing so hard. Really, the man had been like a brother to Marvolo than he cared to admit, and now that they were technically related, he could hex the living shit out of him with Stinging Hexes and get away with it without the wards trying to boot him out. Both of them knew they had parts to play out in public, as the Slytherins they were, but with family inside the Manor, there was no need to be actors, and Marvolo was more than happy to curse the living fucking hell out of Dumbledore and himself to being such an arrogant stupid prat over fifty years ago. Maybe he could surprise the old coot by cursing like a sailor at him- and then take advantage of the surprise by hexing his old wrinkly arse?

Still, he needed awhile to recuperate from being insane, get his raging emotions in check, and catch up on a decade's worth of shitty laws and regulations before he could shake the Wizengamot's foundations as he took the seats of Slytherin and Gaunt. Then he could work his ways through decades upon decades of utter bullshit and useless fuckwads and get England back to standards of the rest of the world. It would be a lot of work, but one sailor-mouthed playing-French previous Dark Lord was up to the challenge.

Also, did he mention that the Dark Mark was also fucking with everyone's minds? No? Well, it was, and those without good Occlumency had been easily affected by his insanity, as it seemed to seep into the connection between him and the Marks. No wonder everything went to shit in a hand basket. Well, he could use that to his advantage- as son of Lord Voldemort and Parselmouth, he could remove the Dark Marks on their arms and prove that they were just being spelled to be evil and- hey!- a dozen or so Lords and Lady from Ancient and Nobel houses were back on the Wizengamot floor! That would also explain why the Malfoys, Snape, and the Blacks hadn't been effected by it all- their skill in Mind Magic was practically legendary. With all the secrets they kept, they had to be. No nosing into their business unless you wanted to be mind raped to a vegetable.

Still, that also brought up the question as to how he, as Voldemort, got so fucked up. One word- Dumbledore. It had to be. But how could he prove it?

It was July now, and Marvolo had spent most of the time after getting his body tying to get himself back into gear while fixing the remaining Death Eaters- including Snape and the Malfoys- of their Dark Marks. Of course only a select few knew he really was the former Lord Voldemort- the others learned of him being his son, and he was stepping up to the plate after his father's failure to take things to new heights. Now Markless and less crazy, he had several Ancient and Noble houses on the Wizengamot under his belt, ready to support him when he stepped onto the floor as Lord Slytherin and Lord Gaunt. Well, it also helped that removing the Marks was saving their sorry arses from being caught eventually, so they owed him. Suck on that, Nott. The bastard was all for trying to undermind him until he mentioned that little detail.

He could almost see Dumbledore's face when he showed up looking like an older Tom Riddle from his school days with slight Malfoy features. It would be glorious retribution, especially when Snape didn't tell the old coot of his return/ arrival of the son of Voldemort. He wouldn't none the wiser. But that will be happening later- he needed to do research and curb his new found tendencies to not give a fuck about what people thought of him first.

And it seemed like Marvolo or Snape weren't the only ones not playing by Dumbledore's rules anymore, when Snape came in one day in the middle of July saying that one Harry Potter had disappeared from his home and couldn't be found. A smirk crossed the man's face as he listened to Snape rant about Dumbledore and Potter and his suspicions of Potter's home conditions and Dumbledore's knowledge of it but neglected to do anything about it. Things were indeed were going to be start shaking, and Dumbledore was going to topple off his high and mighty tower. Hard.


Notes-

So I really wanted to do a Voldemort chapter, and you got it. I had a lot of things to cover, and it turned out to be a rather large rant from a slightly still insane mind. Oh well. It fits for all intensive purposes. Ten years as a disembodied spirit really does a number on you. A strange ritual may not have helped either.

And I really didn't mean for him such a potty-mouth either! It just... came out when I was typing, and I couldn't bring myself to change it. Really, everyone makes Tom Riddle/Voldemort either sadistically evil or... Lordly? But he lived with Muggles in a poor orphanage until he was old enough to bail ship, so somehow through writing he became a "Fuck everyone, I do what I want" sort of person when he isn't playing the ever perfect Slytherin or insane by breaking his soul to bits. Whoops?

Changed his name a bit too. Why not? He's not playing Voldemort anymore so he can do whatever the hell he wants to do. Anagrams were so 1940's anyway.

And Abraxas is amused. I think it's because Marvolo acts like a cold saint one minute and then is a drunken sailor the next. Such elegance. It's highly entertaining.

The Malfoys really aren't as cold as they play out to be. They'll show up later, I think.

And hey! Nagini was chilling with the Malfoys the entire time. One mystery solved!

Also, the Dark Mark thing? It somehow made complete sense to me that Voldemort's insanity somehow seeped through his connection to them through the Dark Marks. But he's fixing it, so it'll be better now.

(This chapter was posted on March 31, 2014)

Next Chapter: A Family Encounter