PROLOGUE:
No life could ever, should ever, possibly be like this, the pain, the never ending pain.. No one could understand the entrapped feeling that riveted itself through Tom - if he dared to call himself that, every second of every minute of every hour. Seeing nothing, hearing nothing, he viewed it as the ultimate prison where his thoughts multiplied, feeding off what was left of his sanity. His own beliefs were becoming twisted, distorted. He wondered how the other had faired. The one who had given a fraction of his soul for Tom's own creation. Although, as his mind dwelled on the idea, he began to realize the vast complexities of his only purpose. He had no concept of time, no concept of being. Only darkness, a twisting, writhing nothingness that he had come to love and hate. Time could not be expressed in hours or minutes. Nor by the beating of his heart, which he had long ago forgotten. It was as if his passing were measured by the turning of a page, Always consistent, but varying nonetheless. His thoughts wandered further, with him realizing that without the contact he desperately needed, the last grip of sanity would slip away, as it was already doing, like water through a siphon. And at last! A breath of air filled him, and he felt the hatred resurface within himself, an old friend returning. He remembered now. The felt the words sink into the page, as if they were revitalizing his soul. "Is the dark lord present?" Tom thought, turning what seemed to be a mere comment over and over in his mind. He focused his thoughts, and threw his non-existent blood on to the page. "As always" He paused his mind, concentrating on only one thing. "How long has it been?" he carried on: "What in my wide world has changed?" He felt the rush of knowledge pouring through him: "An eternity, lord. A dark tide which has fallen, and will soon rise again." "What has happened?" "Your great army took the unworthy, and began to spread the word of the faithful. You took to the height of your power, an unstoppably magnificent figure." Somehow Tom heard the unwritten silence. "An then what ensued? You pause, servant." "And then you fell, lord. Inexplicably. Neither I, nor the wisest know how. A boy, Harry Potter, Took from you all you had, and many think you destroyed. We know better, and we know what will rise again." "I need to know all I can about this boy. And about these intriguing times of suffering you speak of. Inform me of the happenings in my world!" And so, for what he was told to be weeks, the events of his life were related to Tom. But he was no longer Tom. He had become a name rightly feared, and had shed the surname of the feeble man that had assisted in his creation. It was through these times with the man who called himself Malfoy that the Dark lord learned of the ascendance of Dumbledore, the failing of his crusade, and the thing that troubled him most. The boy called Harry Potter. At almost all times he thought to himself how, and why? He knew that all things would become clear to him, for he was the most feared wizard that had yet to rise in the world. He was Lord Voldemort.
No life could ever, should ever, possibly be like this, the pain, the never ending pain.. No one could understand the entrapped feeling that riveted itself through Tom - if he dared to call himself that, every second of every minute of every hour. Seeing nothing, hearing nothing, he viewed it as the ultimate prison where his thoughts multiplied, feeding off what was left of his sanity. His own beliefs were becoming twisted, distorted. He wondered how the other had faired. The one who had given a fraction of his soul for Tom's own creation. Although, as his mind dwelled on the idea, he began to realize the vast complexities of his only purpose. He had no concept of time, no concept of being. Only darkness, a twisting, writhing nothingness that he had come to love and hate. Time could not be expressed in hours or minutes. Nor by the beating of his heart, which he had long ago forgotten. It was as if his passing were measured by the turning of a page, Always consistent, but varying nonetheless. His thoughts wandered further, with him realizing that without the contact he desperately needed, the last grip of sanity would slip away, as it was already doing, like water through a siphon. And at last! A breath of air filled him, and he felt the hatred resurface within himself, an old friend returning. He remembered now. The felt the words sink into the page, as if they were revitalizing his soul. "Is the dark lord present?" Tom thought, turning what seemed to be a mere comment over and over in his mind. He focused his thoughts, and threw his non-existent blood on to the page. "As always" He paused his mind, concentrating on only one thing. "How long has it been?" he carried on: "What in my wide world has changed?" He felt the rush of knowledge pouring through him: "An eternity, lord. A dark tide which has fallen, and will soon rise again." "What has happened?" "Your great army took the unworthy, and began to spread the word of the faithful. You took to the height of your power, an unstoppably magnificent figure." Somehow Tom heard the unwritten silence. "An then what ensued? You pause, servant." "And then you fell, lord. Inexplicably. Neither I, nor the wisest know how. A boy, Harry Potter, Took from you all you had, and many think you destroyed. We know better, and we know what will rise again." "I need to know all I can about this boy. And about these intriguing times of suffering you speak of. Inform me of the happenings in my world!" And so, for what he was told to be weeks, the events of his life were related to Tom. But he was no longer Tom. He had become a name rightly feared, and had shed the surname of the feeble man that had assisted in his creation. It was through these times with the man who called himself Malfoy that the Dark lord learned of the ascendance of Dumbledore, the failing of his crusade, and the thing that troubled him most. The boy called Harry Potter. At almost all times he thought to himself how, and why? He knew that all things would become clear to him, for he was the most feared wizard that had yet to rise in the world. He was Lord Voldemort.