Don't own the HP franchise. Never did, never will.
Chapter 3: Family matters
The answer was yes.
It had not taken Tom much time to establish it either. After spending the whole freezing night in the slowly fading warmth of his blankets' Heating Charms, he had been stumbled upon by the terrestrial equivalent to a whale and, after much shouting back and forth between said whale and a thin, wiry woman, had been thrown into a dark, disgusting, cupboard under dusty stairs.
So, to anyone who might have asked him his opinion on the old fool who had deemed it necessary to leave an innocent one year old – assuming that the headmaster did not know whose mind and soul actually inhabited the child's body – in such a horrid place, he would definitely affirm that, yes, Dumbledore was insane.
In fact, the old coot was so far past the point of insanity that it came right around to being absolute genius… that is, if this 'charming adoptive family' was actually an elaborate torture sentence. But that would mean that Dumbledore knew he was still alive and, as benevolent as the Wizarding World seemed to view the paragon of Light that was Dumbledore, Tom knew the elderly wizard was too pragmatic to let a Dark Lord live without some kind of secondary precautions.
And these potential precautions were the only reason the disgusting muggles were still breathing.
His magic was surprisingly still as strong as it was when he had his own body, perhaps even a bit stronger, due to his absorbing part of the child's yet-undeveloped soul. It would be easy, so easy to cast a Killing Curse at the three and be rid of them… although, considering his last experience with the curse, he felt rather reluctant to use it again. If he was honest with himself, he would admit that he was probably becoming too reliant on it.
The Unforgivable Curses were useful and deadly, of course, but he should remember to keep his arsenal diversified. It was well and good to ingrain fear into his followers' mind – as well as show defiance to a corrupt political system that banished any form of magic deemed uncontrollable – but monotony was to be avoided in the future.
A Dark Lord should not be predictable.
Satisfied with his resolution – wasn't it fascinating how a small change of perspective could bring light to some of his minor flaws? – he returned his musings to his muggle predicament. Killing them would be easy, but could he afford to? Dumbledore might very well be watching him. Perhaps a less drastic reaction was the key to his problem.
He had always been good at wandless magic – even as a child – and his new imprisonment had not dampened his skills, as proved the small floating sphere of red light he had conjured the minute after he had been locked in.
He had his magic and all the memories he needed to use it. All of his knowledge and power were still available to him; he was the most powerful wizard in Britain, so why despair?
No, the only question was how could he better his new situation?
He had handled everything Wool's orphanage had thrown at him. Muggles were not about to make his life hell again. If he played his cards right, they would not even be an inconvenience.
In the middle of the night, when he was certain that the muggles were deeply asleep, he got up, unlocked the door of his cupboard, and silently climbed up the stairs leading to their room – all the while cursing his fifteen months old body.
Luckily – not that luck had anything to do with it, he was just well-prepared – he had thrown a few silencing charms beforehand.
He eventually reached the top of the stairs and, another silencing charm later, opened the door to the adult muggles' bedroom without a sound. He crawled under their bed, this time actually satisfied of his small size, and mentally whispered a complex incantation. The tip of his right index started to glow soft reddish light and he used it to trace patterns on the slightly dusty floor.
Once the complex array of lines, circles and runes had been drawn, he extended his finger over the centre of the pentagram and murmured the second part of the incantation. He barely winced at the sharp pain that flashed at the tip of his digit, staring intently at the drop of blood slowly forming there.
It fell precisely where it should have. The lines of the pentagram glowed for a few seconds and then dimmed to nothingness. With a satisfied smirk, Tom crawled out of the bed and glanced at the reddish magic pulsing around the two sleeping muggles.
Once morning came, there would be no trace of his ritual left.
Ѻ
What should he do next ? I think the next chapter will skip some years...
Mwehehehe.
As usual, comments are much appreciated.