Lord Voldemort was not best pleased. He'd been planning this possession for ages, but now, so close to the completion of his plans, he was faced to deal with the one factor he was sure wouldn't be an issue: the will of his victim.
The plan was simple in concept. Lord Voldemort needed a way to contact one of his followers. Being bereft of a physical body or any magical tools, not to mention the greater part of his magical power, his only real option was to force someone else to make contact for him. The solution was clear: all he had to do was get close enough to possess any being that could write and mail a letter for just long enough to get said letter sent off. Simplicity itself.
Or, so it had seemed when the idea had first occurred to him. In practice, getting all the pieces to fall into place had been quite a hassle. First, his spirit was really quite specifically bound to one remote area of Albanian forest. The choice had seemed ideal when he first set up this contingency plan: no one would disturb him or his loyal followers while they nursed him back to health so far from Great Britain. Looking back, it was clear his expectations of his followers had been far too high. Apparently none had been organized or devoted enough to piece together the clues leading to his current location. So, instead of benefiting from his remote location, he was instead suffering from a near complete dearth of anything to possibly communicate with.
Regardless, he did have one way of moving away from his specific confines: possession. As long as his spirit was attached to some host, he could wander freely... at least until the creature died (the usual outcome) or broke his hold (rarer, but still depressingly frequent in his weakened state). At that point, he was drawn back rather abruptly to his haunting grounds. Which event, mind you, was extremely exhausting, not to mention painful and disorientating.
After quite a bit of trial and error he discovered several things. First, snakes were the only creatures which he could reliably control for any length of time (at least that ever wandered near enough for him to possess). Birds, small mammals, or any other creature that happened by would die or evict him after only a few minutes of direct control. He could remain as a passive passenger for much longer, but given that the animals were generally focused on surviving he made little useful progress that way. He was able to determine with a number of short flights that there was at least a muggle settlement in one direction. Many times farther away than he could reach while possessing a bird, unfortunately.
So he had his goal, and his means of transportation. At that point, all that was left was to somehow direct a snake close enough to the muggle village that he could possess a human, and make that human write and mail some letters for him. Even this step took many attempts; it was a difficult lesson to learn the patience to allow his snake to rest and even feed when it needed. He drove his first several into exhaustion in his haste, for trying to understand the feelings of another being was no small task for the Dark Lord.
Finally, he did make it near the village, and even found what seemed to be an ideal victim: the older woman he was currently possessing. Surely the woman would be easy to control, and certainly would be easily persuaded into writing a few letters.
However, the woman was currently headed off somewhere that was certainly not her home, and just wouldn't be persuaded otherwise. He'd tried suggesting she felt ill, that she needed to check in with a friend in poor health, and that she'd left the stove on, but nothing stuck. There was nothing for it, Voldemort supposed; he'd have to ride whatever errand she was on out. He couldn't possibly risk taking control now and getting evicted from this body before contacting anyone. Surely, she'd be headed somewhere she could post a letter soon enough.
Presently, it became clear where the woman was headed- they were walking directly into some kind of church. Lord Voldemort felt he understood his difficulty in persuading her now; who knew better than he after all the devotion that fear and belief in a cause could drive one to? Satisfied with his explanation for his host's stubbornness, he simply settled in to wait out the service.
As the woman entered into the church and began to pray, Voldemort went over his plan in his mind and tried to modify it for what he knew of his host so far. He had not yet confirmed what relatives or friends she might have to write to. He'd try watching her surface thoughts for any ideas- it would give him a much better chance to complete his task if he didn't need to take over her body until the very last minutes. When she was sitting down to write, he'd start with a quick note to Rookwood, who he figured the most likely of his followers to have avoided prison and be willing and able to put his clues together. If the possession was going smoothly at that point, he'd pen similar short missives to Lucius, Nott, and even Crabbe and Goyle. Dunderheads though they were they could serve as an adequate host for long enough to get him a body, or find someone more intelligent to Imperius.
At some point his thoughts were interrupted by the opening hymn. He couldn't think with the sound of her singing resonating through their head, not to mention the apparently dozens of others who'd shown up to church this morning. Snapped out of his reverie, he decided to simply follow along with the service. He knew his plan well enough anyway, and even this quaint muggle religious ceremony would be fascinating compared to the agonizing years he'd spent as a wraith in the wilderness.
The woman switched out the book she was holding (apparently a hymnal) and picked up another labelled "missal". She opened the book to some of its early pages, following along with what seemed to be an opening ceremony of sorts. It was almost as if she held the book for his benefit- certainly the words the leader gave and her responses seemed to be engraved deep into her psyche. He wouldn't be surprised to hear that this woman in her sixties or even seventies had said the same words every week since she learned to speak.
Soon she flipped forward to a different part of the book. With some excitement, Voldemort realized there were dates listed. The woman flipped forward until she reached a section labelled "May 26". Unfortunately, there was no year listed here. Voldemort thought he had been in the forest for four winters, including the one when he awoke, but he couldn't be sure. The process of "waking up" as a spirit had been quite drawn out and he only remembered bits and pieces of the beginning. He did know it was 1981 when he had his first fateful encounter with that cursed Potter child, so the date was probably now May of 1985, or perhaps '86. Well, he'd have time to figure out all the details later, when he'd contacted his followers again.
It seemed the next portion of the service was a selection of readings from the bible. Voldemort of course thought any muggle teachings to be largely laughable, but he had been dragged to some church a few time while at the orphanage for some event or another. These readings seemed similar to him to those from many years ago. Still filled with antiquated, flowery language, and without enough context to glean much meaning from any of them.
After the readings it seemed the ceremony holder was set to speak a few words. Lord Voldemort remembered this bit being the worst of the whole service when he was a child, and quickly lost interest in whatever the man was saying. He began thinking of his letters again. Once he'd written and addressed as many letters as he thought his host could handle (certainly at least the one to Rookwood- that would take only minutes at most with all the words long ago decided on), he'd let the host take over again, and hopefully she'd be inclined to simply drop off all the post at her box immediately and he could resume riding along in the background of her mind again. If possible, he would slowly write more letters, and perhaps more detailed letters, over the course of several days or even weeks to guide his followers back to his side. Oh how he wished he had access to an owl; it would be so much easier and more reliable. Of course there was a way for muggle post to be directed to the wizarding world, but his knowledge was so out of date... he could only hope the system worked as it had when he was still kept in the orphanage.
Finally the leader (did the muggles call them pastors? He couldn't remember) finished his speech, and the woman was following along in the book again. This part of the service seemed to be quite active- it seemed every few minutes everyone was changing between sitting, standing, and kneeling. They must simply have memorized the movements- he didn't see any signals to follow. He did discover they must be at a Catholic church- a recent prayer they recited mentioned it.
Now it seemed some sort of sacrifice was being prepared, which seemed much more interesting than the rest of the service. Unfortunately, as the service moved forward, it seemed to be just a bunch of talk about the sacrifice of their deity long ago. Well, he supposed he shouldn't be surprised that the muggles were trying to reap the benefits of a sacrifice without actually sacrificing anything.
Still, this bit was intellectually fascinating- it seemed that they literally believed their muggle words could Transfigure tiny disks of bread and goblets of wine into divine flesh and blood. Quite a laugh, really.
That was the last thought Voldemort ever entertained as he read the passage his host was currently incanting:
"Lord, I am not worthy
that you should enter under my roof,
but only say the word
and my soul shall be healed."
On the morning of May 26, 1985, Lucius Malfoy sprinted toward his library in a completely undignified manner, worried that the ungodly screaming he heard meant his son was in danger. He was doubly relieved to find that it was naught but the diary left to him by his erstwhile master, and that the relic of a past he'd sooner put behind him could now be destroyed.
Kreacher was tending to the portrait of his late mistress when the portion of Voldemort's soul escaped Slytherin's locket, but he soon found himself overjoyed when his daily ritual of trying to destroy the locket in various ways was finally successful.
If any of the goblins noticed shrieking from the Lestrange vault, none of them paid it any mind. It was either a dark artefact acting up (the sole responsibility of the vault owner of course), or they would find the bones of a fool whenever someone decided to clean out the vaults on that floor. It wouldn't be the first time someone had more greed than sense...
The residents of Little Hangleton would have plenty of gossip about the old haunted Gaunt hut that day. Even stranger than the terrifying noises was the fact that no one seemed to remember seeing or thinking about the shack for several years until that morning.
No one at Hogwarts was overly disturbed by odd noises coming from a seventh floor corridor. Although, many Ravenclaws were curious why their ghost seemed so much more open and talkative suddenly.
Finally, a certain young child felt as though a weight he had been carrying his whole life had been lifted off his shoulders. His aunt, who had been trying to teach Harry to earn his keep by chopping vegetables suddenly shook herself, wondering why she would treat a child this way. Sure, she was no fan of the magical world, but this was a mere child, and family to boot! Why had she thought he was so clearly evil? Petunia swiftly set about setting up a proper bedroom for her nephew, and moving forward Harry was treated as a full member of the Dursley household.
