The Plan
Tom Marvalo Riddle sat in silence on the cold stone floor. The dim
chamber was lit only by a torch in the far corner, and through cracks in the walls, entered
a chill draft that made him shiver. He cradled his head in his long bony fingers, pensive
of himself, who he was, what he would become. No less than a year ago, Tom had
abandoned his education at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to pursue his
lifelong dream of becoming the most powerful sorcerer in Britain. After all, he had been
top of his class, head boy, and the prized heir of Salazar Slytherin, which granted him
with talents others could only dream of. He had the ability to speak parselmouth, which
brought back memories of when he had opened up a secret chamber at Hogwarts where
he alone could control Slytherin's Basilisk, even killing one student with it. The thought
of it made him grin.
Before he left, he had begun to secretly study the dark arts, learning
forbidden curses and spells other wizards feared. He had begun to formulate his plans of
domination, how he would become the most feared sorcerer in the world, so dangerously
powerful other wizards would dread saying his name. Yet he could not use the filthy
muggle name his father had abandoned him with; he in whose veins runs the blood of
Salazar Slytherin, must make himself a name so great that it would never be forgotten.
He had created the name before he left Hogwarts, and watched as his fellow students
shivered at the sound of it. Lord Voldemort; it described him perfectly: dark, powerful,
ambitious, and merciless. "Soon" he had told himself. "Soon you will become so
powerful, that you will conquer death itself." But now as he remembered his ambitions,
he overflowed with fury at his failure. If he wanted to make up for all his miserable years
at the muggle orphanage, thanks to his father who had abandoned him at birth, erase the
memories of his poor excuse of a life and begin his journey on the road to greatness, he
needed to start the plan. The plan he had made for himself while at Hogwarts, the steps
he would take to gain power and influence. Since he had run away from school, he had
been keeping his profile low, dealing with shady folk, and learning more dark arts. Now,
in the dungeons of Brockby (an abandoned Chateau used for the independent study of the
Dark Arts) where he had been staying for a few months now, he studied day and night
learning curses and observed the dark wizards that came in and out, studying their
strengths and weaknesses. Yet even with all his time and effort studying the dark magic
at Brockby, he had found no potion, spell, or curse that would give him immortality.
This discouraged him somewhat, but he was determined. He decided that a week more of
no success, and he would leave to search elsewhere. He would kill those he needed to,
and would spare no lives. "Lord Voldemort will become a legend!" he told himself. "He
will be the most powerful Sorcerer alive!" Little did he know that indeed he would. There
was a sudden knock at the iron door, and Tom leaped to his feet at the sudden intrusion.
"Boy are you in there?" asked a bad tempered voice from behind the door.
"Yes sir," called Tom, as he hurried to conceal his books from view.
"There is someone here to see you," said the man again.
"I'm coming sir," he said as he rushed to the door and unlocked it.
From the room beyond Tom could see two figures. One he recognized as the dark
wizard who was speaking, the other was shielded from view by a dark black cloak that
concealed his face. The cloaked figure slowly entered, taking long strides. Tom wondered
who this man could be, but as the creature pulled back its cloak, Tom let out a cry of
horror. The thing standing before him was not a man.
Tom Marvalo Riddle sat in silence on the cold stone floor. The dim
chamber was lit only by a torch in the far corner, and through cracks in the walls, entered
a chill draft that made him shiver. He cradled his head in his long bony fingers, pensive
of himself, who he was, what he would become. No less than a year ago, Tom had
abandoned his education at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to pursue his
lifelong dream of becoming the most powerful sorcerer in Britain. After all, he had been
top of his class, head boy, and the prized heir of Salazar Slytherin, which granted him
with talents others could only dream of. He had the ability to speak parselmouth, which
brought back memories of when he had opened up a secret chamber at Hogwarts where
he alone could control Slytherin's Basilisk, even killing one student with it. The thought
of it made him grin.
Before he left, he had begun to secretly study the dark arts, learning
forbidden curses and spells other wizards feared. He had begun to formulate his plans of
domination, how he would become the most feared sorcerer in the world, so dangerously
powerful other wizards would dread saying his name. Yet he could not use the filthy
muggle name his father had abandoned him with; he in whose veins runs the blood of
Salazar Slytherin, must make himself a name so great that it would never be forgotten.
He had created the name before he left Hogwarts, and watched as his fellow students
shivered at the sound of it. Lord Voldemort; it described him perfectly: dark, powerful,
ambitious, and merciless. "Soon" he had told himself. "Soon you will become so
powerful, that you will conquer death itself." But now as he remembered his ambitions,
he overflowed with fury at his failure. If he wanted to make up for all his miserable years
at the muggle orphanage, thanks to his father who had abandoned him at birth, erase the
memories of his poor excuse of a life and begin his journey on the road to greatness, he
needed to start the plan. The plan he had made for himself while at Hogwarts, the steps
he would take to gain power and influence. Since he had run away from school, he had
been keeping his profile low, dealing with shady folk, and learning more dark arts. Now,
in the dungeons of Brockby (an abandoned Chateau used for the independent study of the
Dark Arts) where he had been staying for a few months now, he studied day and night
learning curses and observed the dark wizards that came in and out, studying their
strengths and weaknesses. Yet even with all his time and effort studying the dark magic
at Brockby, he had found no potion, spell, or curse that would give him immortality.
This discouraged him somewhat, but he was determined. He decided that a week more of
no success, and he would leave to search elsewhere. He would kill those he needed to,
and would spare no lives. "Lord Voldemort will become a legend!" he told himself. "He
will be the most powerful Sorcerer alive!" Little did he know that indeed he would. There
was a sudden knock at the iron door, and Tom leaped to his feet at the sudden intrusion.
"Boy are you in there?" asked a bad tempered voice from behind the door.
"Yes sir," called Tom, as he hurried to conceal his books from view.
"There is someone here to see you," said the man again.
"I'm coming sir," he said as he rushed to the door and unlocked it.
From the room beyond Tom could see two figures. One he recognized as the dark
wizard who was speaking, the other was shielded from view by a dark black cloak that
concealed his face. The cloaked figure slowly entered, taking long strides. Tom wondered
who this man could be, but as the creature pulled back its cloak, Tom let out a cry of
horror. The thing standing before him was not a man.