Legal Disclaimer: My work is my own creative intelligence and property, but I do not own the original source material it stems from (I wouldn't be writing fanfiction if it was). The opinions and interpretations of characters reflected in my stories may not follow what is portrayed from the source material. Please don't sue me, I'm a stay at home mom.

Summary: Voldemort had no idea what fate he would be met with the night he tried to take the prophecy into his own hands.

Rated: T

Genre: Tragedy

Warning Tag: Major Character Death

Competition/Challenge Block:
Written For: Monthly Challenges for All (Year 3); Hogwarts (Term 14)

Hogwarts: Ravenclaw; A.7 - Mythology #3: Write about a greedy person being punished.

MC4A: Sp Bingo (5D-Thatch); Trope Bingo (Spanner in the Works); Chimera; Link; Star (Odd Feathers; Pear-Shaped); Fence (Machismo); ICs (In a Flash (Y); The Story Goes On (Y); Two Cakes (Y); Eating Cake (Y); Green Ribbon (Y); Lunar Era (Y); Slytherin MC; Immortal MC (Y); Magical MC; Sliding Scale; Endings; Old Shoes (Y); Marvelous HP (Y)

Word Count: 800

Author's Note: Have a prequel as to what transpired that fateful day of when Lily and James died and Harry survived. I have been meaning to slot this side note in for some time now, and figured I could just put it here since we did get the tiniest of taste of what happened in the previous story. Long story short; Voldemort is not a threat in this series and never will be. I promise more will be explained as I go along with the magical world side of things, but for now, let us just allow Tony and Harry some well needed bonding time, yes? Yes.

I cannot promise timely updates or scheduling. I do know this could be frustrating, but I work best without promising something I know I won't be able to fulfill. I can promise that I have an outline made and an idea of what will happen in this story, so it will have a sense of direction and plot that will be molded as I go forward. They will be long ones again like in What Dreams Become, averaging about 5,500 or so words. Perspectives will also change and a lot more familiar faces will be introduced/seen again. :)

Lastly, this is the Sequel to What Dreams Become, though it is not going to necessarily be required you read that story to understand this one, it is still advised regardless.

Enjoy.

Prequel - Death Will Await You

Wednesday, October 31, 2001

Tom awoke to nothingness spread all around him. The darkness was almost blinding yet deafening in its void and absence of any kind of light and sound. He wondered where he was as it seemed familiar to when he first split his soul and was temporarily reduced to a shadow of himself needing to find his body again. Yet it felt different, he didn't quite feel the same. He simply had to find a way back to the living as he had done once before. This was just a soul-splitting stage, he kept telling himself.

It was then that the darkness started to move like ink being pulled into a quill tip. It gathered upward and slowly started to reveal a dull, flat grey space all around him. A figure formed then in the abyss, appearing to be draped in long flowy robes of pure black, yet it moved in whisps and smoke all around it. The appearance sent a chill down Tom's spine as he reluctantly looked up to meet what he hoped was the entity's face.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle, your attendance is long overdue," it said.

The voice was warped, neither male nor female tone came from it, and it was haunting to hear. This will not scare him, he will never show fear.

"Who are you?" Tom demanded. "Where am I?"

"You are where you deserve to be," it replied, ignoring his first question. It turned to sweep a hand over the blank grey canvas all around them. "Your punishment for causing countless pain and suffering, the scar you've left on your world will be accounted for. Though, until your judgement day passes, you shall remain here in Purgatory, between the realms, until Death himself has come for you, suffering is what you will face and endure until then."

Tom's face paled at the word death. He couldn't be dead. He set so many precautions to avoid this, the horcruxes he made before that blasted prophecy and the Potter kid becoming a threat to his reign were safe and ensured his return as the spell said.

"You must be mistaken, I cannot be killed," he stated, yet his confidence failed him.

"And yet you are here," it remarked. "I do not see you to be a deity, as much as you wish to believe you are one. Immortality is never a certainty, not even for them. Nor can it be created."

Tom snarled, gipping his hands in fists at his sides. "Who am I to wait for? Aren't you not Death then who are you?"

The figure shook its head. "The Master of Death has not awoken yet. It is my duty to withhold the tyrants until he returns to unleash his justice upon the ones who try and do his work for him. You tried to cheat him, as countless others have done so before. These soul capsules you attempted to use in preserving your life was worthless. Your shattered soul was your downfall by your own doing."

It swept a hand over the grey surroundings again, but this time its inky fingers painted an image of what appeared to be King's Cross Train Station; platform nine and three-quarters. It was dull, empty, lifeless, not how he remembered it to be one of the best days of his life. Tom was growing scared now as it all started to feel too real, too permanent.

"You cannot do this! I cannot die! I have used the darkest of magic to ensure it!" he spat. "Return me back to the living immediately, foul creature!"

"Here you shall remain with the remnants of yourself. Your thatch will be the benches, your bed the cold floor. It is here you will suffer as one you tried to kill and all who were killed before him. A helpless child with a torn soul you shall be. These fragments forever missing, lost to the unknown will be your chains to this place. A suitable justice for the greed you sought for endless life, for endless murder, until the Master decides what to truly do with you."

A wave of its hand had Tom engulfed in darkness, reducing him down to nothing but a small child unable to walk or speak. Feeling exposed by his nakedness, Tom crawled under the bench to conceal himself from his own vulnerability of his prison. Shaking, he watched as the memory he once so adored became his living nightmare, for everywhere he looked, flashes of his crimes consumed his conscience, living in the walls of King's Cross. The repeating fate of his tether to the living world shocked him each time he recalled it, the Killing Curse striking him down into the nothing that he was now as the price he tried to pay to seek immortality.