Tom Marvolo Riddle came to, in bits and starts, as if his mind and senses had all disintegrated and the pieces had flown in a fog for too long. Now pieces were gravitating towards each other and forming a cohesive body again. Slowly, his eyes gained sight, his ears started hearing. He was greeted by a scoff and a sharp nudge.
"Welcome to death, little shit!"
What?
"Hush Salazar. Let him come to his senses first," A softer feminine voice.
Someone snorted.
"You say it like he is capable of this coming to senses business!"
"I told you, your descendents are batshit," piped in a judgmental male. "Mixing a little muggle blood couldn't make them sane again. It was a horrible idea all around."
"Well, the muggle did improve their looks, didn't he now?" The female quipped.
Another snort and a snicker.
"Truly?" said the first gruff voice, "Improved their looks you say? Just look at him, Helga. A right fright he would give me if I saw him on a moonless night. He's a boogeyman. That's what my house has been reduced to. Sleep, my child, or a Slytherin will come eat you!"
"The orphanage destroyed him. Those muggles were the worst thing that could have happened to the boy. He was bright. He could have been great."
"A mere possibility doesn't make a lick of difference to the horror of reality, Rowena."
No one had any smart response to that. There was rustling of robes all around. Which meant the talkers were all still there.
In his barely conscious state, Tom became aware that he was naked. And that a number of people were standing around discussing him, staring at him. With every ounce of magic he had in him, he thought of the spell to summon some robes to his body. To his immense undead relief, he felt clothes settle on him.
"Looks like he is coming around. We will leave you then, Salazar. Do what you will with him."
More rustling of robes and fading footsteps, followed by a sigh of immortal frustration.
"You can stop playing possum. They are all gone. 'Tis just you and me," Salazar Slytherin muttered, his being the gruff voice that had first woken Voldemort up.
Voldemort decided to save the tatters of his dignity, whatever was left of it, and rose up as gracefully as possible from the white floor he'd been sprawled on. There was a bench. Excellent, thought the almost dead wizard, sat on it, and haughtily adjusted the black wisps of his robes. The other dark wizard scoffed and took a seat by Voldemort's side, as the latter looked around him for the first time.
They were at a train station. Was it King's Cross? Not exactly the station though, something else, decided Voldemort. It was too white, too clean, and too free of extraneous filthy muggles to be the London station he was quite familiar with. Voldemort looked up, saw the smokey beams and ghostly pigeons roosting there. He wondered if the ghosts of the platform pigeons still shat on the hapless travelers in limbo, sitting below.
Across a double set of train tracks, towards the right, on a bench quite similar to his own, Voldemort spotted Harry Potter, the boy whose gift kept on giving, flanked by Albus Bloody Dumbledore. He blinked his red eyes in disbelief. The duo were still there, murmuring.
"Hells and damnation." intoned Voldemort, voice gone flat from too much shock.
"Yes," grumbled the other wizard.
Voldemort swung his gaze to regard his companion. Anything was better than watching the Potter boy and his nanny.
Gray eyes, black beard peppered generously with more gray, tanned face and a set jaw. His robes were an unforgiving black, as was his sagging conical hat. Salazar Slytherin, Voldemort noted, not quite in the flesh.
"You know who I am. No need for the pleasantries."
Voldemort opened his mouth and closed it. Was the ancient being sarcastic or was he expecting something clever in response? What did one say to their cantankerous dead ancestor who looked to be chomping at the bits for a fight.
"My Lord. You look well." he finally put forth.
"Unlike you," Slytherin pointedly tapped his long nose, smirking.
Voldemort sneered, a defense he unconsciously adopted in the face of disapproval and disdain. Slytherin didn't look impressed.
"Don't take that tone with me boy." the wizard growled, "As much as I hate what you did with your life and magic, with the precious legacy you carried, I am perhaps the only power left in the universe that is still on your side. Respect that and be grateful."
The two Slytherins glared at each other.
"Grateful?" Hissed Voldemort, the sound wholly suited to his snake-like face. "I am not the only Slytherin whose name evokes hate and fear."
"That may be so. But I am also the only Slytherin whose name means something in the wizarding world, enough to carry generations of failed heirs. I left a legacy and heirs behind. What did you leave?" snapped Salazar.
The erstwhile dark lord snarled and turned his back on his ancestor. His eyes were drawn to the tableaux of Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore again, a frustrating sight, but still better than facing the disappointment in his ancestor's eyes.
"Yes. Look at them. Look at the boy." Slytherin went on, "He got your lot in life and yet, unlike you, he has everything."
"He was a bloody half-blood, barely passing muster in school! No real talent and a hot head to boot. You think I'd be jealous of that?"
Slytherin raised a brow.
"Did you forget you were a half-blood too? Besides, it all came down to the allies. You chose sycophants, sheep, followers. He chose loyal survivors that had been shunned by the elite of your world and made them his friends. The sycophants turned on you and his friends carried him through your rampage. Your campaign of domination was doomed from the start because it stood on talentless yes men."
Cold red eyes glowered at ancient knowing ones.
"I would not have my life's decisions belittled by a man dead for over a thousand years. If you are here to shepherd me to the afterlife, do what you need to and get it over with. I am done with this life."
Slytherin shook his head in exasperation.
"I will say this again. Look at them, Tom Riddle." Salazar Slytherin nodded towards Potter's bench, "Get over yourself, and really look at them. What do you see?"
"Dumb one and his shadow Dumbledore."
Slytherin looked to the skies and muttered under his breath, praying for deliverance. Then he fixed a stare at Riddle and as patiently as inhumanly possible, he explained the facts of life to his heir.
"Where you see a half-blood orphan and a nagging interfering old man, I see a politician sitting on the shoulders of a boy who was one of the most powerful Peverell heirs, whispering in his young impressionable ears. Dumbledore's no family man. He left Potter with awful muggles and himself became the pseudo father figure the boy needed after spending a loveless desperate eleven years at his awful relatives' house. Potter, the hero emerged, as was prophesied and Dumbledore held his strings. Then the heir of Ravenclaw joined their cause. Dumbledore didn't even realize the treasure he had in his grasp. But, much to everyone's surprise, she carried half their war on her clever shoulders, saved Potter again and again, figured the Peverell story out from one old book of fairy tales and strategized better than witches and wizards four times her age. Of course you lost."
Voldemort stared at his ancestor, looking rather gobsmacked.
"The heirs of Peverell and Ravenclaw?" he croaked.
Was he hearing right?
Salazar Slytherin kept his wise old eyes on Potter and Dumbledore as he nodded in confirmation.
"Dumbledore tried that before. With another Peverell heir. The man is thorough like that. Likes to keep track of the old powerful bloodlines. But that heir was far too astute and street smart to fall for the old man's tricks."
When Slytherin didn't say anything else, Tom glared at the wizard, willing him to move on with the story. History had always been a special interest of Voldemort's, especially history pertaining to the old magical bloodlines. If he had proper corporeal legs, they would be bouncing at this moment. Slytherin remained silent.
"Well? I'm sure you'd like to tell me who the previous heir was." he snipped.
"Shows how much you really know." Slytherin huffed, "You held the elder wand in your withering hands and you still ask that question. You were the previous Peverell heir. You were a Slytherin and a Peverell heir. Alas, how the tables would have turned if Rowena's girl was on your side. Fates put her in your path, forcing you to meet her before time. But you well and truly bollocksed that up."
Tom Marvolo Riddle, aka Lord Voldemort, the last heir of Salazar Slytherin sat in stunned silence as he digested what he'd just learnt. He didn't have an urge to bounce his legs anymore.
"I thought I had pulled her to me by sacrificing a piece of my soul." he shared at last.
"You did. It was a beautiful piece of magic too and I crowed about it for days after. None of the others' descendents have done such a thing. None of them have the hubris. However, your piece of soul was part of the encounter, not a sacrifice. It attached itself to her, and followed her to where she went after meeting you. I think the fates wanted Hermione Granger to travel time and for you to meet her, recognize her for what she is, have her as a goal and inspiration to get to and keep your nose clean in the process. The incident was truly a marvel Tom, never has anyone seen the likes of it. It proved you were destined for great things. It was maddening to watch you draw all the wrong conclusions and put your considerable talents to all the wrong things."
Slytherin cut a murderous glance at his heir. If Voldemort hadn't been the dark lord, he would have been quaking in his non-existent boots.
"For the fates and magicks to favor you so, and for you to throw mud in its face for its efforts. You fixated on your missing horcrux, traveled time to get to it, started a pointless war and lost half the Wizarding Britain's magical population, not to mention the colossal damage to magical artifacts that had been kept safe in the world for centuries. Thanks for destroying my school by the way. It was up for a rebuild, no? Millenia of magic, wards, ancestral portraits, books and scrolls, my own chamber, blown and blasted to kill one foolish boy who refuses to die. I hope it was all worth it for you."
Voldemort shifted in discomfort, adjusted his pristine cuffs and looked around for something to fixate on, something that wasn't Salazar Slytherin's accusing eyes.
"It got a bit out of hand." the younger wizard finally admitted.
"Just a bit eh? Because the rest of it was all very organized and went as planned." Slytherin declared condescension dripping like syrup to the white platform.
"But wasn't it what you wanted?" Voldemort parried, petulant, "For pure blood to reign supreme? I started the movement everyone wanted."
Slytherin rolled his eyes in derision.
"Magic." Slytherin answered, "I wanted magic to reign supreme. In my time there were only a handful of families recognized for begetting witches and wizards. I wanted those bloodlines to be treasured. Muggles famously burnt witches and wizards and men and women of science. No one with sense trusted muggles in those days."
Tom heard what Slytherin was saying. It all seemed pointless but still he listened. Then, he sighed and looked at Potter sitting on a bench at the platform, Dumbledore infuriatingly murmuring in his ears. He felt a smidgen of pity for the boy. To his extreme discomfort, he recognized that he'd been feeling pity for himself too. Oh how he'd started with greatness. And how the mighty had fallen. All his lofty plans, his considerable knowledge, his powerful magic and blood, everything gone to dust. If Dumbledore could only see him now, the old codger wouldn't even condescend to say I told you so.
Meanwhile, Dumbledore looked busy with the boy who apparently still got to live and paid the two Slytherin no mind.
"Why are you here? Why the whole lecture?" He asked his ancestor.
"Your destiny depends on this moment. Of course I had to be here. You are, after all, my last remaining heir."
"That answered nothing."
"You are the last remaining piece of your soul in this time. You are dying, by your own wand, might I mention. You have no heir. In a few short moments, my legacy will die with you."
"Not much of a destiny then." Tom shook his head. "You here for the funeral, old man?"
"Don't sass me. Unlike you, I am still trying to save what's left of my name and blood."
Voldemort turned to Salazar Slytherin.
"If Potter choses that he has had enough of the world you burnt down and wishes to pass on, you might get to go back to the ashes of that world. You have half a body and one seventh of a soul. Magic didn't come easily to you as it once did and you know it. In your madness, you destroyed Hogwarts, the only place of refuge you've ever had and you lost the only wand powerful enough to function with your diminished power."
"Diminished power? I would have you know-"
"Try not to take offense." Salazar Slytherin cut in, " We are family after all. I reserve the right to criticize you as I see fit. And you are supposed to listen and nod your head."
"I am listening aren't I?" Hissed the almost dead Dark Lord.
"Good. Listen closely then." Slytherin leaned towards his heir, his eyes still on Potter and Dumbledore, "When you dabbled with blood and soul magic the evening the heir of Ravenclaw came to you, you did something I hadn't known was possible. You bound her to you with blood, and with a piece of your soul, claiming her in a way. However she wasn't of your time and had to go back, leaving you behind, to a time where that piece of soul had already been destroyed. That dissonance created a deadly paradox."
"What do you mean?"
"It means there was a breach in time, a new world, a possibility, where there was none before. While Potter is in the in-between, nothing is set. We must grab this opportunity before Potter makes a decision. Because when he decides to go back to the world of living, as he most certainly will, you'll be well and truly obliterated this time. Nothing to fall back on, no horcruxes, no legacy and a blackened name."
"Get to the point. I am sure you're trying to make one."
"I can send you back into the world of the living, to that breach your horcrux paradox created. Your soul piece with the girl is your anchor in that world. If you chose to go that path, huge chunks of history would change. Magic would most certainly give things a toss. If you travel in time, truly travel, things that you affected and people you made associations with, might disappear. Suffice to say, you leave a hot pot you know to jump into an unknown boiling cauldron. As we talk and decide, this new world might already have turned to disaster. But it is somewhere you can go to start anew. "
"Why would you do something like that? Haven't I destroyed the world enough?"
Salazar Slytherin once again haughtily sneered at Lord Voldemort.
"Slytherins do what's best for them. Whatever wrongs might happen, you would still get to have another chance at a life! And miracle of miracles, you might even redeem our name for the magical people of the world. We get a clean slate to start from. I will give you directions to my hidden wealth. Seventeen years old with riches you could only dream of and the world to conquer. Take it boy. It Is not going to get any better than this."
"So that's your angle." Voldemort murmured, "Find a broken world and throw your heir at it in hopes that he will turn out to be a hero, thereby redeeming the name of our family and house. The old coot Dumbledore did the same with Potter."
A sliver of appreciation entered Salazar's eyes for the first time since they started talking.
"Knew you were smart. You know how history is written. Dear old Albus will be remembered for eternity, for mentoring the most powerful and heroic witches and wizards of the age and winning the war posthumously. All his past sins and dangerous gambles on children will be washed away. Why, he has already reached sainthood among his followers, has he not? All the while my name and great line is veritable ash. We have everything to gain from this gamble."
"What makes you think I won't turn to dark magic and go for world domination again?" Voldemort asked with an ugly smirk on his snakelike face.
"Be sly about it." Salazar shrugged, "Merlin's balls boy, I find nothing wrong with a little ambition and neither does the world. Just don't sully my name while you go about it. That is my one condition."
A feeling rose within the almost dead chest of the erstwhile Dark Lord. He realized it was hope and tried in vain to shut it down. However, he was being given an opportunity for a fresh start. He could learn from his blunders and go about becoming the greatest wizard everybody bowed to. Properly this time. It was almost too good to be true. But then, Voldemort didn't want to look at a gift of Slytherin in his old rotting teeth.
He would collect wizards and witches with more discretion this time. He would build a following to be reckoned with. The plans…
Voldemort welcomed this clarity of thought like a long lost friend. Too long had he mucked about in darkness and a red angry haze. Already things were looking up. He felt young again, at the cusp of opportunity and greatness.
"I'll need a cover to go to Hogwarts again." he mused.
"No smokescreen, no cover. You will go as the heir of Slytherin and you will be proud of it." Salazar declared loftily, "You will disappear from your Head Boy dorm in 1943 and no one will find or hear of you till you appear in the contemporary times. As for why you disappeared and how you reappeared fifty years ahead, I am sure you'll think of something."
Salazar Slytherin smirked and Voldemort had the distinct urge to deck the smugness off his face. Presently, Dumbledore and Harry stood up from the bench and in a fit of emotion, Potter embraced the old wizard.
"That's our cue." Slytherin mumbled, handed his heir a rolled piece of old parchment before placing both his hands on Voldemort's chest. "That's how to get to my hidden treasures. I couldn't trust the Goblins could I? Good luck with the new life, Tom. I am counting on you."
The white room blinked out of existence, along with the two Slytherins moments before Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore disappeared.
