Fated Origins: Chapter 2: Cosmic Rebirth
A/N: This is mainly a filler chapter, to provide further background.
Enjoy!
July 15, 1943-Little Hangleton-the Riddle Manor
"Why, hello there, child…"
Lord Voldemort, blackest magic incarnate, peered down into the alabaster, tiny crib of a little baby boy. A small, bronze plate was located on the front of the container, reading 'Aristarchus Cygnus Riddle-Black, Born July 8, 1943'.
"So, Father decided to fornicate with a Black, now did he? At least he had good taste…"
The Dark Wizard grinned, a disturbing, toothy smile that would have undoubtedly sent chills through a Dementor. The child simply stared up at him, ice-blue eyes wide with uncertainty. With his wand, Voldemort brusquely prodded the infant, and to his massive astonishment, his wand was ejected from of his hand, as if the diminutive baby had knocked it out without actually moving.
Voldemort's anger spiked with the inferno of a solar flare. A child dare disarm the all-powerful Dark Lord? Without further deliberation, he raised his fist high into the air, prepared to crush-
'Wait.'
Voldemort paused as the severity of what just occurred hit him.
A child disarmed him. With a non-verbal spell. He had heard of accidental infant magic, but none as potent as this. Voldemort himself did not inadvertently utilize accidental magic until the tender age of one. Whereas this child had completed the feat at only a week old. There was only one conclusion.
This child possessed equal or greater power than his own.
Voldemort stepped backwards, jaggedly gifted mind racing. One of a few very rare times, he had been caught off guard, and now was thoroughly perplexed. He felt fear twinge at the base of his skull at this child. Such power…
He could kill the boy, but he feared the child's magic might react against his own attack. Possibly a deflecting shield or a reversing spell, though he doubted a mere week-old boy could overcome his own curse. Still, he could take no unnecessary chances…
His psyche swiftly perused all options that entered his mind sporadically, not finding a foolproof and suitable selection.
Then, the solution hit his mind like a sledgehammer. A Space-Time Dimensional Transportation spell. With such a curse, he could send the child to another Plane of Existence entirely. Hopefully even Limbo. Effectively ridding the world of this infant and its threat on his power. It would require much energy, and the correct incantation, for it was of the darkest of magic…
No matter. No expenditure was too great to be divested of this boy. This boy, his own half-brother…
No. Family ties meant nothing. The boy was a nuisance, a power mongrel, if not now, he knew he would be in the future. Voldemort looked down at the boy and sneered. Tufts of white-blonde hair were beginning to peek from the child's cranium.
"We don't even share the correct hair color..." the Dark Wizard said aloud, sounding psychopathically like he was attempting to reason with himself. As if there was some benevolent persona within him, crushed and battered, fighting to reason with the malevolent fiend that encompassed Voldemort...
The persona apparently lost. Voldemort raised his wand, closed his partially-crimson eyes, and aimed his wand at a space adjacent the bed. He had remembered the invocation.
"Fabricae tempore et spatio: aperta!" he cried, the ancient, evil incantation rolling off his tongue like a serrated knife.
Voldemort himself watched in awe as a dark purple beam emitted from his wand, shooting out and piercing into the very air. Reality, in that concentrated locus, seemed to split, and a massive, gaping tear in the fabric of time and space was left where the spell activated. The Dark Lord took a step back, as he felt the massive pull the anomaly had on matter. Instantaneously, he felt an immense weakness plague his system, the effect of casting such a spell. Blood began to pour from his nostrils, his eyesight grew faint, his limbs felt numb. He turned, and with great, strained force, he managed to kick the crib, once, sending it rolling towards and directly into the space-time anomaly.
The crib, and Aristarchus Cygnus Black-Riddle within, disappeared immediately upon contact. Voldemort mustered his strength against the powerful, sucking current, aiming his wand at the Ethereal Rip…
"Fabricae tempore et spatio: proxima!" he shrieked, black panic taking a hold of his mind.
And the last thing Voldemort saw that night was the Rip being sewn shut, before he lost consciousness and fell to the floor.
oOoOoOo
Date Unknown-St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries
"Report, Vibrosa?"
"Male. Caucasian. Six feet, five inches in height. Weight: one hundred and seventy-five pounds. Light blonde hair-color," the female voice paused, then slowly continued. "Orange irises. Marked bodily with various unknown tattoos. Completing injuries scan, now."
A suspended beat passed.
"Go on."
"Twenty-four broken bones, including right kneecap, six ribs, a fractured wrist, and a cracked skull. Multiple flesh fissures, the largest of them being across his upper abdomen. Internal hemorrhaging is heavy. A ruptured spleen, kidney..."
A woman gasped. "Merlin!"
The voice continued.
"...very oddly, the DNA test taken shows that the individual is linked directly to the Riddle and Black family trees, making him a relative of You-Know-Who himself, most likely a cousin or half-brother…"
A few more gasps echoed around the room.
"…he was discovered by MLE agents after receiving a message from a distressed squib terrified when he had appeared in her upstairs tea room in Little Hangleton, bleeding and unconscious. He is residing in 'Room #117' on the Fourth Floor. Lastly, his forename and surname are both unknown, his age is roughly seventeen to twenty, and he is currently deeply in a self-induced, injury-defensive coma. For treatment, we are supplying him with various potions, such as Skele-Gro, assorted curative elixirs…"
"Enough, Vibrosa. I hate formalities."
The room cleared at Aeschylus' command. The female Healer, Vibrosa, stopped her medical spiel, and looked attentively at her superior, Healer Aeschylus, who was rubbing his temples with two fingers each.
"I'm getting a bugger of a headache, Vibrosa. Inform Healer Michals he'll be taking my shift; I can't stand this migraine."
She nodded once, and turned to depart.
"Wait, Vibrosa." She stopped and turned, looking into the deep, green eyes of her medical boss. "Keep this bloke unidentified. Don't release to anyone his relation to You-Know-Who. We need to keep his down low in order to stop any panic from breaking out because some idiots got wind that You-Know-Who's relative appeared out of nowhere."
Wordless as always, she nodded again, revolving around once more to head off. Aeschylus watched her leave, her long, chocolate-colored hair bouncing slightly as she walked.
Attractive enough, he thought, but I don't want to get tangled up with a coworker…
The searing pain in his brain suddenly struck again, temporarily blinding him. He fell to a knee, robe billowing out behind, surprised at the amount of pain this migraine dealt him.
The pain multiplied twofold, and he fell prostrate, gripping his skull. One thought raced through his agonized mind: this was no headache.
He keened oddly, and then vomited.
World spinning around him, Aeschylus lost grip of himself, his eyes snapped shut, and he became immersed in darkness.