So, this is very much a prompt. I was very much inspired to write a fem!Voldemort story but didn't know where to start. Things have changed. I'd love to hear you guys's thoughts on this chapter, to see where I should take this next. Maybe there will be slash, maybe there won't. But regardless I hope you enjoyed this first chapter, be sure to comment, still not fully set on the course, so feel free to do suggestions or simply say if you liked this approach! That's pretty much it, enjoy.

The cold wind almost swept the hood from her head. Hogsmeade at this time of year was unforgivingly icy.

And Lady Voldemort's mood was as icy as the weather itself.

Her anger towards Albus Dumbledore had always been present, ever since she grew up just enough to question why he needed to be at that orphanage. And Dumbledore never trusted her, especially after the Chamber of Secrets incident.

Tam had known Dumbledore was aware of her part in the incident, though he had no good proof. The Transfiguration professor also knew that Tam knew the extent of his knowledge. But again, there was nothing he could do to prove it, especially after setting Hagrid up. In hindsight, she had to thank fate for that. To find out that the half-giant was raising an Acromantula was insane underneath his bed? That oaf was a danger to society! But it had coincided with the attacks on muggleborns, so she could not complain.

Voldemort took a heavy breath as she walked through the snowy ground in the direction of the Hog's Head. To see that Dumbledore was just as insufferable as he had been decades ago was disheartening. Dismissing her completely from the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher had been surprising. Voldemort at least expected a postponement. Something that would – in theory – give her hope. But a straight no ? That wasn't what she had foreseen for the night.

But while her pride was damaged, it was nothing compared to the real prize of the night. Making the Diadem into a Horcrux... it had been so demanding of her being. But it had been accomplished. And she wouldn't let such efforts go in vain. The Room of Requirement was just the perfect place to store his newest Horcrux.

In truth, Lady Voldemort was tired. She was aware that Horcruxes could wither your humanity away, even more so than mere killing...

But never before had she longed so much for a glass of firewhiskey. Never before had she felt as tired as a normal human would be.

Finally, she arrived at the pub owned by the ever-watching brother of the headmaster. Aberforth didn't care about who came to his place if they didn't cause problems, so it was a place they could gather without much issue, even if the owner sang like a sparrow in the rain the moment he saw something suspicious.

What she failed to understand was why on EARTH were his Knights of Walpurgis shouting like drunken fools at the table where they had been seated since sunset?

"Tam!" Mulciber called when he spotted him. "How did it go?"

Voldemort tried as hard as she could to ignore the looks from the pub's other customers. "What do you think you are doing?!" She shouted-whispered.

"We were simply celebrating your new job, wanker." Avery said. Why did she let them still speak to her like that? Sure, all of them – apart from Dolohov – had been schoolmates, but they had shown more respect in Hogwarts than now.

"I didn't get it." She announced, and the mood on the table subdued immediately.

"Oh." Rosier voiced. Voldemort almost wanted to facepalm.

"Did the Headmaster not trust you?" Dolohov asked. He was the only one who seemed sober, and coincidentally the one who most respected her. Perhaps because he was a few years younger, perhaps because he was foreign and only met Voldemort at the peak of her abilities, or simply because of true devotion to the cause. Something along those lines. "It does not surprise me, my lady."

"No, it is indeed not a shock, Antonin." The last thing she wanted was to refer to the other morons by their given names. "I hope you owled Lestrange as I requested, Avery?"

"Huh?" It was clear that the man was daydreaming. Voldemort didn't know if she wanted to either hex or punch the soberness back into their bodies. "Yes. Yes, I did. The fool took some time to answer. He's afraid of you."

"Afraid that you'll convert his kids." Nott was the one closest to sobriety after Dolohov. "You know how kids are, after all..."

"Far easier to convince idealistic teenagers to fight rather than fully grown wizards and witches." Voldemort mused, inspecting her holly wand. "I have heard much about his two sons. And the Black girl."

"She is already betrothed to the older Lestrange boy," Mulciber said, some semblance of balance returning to his body. "They are seen everywhere together already. Mostly terrorizing students."

"Even some that aren't mudbloods," Nott added.

"I will keep an eye on them," Voldemort assured them. "For now... who will be the kind soul that will bring me a glass of firewhiskey? I ask as a friend, not as your mistress."

Though she was sure she would murder them if none brought the alcohol her body craved. Thankfully, Dolohov made headways for her.

And Lady Voldemort let herself get intoxicated for the night.

...

Lestrange Manor was acceptable.

Voldemort had visited many wizarding homes, some more prestigious than others. It wasn't her first time here, having visited in her seventh year during winter break. Reginald Lestrange was someone she had trusted as much as he could trust one of his servants. He wouldn't go as far as to call them her friends when reflecting it on his mind... only in public, and even then...

Lestrange was clearly sceptical of her and her motives. He was the only one who had inquired Tam about the Gaunt ring when Tam had appeared with it on her finger after the murder of her family and the imprisonment of Morfin. Seemingly because of the Peverell crest engrained in the ring itself. But Tam knew it went deeper than that. Tam had rarely mentioned her lineage to her followers in school, only that she was a half-blood. But Lestrange soon realized she was a Gaunt or at least part Gaunt.

But the time of Lestrange senior had passed. Voldemort was much more interested in the young Lestranges. Brothers. Rodolphus, the most undesirable student in Hogwarts. Sorted into Slytherin, he constantly went after members of all houses, especially muggleborns. At this rate, he spent more time in detention than in classes.

Then there was Rabastan. Less prone to being caught, though just as brutal, a bit more subtle if anything. Also being a snake, they both seemed decent for being the bedrock of her new Knights of Walpurgis.

But that wasn't all. The one that caught his eye was the Black girl, the daughter of Cygnus and Druella. Cygnus had been a known quantity, after all, how can one not notice a Black when they're only two years below you in Hogwarts?

She was the oldest of three sisters. Bellatrix was her name. She was the firebrand pure-blood revolutionary he desperately needed in his ranks. One thing was smooth talking to a bunch of bigoted aristocrats about how they needed to convince the entire Wizengamot to pass legislation against muggleborns. One interesting thing about these British purebloods was how differently they thought from Grindelwald. Where the Dark Lord had proclaimed the right of mages to rule over the muggles, British purebloods only wanted to keep the outsiders out. No grand conquest, no revolution.

And Tam couldn't do with that.

Neither could Lady Voldemort now. No, in her pursuit of immortality and ultimate power, the only things these rich families could offer her were, unsurprisingly, funds. Yes, many had personal libraries that contained useful information, but Tam had spent two decades travelling the world in search of the oldest scripts and texts on magic. She knew more than all but two wizards in the world, and perhaps just one. One she had seen the other day and the other was locked up in a prison of his creation. Not a concern to her.

Her knowledge of magic went far beyond simple spells and curses. What she was more interested in was rituals, oaths, everything beyond the flashing lights. That line of thought led her to acquire her Horcruxes. And in her pursuit of power, she didn't want to deal with some stuck-up Wanna-Be nobles who'd only screech about muggleborns but also not do anything about it.

After some time, the gates to the Manor opened, and Voldemort stepped inside, already spotting a figure approaching her from a distance. Undoubtedly Lestrange. He was just as she remembered. Not too tall, growing fatter each day, and dirty blonde hair that was inching closer and closer to grey.

"Tamsin! How are you?" Lestrange called, extending a hand. Voldemort raised an eyebrow.

"I am fine, Reginald. Am I just a business associate to you?"

Lestrange seemed to hesitate. "No, I... I simply wanted to be cordial-"

"Skip the pleasantries." Voldemort pretty much commanded. "We must talk."

"Of course, my lady..." They strolled together towards the mansion, heading to the main living room. Voldemort could feel the pureblood was fuming. Typical. As much as they respected someone more powerful than them, they did so reluctantly. Especially because Tam wasn't a pureblood herself. But that was the nature of these bigots, especially those that went to Slytherin house, nurtured from a young age to look over themselves above all.

Voldemort sat on the immense couch present in the living room. Lestrange fetched his wand and cast something almost silently, if not for the movement of his lips. An ethereal blue light exited his wand and made its way through the wall. She shouldn't be surprised he was capable of performing a Patronus, but no animal form could be seen. That was magic Tam had chosen not to indulge herself in... considering the risks of performing a Patronus out of a moment of ecstasy instead of pure happiness like the spell demanded.

And Lady Voldemort had barely felt true happiness like one would normally. She certainly didn't have a single memory to choose from that weren't things like discovering the Chamber, creating the Horcruxes... and she wouldn't dare to harm her integrity by choosing these memories.

Not long after, three young people walked into the room, taking a seat on the opposite couch to where Lestrange Sr. and herself were sitting. The two Lestrange brothers were both similar, with the youngest, Rabastan, sporting a paler face and longer hair. The one that really stood out was the curly-haired witch who looked at Voldemort with intensity. Something told the Dark Lady that not even the Cruciatus could make her cower.

"Children," Lestrange started. "This... is the associate of mine I told you about. Her name is Lady Voldemort." The older man paused awkwardly, trying hard to suppress the discomfort that came with the name. Voldemort herself loved the effect her name had on her oldest friends. "You will treat her with the utmost respect and obedience."

"Why, Mr. Lestrange?" The girl, Bellatrix, questioned rather insubordinately.

It really seemed like Lestrange Sr. Wanted to apparate away if only to not deal with the repercussions of an angry Dark Lady. "Just do it, Bella. Now... my lady, what is it that you wanted to talk about."

"Well, Reg..." She dared to use the same nickname she had called him up until the sixth year. "I was hoping to talk with your enlightened children and daughter-in-law about the contributions to our cause since you've been rather cryptic about it all."

"Well..." Lestrange was clearing paling. "I just haven't been too... enthusiastic... I suppose you could describe it like that... but this can be rectified..."

Voldemort tilted her head. "Oh, is that so? Perhaps your children might be more committed." She turned to the two boys who both looked very much nervous. "I hear about your endeavours in Hogwarts. How you made a habit of torturing muggleborns with acts that can only be classified as pranks due to you being legally minors. Really, I have heard what you did to a Ravenclaw girl... Such cruelty in a young mind..."

"We were only defending ourselves from the filth." Rodolphus blurted. "We have that right."

"Yes, of course..." Voldemort eyed Lestrange Sr., who seemed incapable of speaking. "You will be soon finishing your education. When that happens, I would love to have you three attending a meeting of my Knights of Walpurgis."

"What is that?" Rabastan quietly asked. Voldemort curled her lips upwards.

"The best hope to a purer society. We strive to keep everything muggle out of wizarding society. If this fight cannot be fought on legal terms," She chuckled. "We will use any means necessary to further our influence and power."

"And what then?" Bellatrix asked, arms folded and legs crossed. The girl had such a sceptical look, it was almost cute if it wasn't also terrifying.

"Then we will have a society free of the filth and degenerates that currently infest our education, government and culture." Voldemort made an effort to look directly into Bellatrix's eyes. Like all trained purebloods, she had some barriers, but her legilimency breached through them easily. She only dived into Bellatrix's surface thoughts, to see what was puzzling the teenager. "I suppose you're wondering who I truly am, aren't you, Ms. Black?"

"Yes." Bellatrix seemed surprised she got that right, so it meant her legilimency had been undetected.

"I am the Heiress of Slytherin. I am the herald of Death, Ms. Black. I will be the one to bring the filth to their knees. And the blood traitors especially... they will suffer. Let it be known ." The last bit was spoken in parseltongue if only to reinforce her claim. Bellatrix seemed not entirely convinced, but she nodded.

"And what do you expect of us in that organization of yours?" Rodolphus asked.

"First and foremost... your submission." Voldemort could see the concept made the three teenagers uncomfortable. "Your complete devotion to me, above everything... but your marriages, of course." In truth, Voldemort would adore to have her being a follower's priority even above their own spouses... but alas, she knew how much these pureblooded aristocrats valued marriages. And she needed to convince the already-betrothed couple in front of her. "To worship me as your mistress, and to do my bidding. And in return, as a merciful lady should do, I will extend my protection to you and share my knowledge on the deepest and more interesting forms of magic."

The brothers seemed to be contemplating the offer, but Bellatrix was quick to speak again. "You say you're acting in defence of us purebloods, right?"

"Of course." Voldemort thought she had an idea of where the Black girl was trying to get.

"You said you're the Heiress of Slytherin. Are you a Gaunt? I thought the last alive member was Morfin."

"Don't mind her too much, my lady." Lestrange Sr. was quick to drawl. "She is infatuated with researching old family trees."

"It is not a problem, I assure you. So, Bellatrix... I am a Gaunt... though I have renounced that part of me, I'd much prefer not to be associated with a family of inbreds and low-lifes, even if pureblooded. My life only matters beyond the point where I became what I am." For the first time, she let her eyes shift from the original brown that she was born with to what they truly were now. Crimson orbs that made both brothers widen their own eyes in amazement. And Bellatrix herself was staring vividly at her, almost entranced by her gaze.

"What you said was very convincing, Lady Voldemort," Bellatrix spoke the name with the respect Lestrange had demanded of her. "We'd all be very interested to talk more in the future."

Voldemort allowed herself to smile. "Good. Then I'll believe our conversation here is over." She turned to Lestrange Sr. "Thanks for your cooperation, Reginald. We will be seeing each other soon... won't we?"

Lestrange Sr. swallowed. "Yes, of course."

Her grin could only ever grow.

...

She was tired.

It had been a very busy two days, after all. Returning to England like they did, then her rejection by Dumbledore... after that, it was the Horcrux and all that came with it, and finally her visit to Lestrange Manor. She had retired to a room she had rented after converting some galleons to pounds, much to the annoyance of the goblins at Gringotts. Of course, she could stay in any manor she wanted from her followers, but right now... all she wanted was to be alone.

Lady Voldemort was tired.

She allowed herself to take her upper robes off, sliding them down until they reached the ground. Despite closing in her fifties, Voldemort allowed herself to wear clothing that really wouldn't match well with the extremely conservative British witches like Walburga or Druella Black. Beneath her black robes, she wore a sleeveless black shirt along with black slacks. Sighing, she removed her shoes and faced herself in the mirror, examining her pale face, brown hair so dark it was almost black and piercing red eyes.

Sometimes, she would do that to see if what she was doing was worth it.

Voldemort never regretted her kills... she never regretted pursuing immortality. Death was her ultimate foe, the one she had now vanquished, even if it had cost her soul.

But maybe it left a sour taste in her mouth to put up with the purebloods she at best tolerated. At worst, she despised them.

She found their bigotry incessant. Muggles were... are... always an unknown quantity. Always volatile. Always coming to prejudice. Not so different from the purebloods, in fact. No, Voldemort admired some Muggle creations and inventions. Plus, the music always got to her.

But she knew quite well what the fear of what was different did to muggles. And to purebloods as well, as it seemed. No matter. It was her best bet to get support. She had aspirations of having the British Isles as her fiefdom, but she would never want to be at the helm. Publicly, at least. Having a puppet minister to put up with the ICW was enough as she continued her pursuit of power.

Much of her necessity of starting a war didn't actually come from a threat posed by the ministry. In fact, considering how connected she was with the pureblooded elite made the Ministry a gateway to even more knowledge and power.

No... it was Dumbledore. It was always Dumbledore. He would never let another dark lord, or in her case, dark lady, rise. Especially not her. No, the old fool would always stand in direct opposition, if only for his personal reasons.

No matter. Wizards could live much more than muggles, of course, but Dumbledore was still a mortal man. She was not a mortal woman. Perhaps she needed to be patient, wither down his assets, loyal followers – which he had, just as much as she had her Knights of Walpurgis – and spirit. It was weird to have time on her side, but that was the case. Her next step was to meet the Malfoys. Abraxas was an interesting figure, but like most pureblooded families, she was interested in the young heirs, filled with the fire of youth, and the desire to rule the world... and she wanted to humble them just enough for them to become loyal servants. Next Thursday, the Malfoys would be visiting Athens, and Voldemort would be there.

All was well, wasn't it?

It seemed as such.

Was it?

Looking at the mirror again, she narrowed her eyes at her reflection for a moment, but soon her eyes drifted to where the mattress was located.

Turning on her heels, she drew her wand and cast a silent Diffindo , but was shocked to see that no spells exited her holly wand. How could this be? She hadn't had the time to think. Her target, undoubtedly under an invisibility cloak, tackled her to the ground. Voldemort tried wandless magic, something she always used as a last resort, as much skill she had, it burned through her magical core like wildfire. But nothing happened. Her attacker kept holding her by the shoulders, only his hands visible as they kept her pinned to the ground.

"What is this?! Who dares?" She yelled, trying to keep the intimidating position she always held. But in truth, her heart was beating faster at the thought of getting killed. Not only because of her progress being destroyed, but... this was something she could never really find out, but what would happen when something like a killing curse hit her body? Would her soul detach from it? What will she become?

She did not want to find out the hard way. No. There must be something at play here. There were anti-apparition wards, of course, but anti-spell wards? Was this person following her? Was he a past enemy? Dumbledore would never do a sneak attack like that, much less have the physical strength to hold her so firmly. Her shoulders were starting to bend under the pressure, and she bit her tongue hard not to whimper in pain.

"I dare." The person said with a masculine voice, and Voldemort looked to where its face probably was located beneath the cloak. "And always will. But this is just too funny."

With that, the person retreated, making Voldemort sigh in relief, but the pain remained after being compressed to the floor like that.

Her attacker removed his cloak, revealing a face that wasn't too unfamiliar, for some reason. He had dishevelled raven hair, white skin that wasn't as pale as hers, and striking emerald eyes. The man smiled, and at that, she knew exactly who this person was. Well, at least the family he belonged.

"You're a Potter." She spat, getting up from the ground. "Fleamont will pay dearly for this, you insolent fool. You have no idea what you're playing at!" She searched for her wand but found it to be safely swirling in the supposed Potter's fingers.

"Nah, that's not happening." The man stated. "You're not leaving here, Tam."

Voldemort's eyes flashed dangerously at the mention of her given name. "You dare-"

"You always say this, even here." He chuckled, inexplicably throwing her wand back to her. "Yes, I dare. To me, you're nothing but... Tamsin, right? I'll have to get used to it."

The man's behaviour seemed abnormal. Half of what he was saying and doing didn't make any sense to the Dark Lady. It seemed like the only option would be to negotiate since there were seemingly extremely powerful wards that kept her from using her magic at all.

"Look, Potter..." She started. "I demand to know what game you're playing. Who are you anyway? I have never seen you at the Wizengamot... I'm told that Fleamont's child hasn't even entered Hogwarts, so you can't be him-"

"You're right, I'm no one you know. But I am a Potter, just one from..." The green-eyed man paused, trying to find the better words. "Beyond time."

Voldemort tilted her head, her murderous intent subduing on the face of his words. "You mean... you are not from this time?"

The man smiled, sitting on the bed. "You're a scumbag, Tamsin, but you're not dumb."

"That should be impossible. Time-turners-"

"Time-turners are imperfect and where I come from, and they have been destroyed anyway."

"So how? How can someone go back to a time they aren't known?" Voldemort hated to be in the dark, but that's where she was, forced to beg for answers from this insolent boy. He looked just like he could be a bit over twenty. Unless this was another dark lord in the making... no one could be this powerful, surely? To come back in time and ward the hotel room to prevent her from casting spells ...

"Well, that's classified." The man smiled. "But let's just say I've done unspeakable things to be here."

Ah... There it was. Voldemort had heard much about the Department of Mysteries. She had a contact in there, someone who was aligned with the ideology she was promoting... But even then, her informant – whom Avery didn't even have the decency to reveal the name of – only really spilled information about the ministry itself, and not much more than that. Nothing about the job he actually did, which was annoying. Perhaps if he took the Dark Mark, she could make him tell.

"So, what do you demand of me, Potter?"

"That, Tam, is a complicated question. And the name's Harry, by the way." He said, bringing his hands together. Voldemort noticed a weird scar on his right hand. "I am going to be very blunt. I'm here to either stop you or study you."

"You think you can stop me?" Voldemort asked, half offended, half curious. What was this Harry Potter capable of?

"Well, of course. I am your vanquisher." Harry smiled, bringing the utmost confusion to the Dark Lady.

"My... vanquisher..." She repeated, the words almost foreign to her.

"Oh, yeah, bet you'd never thought you'd meet your nemesis." The way Potter was so confident was infuriating. "Yeah, I beat you. However, there is more nuance to that. I came back to see what went wrong since the headmaster thought showing your family issues wasn't quite cutting it." Harry rolled his eyes, and Voldemort could only imagine the 'headmaster' he was referring to was Dumbledore. "So, first, why are you a woman?"

Now the Dark Lady found herself completely lost like she had been when she was a first year and an older boy had asked her what a bludger was. Tam had been so happy to hex him three years later while he was snogging someone.

"I beg your pardon? Why wouldn't I be a woman?"

"Well..." Harry looked a tad bit uncomfortable. "Where I'm from... you're very much not a woman."

"You cannot be serious." She groaned. Voldemort was aware Merope had expected a son, so much so that she had a name in mind. But when a girl had come out of her womb instead, she was even lost on what name she should give her. Settling for the female version of Thomas was so uncreative she came up with her dark lady name in her third year, trying as hard as possible to flee from any traces of her past.

"Dead serious," Harry stated seriously. "You look significantly better too. Even when you applied to become DADA teacher you seemed like a human snake. I dare to say you're looking socially acceptable."

Voldemort looked down to her figure, and briefly eyed herself in the mirror. Apart from her red eyes and paler face, she looked as she did her whole life. A female version of her father. Even now, mere weeks after her 44th birthday, she looked stunning, she knew that much. As much as she could without caring too much.

"Then what?" Voldemort wore her upper robes again, not feeling comfortable with Harry intently staring at her. "Will you kill me?"

"First, if I wanted to do that, I would have done that already." His cheek was unbearable. "Second, I couldn't be bothered to gather your Horcruxes now." At that, Voldemort froze. "What? I mean, I've told you I'm your vanquisher. What would I've done against you if I didn't take care of your soul pieces?"

How could she come up with an answer for that? This boy not only proclaimed to be her vanquisher but backed his words with the declaration that he knew about her most private secret by rendering her useless. Right now, she was at the complete mercy of this unknown quantity.

"What do you really want, Harry Potter?" The name exited her tongue with weight. "You say you're my vanquisher... perhaps we can forge a better path together..."

"Not happening," Harry stated, his previous amusement vanishing. "I'd say it's nothing personal, but it is personal, Tam." He got up, approaching her menacingly. And Voldemort felt the menace. Without performing magic, she was hopeless to overpower a much taller and stronger man. If the rumours of the Unspeakable's training were correct, this was a force to be reckoned with. "You've been a problem, Tam. One that I think should be dealt with."

"You can't kill me," Voldemort whispered, more to herself as a reassurance.

"And neither can you." Harry smiled cruelly. "So, get comfy. You're not going to Greece any time soon."

"You can't stop me!" She raised her voice. "No matter who you are, Harry Potter!"

"Again, I already did. And consider your plans halted until I dissect you fully, Riddle."

"DON'T CALL ME THAT!" Voldemort resorted to brute force, lunging at Potter. But he was unfortunately prepared, holding her by the wrists.

"You're embarrassing yourself." He stated, and he threw him onto the bed with force. "Thank me that I didn't throw you to the ground. Settle down, would you?"

"Settle d- do you have any idea of what you're doing?"

"I do." Harry once more grinned. "I will admit it's my first time dealing with you again since I saw your body, or I guess I should say Tom's body, collapse in the middle of the Great Hall." His words shook Voldemort more than she would like to admit. "But I know how to get under your skin. So... buckle up. I don't plan to return until I have what I need."

"And that is?" Voldemort found herself quietly asking. Harry's grin only grew, much to her dismay.

"We'll find out."