I'm in a phase.

Lord Voldemort- Tom, examined his hands with wonder. No, not his hands. They couldn't be.

Softer than he could ever remember them to be, and plump with obvious youth. Unblemished and pale -less of the papery veneer of his Dark Lord persona and more like the vibrancy of Tom Riddle, the flush and warmth of the blood beneath.

He pawed at his face and brought a lock of blueish purple hair in front of him. He was dressed in a heavy red robe which made him cringe just imagining how it clashed with his hair.

He regarded his surroundings. He was in a clearing enclosed by trees. Muggle trees, as he'd dealt with enough magical plants to be able to determine the amount of magic a plant would produce if it had been grown on magical property.

So he would have to assume that he was somewhere in the muggle world.

He furrowed his brows. But how?

The last thing he could recall before regaining consciousness in this body in this place was...

...oh.

He winced.

Oh.

He died. He actually...lost.

To a boy that by all logic, shouldn't have won.

Hadrian James Potter, was it? He'd seen young Draco's memory of him, which was actually a very informative source when it came to the Potter boy.

Only really remarkable in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Quidditch. A failure in potions (admittedly, it wasn't entirely his fault), average -at best- in both charms and transfiguration. Lazy too, if the fact that he chose to sign up for Divination, of all things, and stay, was a testament to anything.

Not that Tom doubted the authenticity of Divination, far from it, it was just that... well, let's just say that Divination in his generation, hadn't been as much of a joke as it happened to be now.

The point was, Harry was not particularly outstanding in any way. (Except, you know, somehow, he managed to banish the greatest Dark Lord of all times as a two year old.)

Compared to Tom -brilliant, charming, powerful, headboy Tom who already had vassals from ancient houses by fourth year-, what was he?

Tom's eyes widened.

The burning indignation was instantly doused by those words.

What was he?

A realization hit him like a bludger.

Rather than asking what Harry was, he should be asking himself what Lord Voldemort was.

An insane mad man who'd long since fallen from grace.

He... He hadn't been conscious of it then. But now, suddenly stripped of it, he was distinctly aware of the absence of the haze that had clouded his mind.

When, though?

When did it happen? Why? How?-

The scene in the Forbidden Forest came back to him. The pain, when he'd directed the killing curse. The one that he'd, in hindsight, very foolishly dismissed.

The pain of the death of a horcrux.

... Merlin's bloody underpants.

He ran through his memories of the last two decades with a fine toothed comb.

It makes so much sense. The last piece to the puzzle that had been staring at him while dancing the hula butt naked. Then another epiphany came to him and his groan echoed in the clearing.

Dumbledore that meddling old coot knew.

That's why he'd let the Potter boy meet him in numerous occasions. Otherwise, no sane person -which Dumbledore was, despite all his quirks- would've let -would've lured, because that was what he did- an eleven year old to run headfirst into a series of tests, ala Hercules. Because he'd been aware of the madness that was plaguing him and really, Tom Riddle was a lot less dangerous as a deranged happy-trigger madman than as the only person with the mental capabilities to beat Dumbledore in Wizard chess at the age of fifteen (after much preparation, but let's not get into that).

After all, the prophecy had proven true so far and Harry was bound to meet him in battle eventually, and oh look, a series of quests that would just so happen to also help train him into someone who might just be able to hold himself against the hundreds of people who'd want to serve his head on a silver platter.

Tom could practically trace the late Headmaster's thought process then.

That cooky old guy, Tom grumbled to himself. He must be gloating in the afterlife.

Speaking of which, he'd died (and oooh boy did it grate at him), so where was he?

"...ness! Your highness! Please answer me, where are you? Your highness!"

He wasn't deluded enough to think he'd be in Heaven, Valhalla, or whatever you will, but Tom couldn't see any fiery, dark, eternity of pain and torture either. Limbo then?

It wasn't surprising that there was no sign to point to what his judgement was since those signs were really just preconceived ideas humans had of the afterlife.

For that matter though, what's with the body change.

He clearly wasn't going to get answers sitting here, so Tom pushed himself up (he was short, like preteen short) and was already halfway through the clearing when the thicket behind him was torn apart and a wail startled him into shooting a wordless, wandless diffindo to the ground.

He stiffened, thinking that he'd performed magic in front of a muggle (now he'll have to kill them and he just didn't have the time to waste) but then he saw her.

"What?!-" the woman, dressed in casual wizarding clothes aka medieval, coughed at the dust that had been disturbed. The ground was soft so there weren't any particularly hard debris that might've caused injuries. Though, she was dirty now.

"Your highness! What is the meaning of this?!"

Tom raised an eyebrow. Was she referring to him?

He stayed silent. She seemed to be eager to elaborate anyways, her face flushed with frustration.

"Do you know how worried we were?! Please, for the last time, stop doing this! You are a prime target that many would wish to get their hands on! If we lost you, where would we be?! Not only will you be gone but Your Majesty would also have our heads rolling! And just because you're... well, you! Doesn't mean you're invincible! You can get taken off guard or someone could sneak up on you-! A lot can happen, Princess! Please be more conscious of your safety!"

Tom felt his face cramp.

Prin...cess?

Did he happen to have possessed (though he didn't recall performing such magic it was what it was, the only explanation for the body switch) a princess? A... girl?

Tom didn't have anything against girls. Dear Bella wouldn't have risen through his ranks that fast if he did. His personal motto was that if you could do it, then do it. Regardless of gender or age.

Besides, that mentality was never really big in the wizarding world -more of a muggle thing.

But... well, forgive him for being a bit speechless. He wasn't entirely imperturbable.

Anyways, there were much more significant things to do than deliberating on that. The woman was still raving, and she didn't seem like she was mistaking him for anyone else.

What to do next? Information gathering, yes, but most of the things she was spouting Tom didn't have any idea of.

So he was a... princess, and there was a Your Majesty involved with him- her- him, him.

A parent maybe, but Tom couldn't really be sure. Titles and relations in monarchies could be quite the mess.

But there was no monarchy in the Magical World. Aristocracy maybe, but he hadn't heard of anyone referred to as 'Your Majesty'. Well, except him, which was more an honorary title in the East.

This woman seemed to be close to the princess if she was talking to 'her' like this and Tom wouldn't have any idea how the princess normally talked or acted. But he needed to do something or she might start suspecting.

...well, as the Victorian saying goes; when in doubt, swoon.