"And Away We Go"
Standard disclaimers apply. By the way, the pieces of voldie's soul (I don't remember its name) do not exist in this story. Another explanation will be provided
A/N: this is a small interlude with Voldemort that takes place at about the same time as Harry's encounter with the Ancestors in the Slytherin dormitories. Enjoy (sorry for not updating sooner)
In a suitably frightening dungeon situated below a suitable horrifying castle, a suitably evil Dark lord hovered over a putrid potion.
The concoction was vomit green and smelled like a dying dementor (which I assure you smells very, very bad). Every now and again, a rat's tale or a viper's skull would rise to the surface of the potion, only to be pushed down again by the vigilant Voldemort.
The awe-inspiring dark Lord could be heard muttering and grumbling to himself under his breath. And he had good reason to.
His Death Eaters were sooo incompetent at times. All he'd asked them to do was bring him ONE muggle man. ONE! That was three days ago. They had been given two hours to bring in the muggle. Plenty of time if you ask him. He'd needed that muggle for this potion, and because the DEs could not capture a single man, he'd had to put a stasis charm on the potion for two and a half days. Then they fire called him fifteen minutes ago telling him that they would come along with the muggle shortly. As if they had not just been TWO AND A HALF DAYS LATE! Well, they had better get themselves over here quickly. The potion was almost done, but it was missing its most important component: the still-beating heart of a muggle man. Once the potion was completed and drunken by him, the journey that he had begun in the Chamber of Secrets all those years ago would be almost complete.
When thinking along those lines, Tom could not help but think that his journey would have been completed sixteen years ago if not for that fucking Potter boy and the infernal Ancestors (it was mostly the Ancestor's fault, to be truthful, but hey, hating Potter wouldn't hurt). Who did they (the Ancestors) think they were, saying that he had come into his Prominence as a Dark Lord by unacceptable means.
Those bastards! It was not his fault he'd been born with father's tainted blood within him. I wasn't his fault that he'd taken the action necessary to rid himself of his cursed blood. Any knowledgeable dark arts user knew that any wizard possessing muggle blood, tainted blood, could not truly become a dark wizard, much less a Dark Lord. Muggle blood somehow hindered Dark Magic. It made it weaker. Tom remembered the first time he'd tried to cast an Imperio on a Hufflepuff classmate in his fourth year. The curse was maddeningly weak and had little effect. Even Snape, on of his most vicious Death Eaters, had noticeably weaker Dark Spells because of the Muggle blood in him, and Tom could see how he compensated for this weakness with his Potions, the Mind Arts, and the sheer vastness of his Dark Spell repertoire.
Tom had been forced to take matters into his own hands. For how could a Dark Lord be unable to cast powerful Dark Magic? It was impossible! The muggle blood also affected his parseltongue. Salazar Slytherin had made sure that no half blood descendent of his would be able to access the full rites that being a Speaker granted. With his father's blood within him, Tom could only talk to snakes and ask them to do things for him. Sometimes they complied (for he was the only Speaker that many had encountered in their lives), and sometimes they refused him. Their rejection of him was nothing if not embarrassing; he was supposed to be the Heir of Slytherin for Merlin's sake! A true Speaker could command the snake to do his bidding and, he had access to a special brand of dark magic, called nDulisuveac. Tom could not even think of trying to find a book on the magic (although he was quite sure that it was in some unaccessed part of the Chamber), his head exploded into a myriad of angry voices that screamed how unworthy and tainted he was.
After a few experiences like that, there was no one that could blame him for taking the drastic measures that he had.
It had been easy to make that old Fool Dumbledore believe that he was on some stupid quest for immortality. Bahh! Tom was almost quite certain that there must be nDulisuveacean spells for prolonged life and health; there were many legends that spoke of the Slytherin Heirs living lives far longer than the ordinary wizard.
After creating his clever diversion, Tom had set about searching for ways to rid oneself of impure blood. The search had taken many months, which also meant many months of concealing his weak Dark Magic from his growing cluster of pureblood followers.
The spell that he'd found was not a spell at all; it was a potion. When drunken by Tom, the potion would cause his blood and soul to be cleansed of all things muggle. By the time Tom was finished, he would no longer be Tom. He would truly become Lord Voldemort. Already, after only two doses of the putrid potion, Tom's magical potency had increased. He had taken the second dosage just two days before going after the Potters all those years ago. He had been quite successful, if one did not count the strange happenings with the Potter boy. Not even a weakened AK should have produced such an effect. But that was in the past. He still needed two more doses to be completely free of his taint. Well actually, all he needed was one more dose, for the third dose will be digested soon. He just needed that muggle man that his followers had still FAILED TO PRODUCE! When he finally took the potion, they would feel the wrath of the newly rejuvenated Dark Lord (insert evil laughter).
KNOCK KNOCK "My lord?"
Tom smirked. "Come in"
Watch out Potter! I'm coming.
Hope you like .please review