He felt pain first.
A throbbing headache that took over his sensorium. It felt like someone had smashed his head in with a bludger, or perhaps with the bat itself. Great Morgana. He must be really far gone if he was thinking with blasted Quidditch analogies.
As the pain waned, he noticed something soft touching him. Grass. He could feel his fingers ensnare the wisps of the flora, and he tried to open his eyes. They were stuck. The air smelled fresh, and if he had to make a guess, he was in a forest of some sort. It was blackness, until he heard maniacal laughter coming from somewhere. Laughter of his own making. Step aside! He could hear himself say to the foolish witch, before feeling that familiar thrill of power dance through his arm and releasing the Killing Curse.
His vision was blurry once he finally managed to open his eyes. He blinked. Slowly things got sharper. It was strangely peaceful, lying here. His life had been a blur before - planning raids with his minions, recruiting more wizards and witches and there was a state of… paranoia?
Now he could hear the cries of a child. His wand was now pointed at said baby. He could feel the swagger of his confidence. The taste that he had finally fulfilled his dreams of immortality just before aiming the curse at the boy. And then there was excruciating pain.
Prophecy. Blasted useless subject Divination was. He had known that it was a load of nonsense since he was a teen. Obviously, he had forgotten such simple basics. Something had gone wrong. Horribly so. He had managed to sit up, but he felt excruciatingly weak. But, Merlin, he had tried to kill a baby. How did things arrive at this point? His mouth tasted bitter. Dry.
Suddenly, he was crawling towards a lake. He hadn’t even been aware that there was a lake nearby, but it was delightful to immerse himself and drink gulps of sweet, pure water.
Wait.
He stopped doing what he was doing, and the ripples at the surface gave way to stillness. A looking glass.
Merlin - fucking - shit.
He then mentally cursed himself for devolving to muggle-swear words.
This was not how he had left his body. This was not his body. Or rather, this used to be his body. This was ‘young Tom Riddle’ in a muggle shirt and a pair of jeans looking back at him. Before all those horcruxes had been made. Gone were the red eyes, the snake-like features, the ghostly paleness, the waxiness of his features - he wouldn’t be featuring in anyone’s nightmares anytimes soon. He was a handsome lad back then, he couldn’t help but think. Vanity was definitely something he had in spades.
What to do? The headache that had waned was starting to flare up again. There were other snippets in his mind. An image of King’s Cross station. Dumbledore… He frowned. There had been trains coming and going. He had raised his wand as soon as he had seen the bane of his existence - right. His wand. Where was it?
No matter. He had other pressing issues at hand. He waved his hand, and he smiled when his wandless drying charm dried him off. Now, where should he go? He wasn’t sure how much time had passed since his mistake at Godric’s Hollow. He couldn’t exactly apparate himself to any of his followers’ homes at this time. If he had been ‘defeated’ he was sure they were all lying low, stuck in Azkaban or denying vehemently their association with him. Their Dark Lord. The thought made his lip curl and the pain in his head felt like burning hot lancets poking through his skull.
He would need to go somewhere only he knew of.
With the quietest of cracks, he disapparated.
***
The simple act of apparition drained him. Nausea, disorientation and lightheadedness overtook him, and he stumbled. His arms instinctively grabbed onto a nearby tree branch, but it was followed by an ominous snap and he found himself sprawled over the dirt path. His heart was pounding, and he felt like he had physically run around the Hogwarts’ grounds.
Embarrassing. He hated weakness.
But yet, he couldn’t bring himself to care. At least he had apparated to the right spot - a comfortable abode in the muggle countryside that no one except Nagini knew about. A pang struck him. Nagini. Where did she go? Was she still alive? He missed her.
What a strange sensation.
***
He started with a hot bath. As he sat in the tub, he couldn’t help but feel that something was missing. He snapped his fingers, and colourful bubbles covered the surface of the water and a few of them escaped as perfectly spherical floating bubbles. Hm. He could do better than that and he grinned when the bubbles took the shape of serpents, dragons and even skulls.
***
He was hungry. It had been years since he had felt that way. On his descent to insanity, lots of a human-ish urges - eating, sleeping, defecating and etcetera had gone away. Or at least decreased in frequency.
He frowned when he looked through the barren kitchen, and then he heard a ‘pop’.
A house-elf in a pillowcase that had clearly seen better days appeared.
“Who are you?” He looked at the creature with a perplexed look.
When on earth did he get one of these wretched creatures?
“I is Elli, Master Riddle.” The elf curtseyed.
“I am Elli.” He automatically corrected.
“I is a gift from Master Malfoy -”
“I am -”
The man now known as Master Riddle sighed. Weren’t house-elves supposed to reflect their families? Clearly, this was his problem now. He doesn’t even remember having a house-elf. He probably had sneered at Malfoy’s gift and sent her to maintain the properties he did own. He also suppressed the urge to tell her to call him Lord Voldemort.
“I am hungry.” He stated instead.
***
House-elves were marvellous creatures.
He was now enjoying a plateful of tarts and pastries with a dollop of ice cream. How he had forgotten that he had a sweet tooth!
After clearing his plate, he went to explore the rest of the house - particularly delighting in the library full of books that he had always intended to read but had no time to, and the massive four-poster bed with neutral colours that he fell onto and promptly fell asleep.
***
To his horror over the next couple of days, Thomas (it at least had more dignity than Tom) did not miss being Lord Voldemort. He did not miss the arse-kissing of his followers, the jockeying for power (which was often childish and petty), planning nighttime raids and dealing with his followers. Some of them had been so needy (and stupid!).
He liked curling up with a book (both fiction and non-fiction; muggle or magical) next to the fireplace. He enjoyed sampling all the wizarding alcohol that he had collected as presents from his followers. He feasted on Elli’s culinary delights, and made himself go for runs outdoors to keep off the weight. He practised his magic - wandless - as he still had no wand and felt it strengthen by leaps and bounds. He liked being alone and free to do whatever he wanted without Dumbledore and the Order breathing down his neck. And when he felt too lonely (although he would never admit it), he would go to the garden and chit-chat with the silly snakes that often slithered by.
One day, he was having a ridiculous chat with one of the frequent visitors - a smooth snake by the name of :. Hass .: the snake promptly bolted mid-conversation, and Thomas had to laugh when Nagini came slithering in.
:. Where have you been, Master?.:
It was a joyous reunion. Nagini ploughed over him, knocking him over into the grass and gave her equivalent of a hug. She had all the enthusiasm of an excited dog, but Thomas knew better than to say that.
:. Why are you talking with silly boring snakes, Master? .:
:. Jealous? .:
He winced when Nagini nipped him.
No sense of humour - this snake!
:. You look different. You smell different. Even magic - feels different. .:
Thomas was more shocked to discover that it was 1985. He had deliberately avoided calendars and going out into the real world, but Nagini had said that she had been looking for him for almost four years.
:. To be honest, I don’t even know what happened. I tried to kill the hatchling, but something weird happened. I don’t know, Nagini. I don’t even know too much about what happened during those last few years. .:
:. Your followers? .:
:. I don’t know. And somehow, I cannot feel bothered. I - .:
:. It’s fine, you know. To take a break. .:
:. I am thinking that I don’t even… want to go back to how things were. .:
:. You will get bored, Master. .:
Thomas gave her a grin. :. Not yet. But I will find something. My brain feels clearer after all of this. .:
:. Do whatever it is you like. What makes you happy, Master. .:
:. Happy? .:
***
When he was certain that his apparition skills had improved enough to not make an embarrassing entrance, he apparated to the local non-magical town and emerged from an alley. Nagini remained wrapped around him, disillusioned as a scarf. It was a nifty trick that she could do herself as a magical familiar, and Thomas was glad for that, as he would need a wand for such magic. He had hated muggles in his youth, but he knew that it was just his years at the bloody orphanage that had brewed up such hatred. A young girl with a witch’s hat ran by and Thomas stood there perplexed until Nagini hissed and reminded him that it was Hallowe’en. The little girl was followed by both her doting parents (also dressed somewhat), and a feeling of envy curdled in Thomas’ stomach.
He walked on into the town proper, and found himself amused by all the decor. There was a visit to a posh restaurant for a delicious meal and a sweet dessert. Nagini stole bites here and there. He visited a few stores and bought some stylish clothes of the muggle variety, and finally he stopped in front of a cinema, finding it ironic that it was he - the Dark Lord (well ex-Dark Lord) - walking about as a muggle, while all these muggles were going around dressed as supernatural beings. There were people lined up to buy tickets, and he found himself staring at the movie posters. He had never gone to the movies.
:. What is this, Master? .:
:. Muggle entertainment. .:
:. You are undecided. .:
Thomas laughed. :. People would faint to know that Lord Voldemort is contemplating watching a movie. .:
:. Do what you like, Master. You care too much about what others think. .:
:. Are you coming with me? .:
Nagini gave her equivalent of a smirk. :. Of course. .:
***
:. Muggles have such an interesting concept of the undead. Are they like inferi? .:
Nagini hissed in his ear as they walked back out into the bright light.
:. Well, inferi, Nagini, needs magic from a wizard or a witch to animate them from the dead. These… zombies - .: Thomas was forced to use the muggle term. There was no equivalent in Wizarding terminology. :. Were created from a virus - .:
At Nagini's confusion, Thomas found himself giving a lecture about pathogens. Microbiology was a muggle concept, but he found himself wondering if these findings could be extrapolated to the magical world. They ended up walking around aimlessly in town for a bit, just talking about zombies, muggle culture and life in general, and he enjoyed it. The cold started to set in, and Nagini started to complain about the change, which caused Thomas to step into a bar to nurse a scotch as a balm for headaches induced by whiny serpents.
This would not be their last movie outing.
And Thomas quite enjoyed the buttery and salty popcorn.
***
:. There is more of them, then magical folk. .:
:. Well observed. .: Thomas remarked when they had gone to a club in muggle London. It wasn’t really his scene, but he had decided to go for educational reasons. He did like to indulge in the alcohol, and laugh internally at attempts by other women and even men to pick him up. He knew that his body was sexually appealing to both genders. He did agree to do a few dances, and it was tolerable.
:. It makes me think that I’ve gone about this all wrong. We need to preserve magical blood, whether it came from purebloods or muggles. We should aim to integrate rather than ostracise. After all, it seems like incestual pureblood traditions have led to more squibs and poor fertility in recent generations based on my recent readings. .: And he would know, seeing what had happened with the Gaunt family. He had regrets regarding all the magical blood (both pure and muggleborn) that he had spilled so carelessly over the last years of his Dark Lord career.
His lips curled with disgust just as a man brought him a drink with a wink and a smile. There was something off, so he looked up into the man’s eyes and had a look.
He pretended to sip the beverage, acted a little loopy and drunk, allowed himself to be led to the nearby alleyway, and before the stranger could have his disgusting way with him, Thomas applied a little wandless magic around the man’s twig and berries, punched him hard in the face and ran off.
Soon he could hear screaming in the distance as his improvised castration magic took into effect.
In a secluded alleyway, Thomas and Nagini laughed and laughed.
***
:. You still don’t have a wand. .:
:. I know. Believe me, Nagini - I do realise that. I miss mine. .:
It was beginning to snow outside. Thomas found himself feeling a childish thrill as the snowflakes dropped.
:. You have still not stepped into magical areas yet. .:
:. I know. I just haven’t felt the need to. .:
And it was true. He quite enjoyed his life of leisure, but he knew that he should figure out his official story and reintegrate himself back to the wizarding world. He should go to Gringotts and see if he still had access to his vaults, although he had fortunately stashed away a lot of muggle money for a rainy day in the house itself. He didn’t really need a wand either in his day-to-day life; his wandless and non-verbal magic had improved greatly over the last weeks and months.
:. I miss the rat. .:
:. Pettigrew? .: Thomas said with amusement.
:. I want to play with him, taste him, and play with him some more, Master. He was lots of fun. .:
:. This is some twisted love story, Nagini. I don’t think I want to know more. .:
Thomas ran off to take a bath when it seemed that Nagini wanted to continue talking about the ‘plump and juicy’ rat. Sometimes his newly acquired rubber duck was a better companion than his serpentine familiar. And Pettigrew - he really had no use for that cowardly creature. The problem with spineless traitors is that they could always betray again for a better deal. If he ever came across the rat again, he would definitely give him to Nagini to deal with.
***
It was spring when he finally ventured into the Wizarding world.
He didn’t go to Diagon first.
He went to Godric’s Hollow instead. There was the memorial for James and Lily Potter that took up a big chunk of land. Statues of the Potters had been erected, with Lily carrying Harry in a protective manner. He never had that. A loving mother. A doting father. Thomas couldn’t help but think. All these emotions(?) that he had buried deep seemed to bubble to the surface so easily in his new form.
It was annoying. It was also… enlightening. The Riddles - who had wanted nothing to do with him. The Gaunts - reduced to parseltongue-y babble and using amortentia to hook up because even Thomas knew that no one would willingly sleep with his mother.
:. I wonder what happened to the hatchling? .: Nagini remarked, interrupting Thomas’ thoughts. :. He didn’t die. .:
Later, when Thomas apparated to Diagon, he found out about the ‘boy-who-lived’.
How banal. He thought as he folded away his copy of the Daily Prophet and strode away to Gringotts, his robes and fur lined cloak elegantly billowing behind him.
***
He had money. Loads of it. The goblins of course gave no regard to the Ministry’s desire to seize his assets upon his ‘death’. A little bit of blood magic, and Thomas had access to his money and possessions again. He also paid heavily for a comprehensive ancestry test, and traced his family to an offshoot of the Blacks instead of going directly to Salazar Slytherin.
He didn’t want to don Black as a last name. He had no interest in being too connected to the Malfoys, even though it was a convenience that Bellatrix and Sirius were locked up in Azkaban currently. He had no interest in fighting for the Black assets and the Wizagamont seat at this time. There were a lot of faded scribbles on his family tree - squibs and muggle ancestors weren’t named. But he was surprised to see Harry James Potter on one end-branch, and he realised quite late that Lily Evans had been a descendent of Salazar Slytherin. How could he have been so stupid! He had killed off one of the last Slytherin relatives, and he hadn’t known! Muggle, he had thought, and of course thrown it all away. What happened to the meticulous researcher and planner that young Tom Riddle had been?
He fumed.
:. There is no use crying over spilt venom, Master. .:
“I think I would like to rename myself Thomas Spencer Walsh.” Thomas said to Grimfang. “The Walsh offshoot of the Blacks has completely died off a century or two ago, and should be a viable identity.”
“Master Walsh, a pleasure.” Grimfang said with a surprisingly mischievous glint and bow. “You will go on to do great things, yes. I look forward to the tales of your exploits.”
***
Thomas took a few deep breaths to stave off the anger that was threatening to explode out of him. It was only fortunate that he didn’t have a wand, or he would have blown up everything around him. He had finally seen the famed Harry James Potter - his distant relative - and to find him in the ‘care’ of these horrible muggles - It was infuriating. Infuriating was inadequate to describe his emotions. From the few days he had been sneaking around with some help from some non-magical serpent friends (Nagini and him didn’t want to risk triggering the wards without a proper wand), he had learned that Harry lived a life that was far worse than his house-elf’s life. Harry cooked, cleaned, weeded and was shoved in a cupboard when he wasn’t needed. Like a bloody muggle appliance! He was also the verbal punching bag for his uncle and a physical one for his cousin - the overfed Dudley. It was arguably worse than the life Thomas had grown up with at Wool’s and wasn’t that something?
:. You have to do something about the hatchling. .: Nagini’s maternal instincts were aroused. :. He shares your blood! .:
:. I know. I know. It won’t be so simple. I am sure Dumbledore has his fingers all over this pie. I think we need more information. .:
:. He is a Speaker. .: Nagini was wriggling with excitement when one of their snake-allies (friend?) slithered up to Harry who was taking care of his aunt’s flowers and started talking to the boy. :. What is the point of this cruelty? .:
:. I think we take him first, and ask questions later. Buy yourself a wand, Master - we can’t leave him here any longer. .:
:. I don’t even know how to raise a child. .: Thomas gave a shaky laugh.
:. We can’t be worse than them. .: Nagini said disdainfully. :. And you know what not to do. .:
:. We? .:
:. Of course, we! Hatchlings need a healthy maternal presence! .:
Thomas gave her a flabbergasted look before disapparating away.
***
Thomas travelled to the Continent to buy a wand. No point buying one with a British Trace. He would have made a holiday out of it, but Nagini was very insistent on getting back to ‘her’ hatchling. So he had a weekend. He spent a great chunk of it looking for a new wand, and it was very difficult to find something that was even remotely like his old yew wand.
:. You are going about this wrong. .: Nagini interrupted.
:. How can I mess this up? .: Thomas was literally picking up wands, waving them and putting them back down.
:. You are looking for something like your old wand. You need to think of this as a new beginning rather than a retelling of the same story. You are definitely a different person compared to when you were eleven, Master. .:
Sometimes his snake had a good point or two.
Thomas finally placed his hand around a vinewood wand with the heartstring of Romanian Longhorn and he felt something pleasurable when flesh and wood collided. It was different with his yew wand, and he gave it a wave. The magic somehow felt warmer and lighter and a bouquet of flowers emerged from the tip.
Thomas offered the bouquet to the blushing wandmaker, paid the ten or so galleons and departed before she could ask him out. There would be time to indulge in a nice French restaurant, and a walk to catch the sunset at the local beach before catching the last flight back to Heathrow.
***
He put a glamour on himself before the final confrontation.
Much to his surprise, he could cross into the property without getting booted out of it. Blood wards. They were weak. Thomas sensed. There was no affection in that house to power the wards - and even a wizard like him could figure that out. He walked casually across the lawn on a lovely Sunday evening and rang the doorbell.
“Hello Mrs Dursley.” He said politely when Petunia opened the door.
“Do you salespeople have no shame? It’s Sunday evening! You are interrupting dinner!”
“I am here for your nephew.”
“I don’t have a nephew.”
“Oh, I beg to differ. I am looking for a boy named Harry James Potter. The son of your deceased sister? About this high -” He put out his hand. “And is in your cupboard right now. Without dinner.”
Before she could screech some more, Thomas pushed her aside and started walking in.
“And just where do you think you are going -”
Thomas grinned when Vernon started going a shade of purple as he applied a bit of wandless magic to constrict the old windbag’s windpipe. It was funny to watch him struggle to breathe, and the look of horror on his son’s and Petunia’s faces were the cream on top.
Merlin, he missed torturing. It was one of the big negatives of going straight.
Ignoring the muggles, he wandlessly unlocked the cupboard, and the little boy - no more than five - blinked at him. He bent down, just as his magic lessened a bit around Vernon’s throat to let him breathe.
“Hello Harry.”
“Who are you?” The boy looked at him suspiciously.
“My name is Thomas. I am here to get you out of here. I am a distant relative of your mother.”
“How did you know about -”
“I am a wizard, Harry -”
At the boy’s wide eyed look, he added gently. “You are a wizard too.”
“I am not a wizard. I am a… freak.” Harry then suddenly burst out crying.
Thomas’ arm drew the wand movement for a good old torture curse.
“In what way are you a freak?”
“I can - I can do things. I can make things happen.”
“Like so?”
Thomas pulled out his wand and with a wave, repaired the broken train set and toy soldiers that Dudley had presumably broken and Harry had kept as tokens to play with. He all-to-well remembered Dumbledore destroying his belongings all those years ago. He enjoyed Harry’s impressed and happy look when he animated the soldiers and made the train run on its own for a good minute.
“Wow.” Harry beamed.
“Indeed. If you come with me, I will teach you all about the magical world.”
“Are you really my uncle?”
“A million times removed, probably. But, yes, we are related.” Thomas couldn’t help but mirror Harry’s smile. “I bet you are hungry. Come out and eat with us.”
It took a bit of coaxing to get Harry out of the cupboard. It was Harry’s safe spot, and Thomas could understand very well the boy’s distrust of adults. He took the boy to the dining room, where the Dursleys had been feasting on their Sunday roast. He encouraged Harry to sit, fixed up a plateful of food and put it down in front of the boy. He then did the same for himself. He could see Vernon about to say something, so he unleashed his suffocation magic again.
“What’s wrong with Uncle Vernon?” Harry noticed.
“I think you may have heard the phrase: if you have nothing pleasant to say, keep it to yourself?”
“Yes. I have.”
“He’s learning it the hard way, Harry. Don’t worry about your aunt and uncle. If they behave, they will come to no harm.” Thomas had the odd feeling that Harry would not be too happy if he did cause permanent harm, so his Dark Lord side disappointedly curled back within him. “I take it that you made this lovely dinner?”
“Yes! The roast beef, the potatoes and I even baked a cake. Victoria sponge.” Harry said with a grin. “I can cook for you too, Mr Thomas.”
“It’s just Thomas, Harry. And, no - it won’t be necessary for you to cook.”
“But I am a good cook!”
“You can cook for fun, if that’s what you want.” Thomas said after Nagini nipped him in warning.
“Did you know my mum and dad?” Harry asked eagerly.
Thomas twitched. He couldn’t very well tell the poor boy that he was responsible for why Harry was in this mess! “No, I did not. But they were very powerful, and they… they loved you very much.” He could feel Nagini radiate approval. “They were killed by a foolish and mentally unstable Dark Wizard.”
“They didn’t die in a car accident?”
Thomas turned around to look at the Dursleys. He liked to see Petunia’s and Vernon’s horrified reactions. This was truly a decadent touch to a decent roast dinner. Both of them wanted to speak, but terror kept their mouths shut better than any silencing charm.
“No, Harry. They were in a war. And people die in war, Harry. They were very brave.”
Thomas said quietly, wondering how in Merlin’s bloody hell this became his life. There were definitely people rolling in their graves. And Fate (if that blasted entity exists) was really taking the piss.
“Eat, Harry. You are a growing boy.”
They focused on eating. When Harry was done, Thomas ordered Petunia to fetch the cake and cut two slices for their dessert.
Thomas then led a stuffed Harry back to the cupboard. He pulled out a charmed bag, and told Harry to pack up his things. The boy did quickly, as if Thomas would disappear if he was too slow. Thomas also repaired more toys, art supplies and other objects that Harry had stashed away, and he couldn’t deny that it was nice to see the boy smile at him.
“I am working on the adoption papers. I will be back for your signatures when I have completed all the requirements. If we need to go to the family court to finalise the adoption, then I expect you two to cooperate. Do you understand?”
The muggles could only nod as Thomas swept Harry out of the house.
***
“This is your room, Harry.” Thomas explained when he brought the boy to the room that Nagini and he had prepared. There was a child-sized bed. The furniture was all of sound wood with carvings of fantastical creatures. There was a ceiling designed to look like the night sky with all its constellations and planets. Thomas was secretly proud of that enchantment. “There is a loo through here -”
He realised that the boy wasn’t even listening to him. Harry was crying.
“Harry.” He kneeled down. “What’s wrong?”
“I… I… this is a dream.”
:. Hatchling - this is not a dream. You are safe with us… .:
Nagini suddenly appeared into the room, and Harry blinked at her. He tried to stop his sniffles.
:. You have a snake? .: He hiccuped.
:. Of course. This is Nagini. She is my familiar. .:
:. And he is my wizard. But you will be my little one. .:
:. You can speak to snakes too! .:
:. Yes. It’s a gift of our family. .: Thomas explained.
:. You are very big. And very regal. .: Harry looked at Nagini with a mix of awe and maybe a little bit of fear.
:. You have nothing to fear from me. You can even scratch my scales. .:
:. Really? .:
Harry does after a moment’s hesitation, and Nagini does her version of a purr.
:. And this really is my room? .:
:. Yes it is, Harry. All yours. .: Thomas smiled as Harry tentatively started to explore the room with Nagini slithering beside him.