A/N This was supposed to be a warm up…
"M-my L-Lord, is this… erm," Wormtail clutched and twisted the front of his robes, "per-perhaps that other p-plan-"
"No!" The Dark Lord uncorked the vials and sniffed them suspiciously. "No, there have been too many failures, I will not allow this to continue. Tonight," he raised the vials and smirked, "tonight, Harry Potter will DIE!"
The man then downed the vials' contents in one big gulp, and promptly proceeded to vomit.
"Oh, that was absolutely vile, what did Severus put in there-"
Wormtail stood awkwardly to the side as he observed his master's breakfast - which he'd spent so much time putting together - reappear on the ground over the course of several minutes. As the final bit of pancake ejected itself Lord Voldemort straightened up and, reluctantly shrugging on the (distasteful) Gryffindor robes lent to him by his most faithful servant, strode towards the towering gates.
With a flick of his wand the gates swung open. Raising one foot in the air he glanced back at Wormtail (who was covering his eyes and facing away), took a deep breath, and set it down.
And then the other.
"Yes!" The Dark Lord pumped his fist in the air, "it worked! Ha ha!" He pointed at the castle. "Take that you moldy old coot! Magical protections my arse!"
Having betrayed his closest friends, faked his own death and lived as a rat for twelve years, Wormtail had seen many things in his life. His master waving his arms and singing "I made it through-ough, I made it through-ough" was certainly high on the list of events he'd rather… not remember.
As all of the moving and grooving was causing his stomach to resume complaining about the aftereffects of the potions he'd ingested, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named put his hands on his hips and (with one final look at Wormtail, who gave him a shaky thumbs up) began making his way across the grounds towards Hogwarts.
The castle hadn't changed much since the last time he'd been here. Of course he'd been stuffed inside a smelly turban at the time, which didn't make for a particularly pleasant visiting experience.
(The mocking and being pelted with snowballs hadn't helped.)
As he sauntered into the Entrance Hall a few students looked at him oddly, but quickly resumed what they were doing. Excellent, that Recognize-Me-Not potion is working fantastically. Of course he could have taken a Polyjuice, but then he'd have to drink it again every hour, and that would have involved planning an entire kidnapping on top of this scheme, and it was all just so inconvenient, this was better, really.
Now, to find Harry Potter.
The Dark Lord had to struggle not to take his time as he walked through the familiar walls of Hogwarts. Very little had changed since he was a student here. Now he was back, and he felt quite powerful moving through the castle like some prodigal son returned to face his destiny. His majestically striding about was cut short when his foot sank into one of the staircases, however.
"Flucking fimbulous no-bad son of a-"
Unfortunately, help arrived in the form of a Hufflepuff prefect.
"You're late for class period, but I'll let you off this time," the boy whispered to him as he helped him up the stairs. "Watch out though, Filch is on the prowl."
Shaking him off He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named resumed strutting through the halls towards where he recalled Gryffindor Tower was located. Stopping in front of the portrait he planted his feet, opened his mouth, paused, closed it, thought for a while, opened it, and closed it again.
"Owl got your tongue dear," the Fat Lady asked him, resting lazily against her frame. He scowled.
"I have forgotten the password. You will allow me through."
She chuckled. "You should know it doesn't work like that love. Why don't you go find your head of house?"
The distant chime of the Hogwarts Clock echoed through the halls and she nodded sagely. "Of course. This is why you shouldn't skive off classes, you know."
Her chirpiness was driving The Dark Lord insane. "Be quiet!" He snapped at her haughtily. "You will let me in at once!"
She put a hand on her chest. "Well that's not very nice dear! Perhaps you need a good lesson in manners."
He was reaching for his wand muttering about how he'd give her a lesson when she turned and walked right out of her portrait.
It took about ten seconds of him standing awkwardly in front of the empty frame to be reduced to a sputtering mess.
"Hey! Get back here! You-you can't just leave!" He stamped his foot impatiently. "I command you to return!"
"Ey ey, what's all this then?" With a jump, he turned to see a decrepit old lump ambling towards him. Filch grinned wickedly. "Oh ho, student out of class! You're gonna be in big trouble mister Gryffindor, just you watch!" Gleefully he grabbed Lord Voldemort by the ear and began dragging him along the corridor, ignoring the ensuing cries of protest.
Filius Flitwick generally preferred to busy himself with his books rather than other people. He made a point of it to be familiar with the Ravenclaw students, as well as the occasional bright spark that landed in one of the other houses, but he otherwise wasn't terribly observant of the rest of the student body. So when Argus Filch showed up at the doorway halfway through his class, foaming at the mouth and clutching what appeared to be an errant Gryffindor, he simply sighed and gestured to the seat beside Seamus Finnegan (that name he knew from the scorch marks on the table alone).
The Dark Lord surveyed the class as he was shoved through the doorway. At last! Harry Potter! His borrowed robes bellowed illustriously as he strode over to where the old professor pointed. But there's too many witnesses now. I shall have to bide my time until the opportune moment presents itself.
Filch suddenly forgot why he was here and ambled away, muttering about the suspicious lack of incidents lately; the Recognize-Me-Not potion had done its part. The confused-looking students quickly returned to their work as well, and Lord Voldemort peered down the row of desks to where his mortal enemy sat attempting the day's charm, about two boys and one girl away.
Excellent. Even the powerful Harry Potter had yet to notice him. In fact, a subtle-enough Imperio might still be possible…
Taking out his wand he aimed it towards the boy. He'd have to perform the spell nonverbally, and put a lot of power behind it (that weakling Crouch had claimed the boy could resist the curse, but really, he probably just hadn't had the guts to do it properly), but as long as Harry Potter didn't get out of his seat and nothing particularly sudden occurred he should be able to-
A flash of flame and pain chose that very moment to erupt right beside him.
"Mister Finnegan," Flitwick sighed, "I believe you've been able to avoid doing that for a while now?"
"Sorry professor," the boy coughed, oblivious to his deskmate's death glare, "Haven't blown anything up in months, dunno what happened today."
The period ended uneventfully (though not for a lack of trying on The Dark Lord's part). Blending into the crowd of students heading for the door he kept an eye on his unaware adversary, following him through the castle.
Everywhere he goes he's surrounded by bloody Gryffindors! I'll have to wait till after classes. For now I'll just keep an eye on him…
Of course, focusing on Harry Potter left The Dark Lord unaware of where they were going. By the time he recognized the stagnant smell entering his nostrils he had already, subconsciously, taken a seat at the bench.
Ah. Potions.
Well, he supposed there were worse classrooms to be in. He glanced at his deskmate's books, searching for a name: Neville Longbottom. Hm. Sounded familiar. He looked the boy in the eye and gave his widest, friendliest smile.
(He'd been practicing. Wormtail said he had the most magnificent smile ever, so he might as well use it.)
The boy shrank back in his seat with his eyes wide.
"No one ever wants to sit with me," Lord Voldemort heard him murmur in wonder before the potion's effects made the boy turn to the front and relax as if nothing was off.
Out of the corner of his eye he could see Harry Potter taking out his notes and talking with his classmates. The noise in the room immediately halted when the office door slammed open.
"Now that you bumbling dunderheads have managed to find your way to the classroom we shall-"
Drat! I forgot to tell him the plan, cursed The Dark Lord as the esteemed Potions Master turned a rather brilliant shade of white before the class's very eyes. Of course he'd ensure that the potions' effects wouldn't work on him. Well, that doesn't matter I suppose.
"Professor, er… are you… alright?" One of the students ventured. After a few moments passed Professor Snape composed himself and turned to the board.
"Ten points from Gryffindor for talking out of turn."
"...But professor, I'm a Slyther-"
"Quiet! Today you will be brewing, er," the professor hastily scrubbed Tonic For Trace Detection off the board, "Barrufio's Brain Elixir. Instructions are in the book. Get started!"
"But professor, that's a seventh-year po-"
"I said get started!"
It was highly amusing to watch Severus stumble his way around the dungeon, finding every excuse in the book to avoid his bench. So amusing in fact, he almost didn't notice his partner about to pour the runespoor eggs directly into the cauldron.
"Wait! You need to squish those first!" Lord Voldemort hissed, grabbing the boy's arm. Neville frowned.
"But the instructions just say 'add them to the concoction'."
"Of course they do, the author was an idiot. Here," He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named took the bowl out of Neville's hands, rolled up his sleeves, and began mashing the eggs into a thick and soggy paste. "See, you want to get a sort of applesauce consistency with these, otherwise they won't melt evenly during the brewing stage."
Neville watched The Dark Lord for a while, then hesitantly held up the leaping toadstools. "Got any tricks for chopping these?"
"Well you start by greasing the knife…"
By the end of the class Lord Voldemort was quite pleased with the perfectly shaded green wisps steaming out of their cauldron. That extra bit of frog brain certainly gave it a potent boost the likes of which the Potions Master, who'd finally mustered up the courage to arrive at their bench, could hardly deny.
Severus Snape enjoyed the delicate art of potion-making. Though he still made a play for the Defense position every year, his loyalties to both the Light and Dark had kept him here so far. That wasn't to say he was miserable down in the dungeons with his concoctions; all things considered (and there were a lot of things to consider) he was quite content here. Of course, there was still the occasional imbecile to deal with. Longbottom standing beside a perfectly brewed advanced potion, with no melting or scorch marks to speak of, briefly held the most-surprising-event-of-the-year award. But only for a moment.
The Dark Lord standing beside a perfectly brewed advanced potion made much more sense, and yet still managed to be equally horrifying.
Looking back and forth between the trembling round-faced ball of nerves and the red-eyed, slit-nostrilled snake of a man that he was fairly certain only he could recognize at the moment, Professor Snape fought an internal battle between his pride and his life.
"This is… an excellent potion. Well done." Lord Voldemort's gaze bore through him like acid through a particularly thin cauldron bottom. "Er.. ten points to… Gryffindor? And, erm, no homework this week." With a final cough Severus turned and promptly made a beeline for his office, closing the door ever-so-gently behind him.
The Dark Lord smirked and turned to vanquish the cauldron (and maybe slip a small bottle of it for later), only to find himself beset by a shining expression of utmost awe and admiration like no Death Eater had ever given him before.
"Where," Neville whispered, tears of joy leaking out of his eyes, "have you been all my life?"
Lord Voldemort shrugged. He still couldn't remember why the Longbottom name sounded so familiar, but he reasoned that it, like most familiar names, was related to his followers. Perhaps his parents were Death Eaters? If so this certainly bode well for the next generation.
He nodded at his future minion and joined the rest of the class in walking out. The Hogwarts Clock chimed the end of the day in the distance. Finally! The Dark Lord hurried after Harry Potter, eager to finally bring down the greatest threat to his reign.
...Which would go much more smoothly if the stairs would stop letting his feet sink right through them.
"Bloody shlitting terrible piece of-"
Once he'd been helped out of the staircase by a pair of suspiciously cheerful redheads he continued his chase. Which didn't last particularly long as Harry Potter's group had stopped to chat in one of the alcoves in the main corridor. Sliding up behind one of the nearby columns, he listened.
"...notice how Professor Snape was acting?"
"He gave us points 'Mione. Points! I didn't even think he knew how to do that."
"He looked distracted. D'you think it's because Neville was doing so well?"
"Bloody hell, Snape gave him a compliment. We all saw that right?"
"It must have been his partner," Harry Potter leaned against the wall, forcing Lord Voldemort to shuffle around the pillar to avoid being seen (though it didn't stop a few passing Ravenclaws from shooting him strange looks). "Who was he working with anyway?"
"Never mind that," his bushy-haired friend interjected briskly, much to The Dark Lord's relief. The potion was acting as intended. "Professor Snape didn't even assign us any homework! It's definitely odd."
"Your scar alright?" The redhead peered at Harry Potter's forehead. "Now's usually when it starts acting up to warn us about whatever's gonna try to kill us in a few months."
"That's not how it works Ronald!"
"Sure it is, don't tell me you haven't noticed!"
"Actually it's been very calm today. Doesn't hurt or anything."
Lord Voldemort silently pumped a fist in victory. The second potion had worked wonderfully! Severus had seemed skeptical when he'd suggested it, but right here, standing not three meters from Harry Potter, was cold hard proof that Essence Of Totally-Not-A-Dark-Wizard (patent pending) worked marvelously against the foes of dark wizards everywhere.
"Oh, what's that? Potter's scar isn't begging for attention for once?"
He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named turned to the newcomer, as did the trio. Striding towards them was… was…
Drat, he couldn't remember the name. It was the brat of that whiny Death Eater that was always following him around and kissing his boots. No, not Pettigrew, that other guy, what's his face. With the dyed hair and that haughty scepter always going on about Ministry this and money that like he was the king of everything.
Ugh. Bank vaults aside, Lord Voldemort hated that guy.
That guy's spawn came nose-to-nose with Harry Potter, his hulking minions automatically fanning out to tower over Harry Potter's friends as though they'd rehearsed this particular scenario. Other students in the hallway began forming a crowd around the two.
"Shove off, Malfoy!" Harry Potter's red-haired friend responded heatedly.
Ha! That's that guy's name! Lord Voldemort would have grinned with glee if he wasn't preoccupied with making sure the jostling crowd didn't get too close to him.
"Or what Weasley, you'll toss a hex at me?"
"Don't tempt me!" The redhead made to move towards him, only to be held back by his friends. The crowd started chanting "Fight! Fight! Fight!" and The Dark Lord readied his wand and sidled around the pillar for a better angle. Perhaps I can hit him in the chaos. Make it look like another student. And blame it on Malfoy's scion! They'd never see it coming. How wonderfully malevolent!
"What is going here?"
Minerva McGonagall took her responsibilities as Deputy Headmistress quite seriously. She made it a point to treat every student in the castle with fairness, no matter the circumstances of their House or home. This awarded her great respect among the student population at Hogwarts, and the calm sound of her voice was enough to cut through the rowdy din and part the crowd before her like the Red Sea.
She came to a standstill right beside Lord Voldemort, who hastily stashed his wand behind his back.
"It's nothing Professor," Harry Potter said quickly, stepping forward. She raised an eyebrow.
"Really." She looked over the crowd. "And I suppose we are all gathered here today for no particular reason?"
Ducking their heads the students quickly dispersed. Cursing another opportunity lost, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named made to shuffle off while the professor had the stragglers - and his nemesis - move along. He barely made it a few steps before a firm hand clapped him on the shoulder, causing him to freeze.
"Excuse me."
Panicking internally, Lord Voldemort slowly pivoted in place to face the piercing gaze of Professor McGonagall.
"Young man…"
Oh dear Merlin she was even more frightening than he remembered her.
"...what is your name?"
Downright horrifying.
"Er… I'm sorry?"
Professor McGonagall looked down her nose - he'd grown significantly since his school days, how was she still so bloody tall - at him.
"It is quite embarrassing for me to admit, but I cannot seem to recognize you. What year are you in?"
"Er… uh…" He scrambled desperately for an answer. He knew he should have taken Crouch up on those improv lessons! "Um… first?"
"First year?" She looked surprised. He shrugged. "You're quite tall, aren't you? And your name, young man?"
"Er, Thomas."
"...and your last name?"
"R-erm… Answer."
"...Answer."
"...yes."
"Thomas Answer."
"...yes, Professor."
They stared at each other for a few more moments before he mustered up the willpower to continue, "I'm in your Transfiguration class."
"Oh, well, yes, of course," she exclaimed immediately, releasing him. "My apologies, Mister Answer. Have a good day." She strode off, mumbling something about memorizing the class rolls and how Dumbledore would never let her hear the end of this.
The Dark Lord stared after her until she moved out of sight, chuckling to herself.
Absolutely terrifying.
With a shake of his head he wandered off in the direction he saw Harry Potter go earlier. He took a few extra minutes to carefully contort himself around and avoid sinking into any more loose steps (much to the amusement of a group of nearby Slytherins. He made sure to commit their faces to memory. Oh their parents would pay for this!).
Once past the stairs he found himself outside. The sun illuminated the grounds, with students lounging about chatting, reading and performing other studently activities. Taking in the view he spotted his target plodding along to the Groundskeeper's hut. With a smirk, he followed.
Pomona Sprout loved three things: her plants, her Puffs, and her plant-loving Puffs. As well as every other student who deigned to join the Hogwarts Chapter of the Wizarding Herbological Union for Magical Plants (WHUMP). As the Faculty Advisor she took great pride in the efforts of the chapter's members to assist with the care and conservation of the marvelous variety of magical flora that graced Hogwarts' grounds and greenhouses.
At this very moment WHUMP was engaged in one of their most important annual rites: repotting the Devil's Snare that was kept in reserve as part of the second tier of the castle's defensive medley. It was a delicate process, involving half the club slowly carrying the wriggling mass across the grounds while staying as calm and relaxed as they possibly could while the other half maintained shade and humidity charms over it to keep it safe.
Professor Sprout herself carried the densest clump of vines while the students around her wrestled with its waving tendrils. The club's Vice President, Neville Longbottom, directed the group and ensured other students moved out of the way. She sniffled a bit. The boy was going to be a wonderful Herbologist one day!
Distracted as they were, no one in the group noticed a couple of the tentacles slip under a nearby hedge. Nor did they pay much mind to the yelps, shrieking and stray bolts of light shooting off in random directions from the other side of the hedge as the tentacles retracted. They did, however, notice the plant calm down and settle into their arms contentedly. Several of the club members coo'd, and Neville petted one of the tendrils affectionately.
On the other side of the hedge, Lord Voldemort spat out a glob of dirt and slowly picked himself up off the ground, wincing with every movement. Devil's Snare! Devil's Snare! Why was that wretched scum even out in the open! He was willing to bet it was the same one that had almost unraveled the stupid turban a few years back! He swore he was going to destroy every last vine of those things. When he killed Harry Potter and took over the Wizarding World, that was going to be his first command. Every! Last! One!
Dragging himself up and dusting himself off - oh, who was he kidding, Wormtail wasn't getting these robes back in anything less than tatters - he trudged through the trees towards the hut, keeping his eyes on his feet in case anything else chose to come slithering at him out of nowhere.
As a result, he didn't notice what was right in front of him until he almost tripped over it.
Rubeus Hagrid loved dangerous creatures.
...that was all, really. He was actually quite honest about it when asked.
"...in fact, come'n over here you lot. I got some new ones in just yesterday! They're right… o'er… hmm…"
"Hagrid," Hermione spoke slowly after a beat as they looked at the currently empty patch of land, "a few new whats, exactly?"
He smiled cheerfully at her.
"Blast-Ended Skrewts, o' course!"
Far and away from this conversation, Lord Voldemort was running for his life.
As he ducked, weaved, stumbled, tumbled, screamed and swore his way through the dense foliage he prayed to Merlin's soggy uvula that his Horcruxes were still in place and working properly. What are those things? Why didn't I see them back when I took Care of Magical Creatures? And WHY the BLOODY HELL aren't they working for ME?!
Harry Potter must have drunk a bucket full of Felix Felicis. That's it. That's the only way. I have never had such a horrible day in my life. Note to self: have Severus invent an anti-luck potion for me next. It's my only hope.
Right about then is when he fell into the lake.
Wormtail had been worried sick all day. From what he could tell the castle grounds seemed to be quite calm, no explosions or fleeing students to speak of. But the sky was beginning to darken; surely this meant his master had succeeded in killing his mortal enemy without being detected? The man-turned-rat-turned-man nervously adjusted the chocolate frogs in the gift basket that he'd grabbed from Spellmark. What if his master chose to make it an overnight mission? Should he leave and come back tomorrow? Should he try to make contact with Severus? Wait - had Severus been informed of the plan? He couldn't remember for certain, and that screaming growing louder in the background certainly wasn't helping much.
Approximately twenty-seven meters above and to the north of him, The Dark Lord desperately pointed his wand at the ground and cast a cushioning charm. He whooped and spread his arms out, ready to land in its warm and comforting embrace after the events of the day.
Naturally, he managed to faceplant half a meter beside it, startling Wormtail like he never had before.
(Well, there was one bright moment to the day at least.)
The terrified Death Eater hesitated, then slowly approached his master. When there was no movement for several seconds, he cautiously - cautiously - reached out, and poked Lord Voldemort's shoulder.
"...Master?"
"The giant squid."
"...My Lord?"
Lord Voldemort slowly raised his head and spat out chunks of dirt, grass and water.
"I was thrown out of Hogwarts by the giant squid."
Wormtail stared at him in horror.
He got up, grunting and groaning through the bumps and bruises, and steadied himself on a nearby tree. Then he turned and stared through the gate at Hogwarts Castle with the greatest glare of death he could muster.
After a few minutes, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, turned, and strode away. Wormtail hastily followed.
"Er… my Lord… the, um… P-Potter?"
"No."
"Oh. Um…"
"Wormtail."
"Y-yes, Master?"
"We shall never speak of this day again."
"...U-understood, master."
A/N Lord Voldemort appreciated the gift basket. He crucio'd Wormtail a little bit less that day for it. Then he ate all the chocolates and watched a rom com. The end lol
(idk when this fic happens, fifth year maybe?)