Chapter One
Please read, it is important for understanding the story.
Good morning all and thank you for joining me on this metaphorical journey, I hope we will all have a good time. Before we start, there are a few changes from canon that I would be remiss not to mention:
1. In HBP, on the Astronomy Tower, it is Snape that disarms Dumbledore, not Malfoy. This means that when Lord Voldemort kills Snape in the Shrieking Shack, he becomes the master of the Elder Wand.
2. When Lord Voldemort 'kills' Harry in the woods, he takes the Resurrection Stone and Invisibility Cloak from his corpse, this leads to him becoming Master of Death.
3. The Master of Death is not an empty title, it does come with some true powers/abilities, read the story to find out what they are!
4. I have somewhat altered the rules of magic from canon to make the system more consistent, these have either been developed independently or taken from other fanfictions.
5. I may have somewhat depowered Lord Voldemort, he is still capable of all the feats he has displayed in canon, and is still a genius, but his knowledge at the start will be limited to a profound knowledge of the Dark Arts (more than any other alive), and in-depth knowledge of charms (more than Flitwick, about on par with Dumbledore). He will have NEWT (and possibly a smidgeon beyond) knowledge of all other magic that is taught at Hogwarts.
6. In contrast, due to his long life, I am making Dumbledore be a master of many disciplines and as such he will display a great diversity of knowledge and ability.
Please send me a message if something happens that you think to be outside of canon with my modifications, the rule changes in magic will not change the events that happen up to Harry's birth. The rules will be explained gradually as the story progresses, or I can add them as an AN at the end of a chapter if there is popular demand.
With all that out the way, enjoy!
Crashing into the ruins of Hogwarts in a cloud of black smoke Lord Voldemort looked up and saw his wand, the Elder Wand, lying a few feet in front of him. He pulled himself along the ground to reach for it, grabbing it and rising to his feet he saw that his opponent had done the same.
Gripping the wood with his fingertips the Dark Lord cast the killing curse, the spell met another in the centre, the magic tangible in the air as they connected in a blaze of green and red. Lord Voldemort felt a shock, a profound pain that caused him to stop his spell, he paused and then, in tandem with his opponent, he cast the curse again.
This time, with only a negligible fraction of his soul left tethered to the mortal plane, he could not muster the will to resist, as the spells connected in a blaze of power it was now the Lord Voldemort, the Dark Lord, whose spell was pushed back.
Looking at the Death Stick, the most powerful wand to have ever existed, as if it had betrayed him Tom Marvolo Riddle accepted the futility of resisting and the wand was torn from his hand. He was struck by a crippling pain, magic pouring into him without his desire, his body was failing, disintegrating from the power.
He tried to scream but his throat was nought but dust, all that was left was a faint echo dispersed by the light of dawn.
Opening his eyes, surprised he still had eyes to open, Riddle looked around him, the world was white, blindingly so. Blinking slowly, he started to be able to make out shapes, pillars became clear as he began to recognise the place, it was King's Cross station, specifically, Platform 9.75.
Emerging from the distance, still blurry, was a hooded man, he strode towards where Tom lay curled on the ground. In an effort to present himself Riddle tried to stand, succeeding only in rising to his knees, the hooded figure, now only meters away reached out his hand, and for the second time that day, Riddle felt excruciating pain lance through his very being.
Falling back to the floor while gripping his head, memories flashed through his mind, he saw the murders he had committed, the killing of Myrtle in the bathroom, his father, Hepzibah Smith, the homeless muggle, another homeless muggle, and finally Bertha Jorkins. He felt a deep and profound sadness welling up from inside of him, the sense of loss and despair striking at his very core.
Despite the agony, both mental and spiritual, he felt more whole, more complete, than he had in a long time, no longer were his thoughts muddled, stained by the all-pervasive anger that had previously consumed every waking moment.
Sitting up as the pain abated Tom noticed that be black-robed figure had taken a seat at a previously non-existent table moving to join it at the opposing chair Tom carefully viewed the new arrival. On closer inspection, the man, if you could call it that for it had no defining gender, appeared to be two meters tall, the face obscured from view by the shadows of the robe, it appeared to be pitch black and without imperfection, save for a small square missing from the right sleeve.
The hands were by far the most disconcerting feature, they were merely bones, Tom could not see the rest of the body, but assumed that likewise, it was just a skeleton. Looking towards where the eyes would be he made to speak.
"W-ww-why am I-I h-here?" he rasped out, a combination of pain and death robbing him of his voice.
"Well, you died of course." The amusement in the voice evident much to Tom's displeasure.
Regaining his ability to speak he let out a hollow laugh "Well then, where to next, I doubt there are any waiting for me, less those who wish to take revenge."
"Hmmm" pondered the skeleton "Before you died, you gained the hallows, became Master of Death, that is not a title that leaves you. But you were not meant to have that title, it was for another."
Looking intently at the figure the ex-Dark Lord started as he came to a realisation "You are Death then?" not waiting for a reply he continued "If I am your master, then send me back!"
The now identified death once again projected amusement "You cannot go back for it is your fate to die there, not as my master but to him. But maybe there is a solution… Yes, I do believe there is."
With thank Death and the furniture disappeared leaving Tom to hastily catch himself least he falls onto the floor.
I apologise for anyone who takes offence to Platform 9.75, I thought it rather amusing.musing./p