I, Voldemort (Harry Potter SI-ish).

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I, Voldemort (Harry Potter SI-ish).

Post by The Romulan Republic » 2019-08-21 04:52am

I've never done an Self-Insert story before, and in truth this isn't really one either. I know myself well enough to know I'd make a shitty protagonist for this story. But I did want to explore the idea of an ordinary person from our world just finding themselves in a fictional character's shoes- in this case, the title should make it pretty obvious whos' shoes.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, etc. No money is being made off this story.




I, Voldemort.


Pain.

Well, "pain" doesn't remotely describe it. I'm not sure that any words could- the pure, bone-deep agony of being ripped from your body, your mind adrift in an icy black. Slowly, I became aware of light, faint, but present. An acrid smell, and something warm and wet, bubbling around me and against my skin. I tried to stand, stumbled, reached out for balance and found my hands clutching a curving surface of rough metal. I looked down. I blinked.

I was standing up to my waist in bubbling liquid, inside a giant metal pot.

My hands were pale, almost white, and the fingers were far too long.

Not a pot. A cauldron. I looked up. Through the vapours that rose from the cauldron I could see shadowy shapes. I blinked again, trying to focus. My eyes were much better than they had been, I realized. Of course, this is a dream. But somehow, I knew it wasn't. It just felt... too real, every sensation sharper and more solid than I could ever remember feeling in a dream. Maybe its just a deeper dream, and I won't remember it when I wake up. That must be it. But even then, I knew that my mind was grasping at straws.

The fumes began to clear. I could see the shapes more clearly now.

Gravestones.

And I realized where I was.

Who I was.

I was standing in a cauldron, in a graveyard. It was night. On the grass in front of me, hunched over whimpering on his knees and clutching his arm-no, the severed stump of his arm-was a small, rodent-like man with greying, balding hair. Blood soaked his robes, and his face was pale and sweaty. On my right rose another grave, tall than most of the others, and bound to it was a boy, still a teenager, with messy black hair and glasses. I knew that if I looked closely, there would be a lightning bolt scar on his forehead. His right sleeve was torn and his arm was soaked with blood, but his face... his expression was one of pure horror and despair, but there was rage and defiance in his green eyes. I looked quickly away, and wished I hadn't. To the left lay the pale, still body of another boy, a little older, and beside it a metal cup.

Cedric Diggory, I thought.

This couldn't be real. It couldn't. But it was. I was Lord Voldemort, reborn.
"I know its easy to be defeatist here because nothing has seemingly reigned Trump in so far. But I will say this: every asshole succeeds until finally, they don't. Again, 18 months before he resigned, Nixon had a sky-high approval rating of 67%. Harvey Weinstein was winning Oscars until one day, he definitely wasn't."-John Oliver: https://youtube.com/watch?v=zxT8CM8XntA

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Re: I, Voldemort (Harry Potter SI-ish).

Post by The Romulan Republic » 2019-08-22 09:38am

My mind spun. My thoughts were disordered tangle, running in increasingly frantic circles. Terror and confusion at where I was, at what had happened to me, at what would happen when the Death Eaters-had I already summoned them-realized I wasn't who I looked like, when Dumbledore thought I was. Terror at being stranded in an alien world. Terror that this could even be real. Terror clawing at the edges of my subconscious, threatening to overwhelm me. Denial too, my mind scrambling for some way to rationalize away what my senses and reason were telling me. But amid all that was a small, calm voice, detached from the maelstrom of my spiraling thoughts and emotions.

Think. Act.

I pulled myself out of the cauldron, stumbling clumsily on the slick, cool grass. The air was cold, all the more in contrast to the warmth of the magical vapours still rising off the cauldron and the fire beneath it. I looked down, realizing I was naked. I turned away so that my front wouldn't be facing towards Harry or Wormtail. Unfortunately, that forced me to face the body lying a little ways away. Part of me wanted to help him, to try to call for help or do CPR or something, even though it would probably have been pointless now. The rest of me was still frozen with fear and uncertainty. But that first action, simply getting myself moving, just making a choice to do something, had broken me out of my paralyzed inertia. My mind was running a mile a minute. Priorities. Priorities. What do I do next.

"Wormtail", I said, then cursed at how hesitant my voice sounded. I didn't sound like the dreaded Dark Lord Voldemort, and for a moment I was afraid that Wormtail would see right through me. But he didn't. He just looked up, whimpering, still clutching his bloody arm stump. I felt a moment of pity for the man-I should be getting him to a hospital, not giving him orders-but then I reminded myself that he was a murderer. He didn't look like his film version, I noted distractedly. So I was in the books? Or, God help me, a fanfic canon? I put that thought aside with a shudder. Some hells didn't bear thinking about.

"Robe me", I said, trying not to let my voice quaver as I repeated what I thought was Voldemort's order from the book. Wormtail lurched awkwardly to his feet, grabbed a black robe and draped it around my shoulders, while I looked for anything that didn't fit with what I vaguely recalled of book canon, and tried not to look at the body lying in front of me or think about the fact that the man who had killed him was currently dressing me while dripping blood from his severed arm. Hysteria threatened to overwhelm me, but I forced it down, turning sharply on Wormtail. He stumbled back, eyes wide.

"Your arm."

"M-my Lord?" He extended his arm, a hopeful look beginning to appear on his face. I starred for several long seconds at the bloody stump before realizing that I he expected me to replace the hand, as his master had promised. I cringed inwardly. I didn't know the first thing about magic. In these sorts of scenarios, the person who swapped bodies usually got convenient access to the other person's memories, but try as I might, I couldn't remember anything about Lord Voldemort that I hadn't known before. Which was really, really for the best, I suppose, considering the sort of things that would be in Lord Voldemort's head, but right then I felt almost completely helpless.

"Can you heal yourself", I asked, then cursed myself again. But Wormtail evidently didn't notice my ignorance.

"My L-lord?" The man didn't look well. I wondered how much blood he'd lost.

"Your arm", I snapped. "Heal it." He flinched, then clumsily drew a wand and pressed it to the stump, muttering a word. I thought I saw skin growing over the bloody stump, and breathed just a small sigh of relief.

"Now, free the boy."

"My Lord?"

"Do it", I snapped, hoping that fear would keep him from questioning me at least a little bit longer. Apparently it did, because he pointed the wand, said something, and the ropes binding Harry to the gravestone fell away. Harry fell to his knees, catching himself on his hands before he face-planted on the grass. He knelt there for a long time, head bowed, trembling. I looked away, feeling sick. I didn't know what to do. I'm not good at comforting people even when I'm not wearing the face of the monster who just kidnapped and tortured them, and I didn't have any way to call for help or use magic. Though speaking of.

"My wand", I said to Wormtail. "Give it to me."

Wormtail complied, and I felt quite a bit better knowing that the magical murderer didn't have a weapon on him if he figured out I wasn't his master. I thought about asking him if he had another. Would that be too much? I decided to chance it. I guess one of the advantages of being ripped from your body and transferred into that of a magical terrorist is that there's not much left that can scare you after that.

"Have you got another one?"

Wormtail shook his head quickly, though his expression was puzzled. I didn't press it. He was visibly terrified of me, and as far as he knew I could read his mind. I doubted he was lying. And if he was, I was in a lot more trouble.

"We're leaving." I turned to Harry. He was crouched, watching me, and his eyes blazed with hatred. He scrambled quickly to his feet, a little unsteadily, but clearly trying to look like he wasn't scarred. It really impressed me for the first time, in a way that reading a fictional book never could, how God damn brave the boy was. For a long moment, I was silent. I swallowed. I felt guilty talking to him, even though I hadn't done anything to him except free him, and wear the body of his worst enemy. "Harry. Potter", I quickly added. Harry was far too informal. "Get out of here." He starred at me. I thought fast. "There's a village nearby." I thought I could see some lights beyond the far edge of the graveyard. "Go. Get help." He kept starring. "Run." He turned, darting quickly behind a nearby gravestone. He probably expected me to start shooting spells at his back, I realized. Fuck. I turned to Wormtail.

"Come on, we're going." I suddenly realized I had no idea where too. Quickly, think of something. "Apparition!" I blurted. Wormtail looked at me oddly, and it sent a shiver through me. Fuck, he's catching on. "Aparate me. To... home. NOW!", I snapped when he hesitated. Wormtail gripped my arm, drew his wand, turned on the spot, and-

Crushing. Can't breath!. The world twisted around me, spinning and bending in a blur of black and golden light. And then I was staggering into a dimly-lit room, colliding with a wall. My stomach heaved, and I vomited all over my still-bare feet.

"My Lord?"

I turned, glaring at Wormtail.

"Your potion", I improvised. "You must have bungled it!"

"No", he back-peddled frantically, hands raised, eyes wide. "I didn't-I swear-I did exactly as you commanded..." His back hit the faded wallpaper on the opposite wall. I felt a moment of satisfaction at his terror- then I felt sick and ashamed, and a little afraid. What if there was a bit of Voldemort still inside of me? I shook my head. I didn't need a Dark wizard in my head to make me an asshole. But I made myself a promise, then and there. Whatever happened, I wasn't going to abuse the power of Voldemort. If I had to frighten Pettigrew to keep myself alive, or keep other people alive, I would. But I wouldn't use that power to hurt or control others just because I could.

"Peter", I said softly, straightening up. "You have served me well. And you will be rewarded." It was true, after all- he might not have known who I was, and he might have only served me because I was a coward, but this man was under my command, and that made him my responsibility. That was not a pleasant thought. "But for now, we have work to do."

He fell to his knees.

"My Lord... My Lord..."

"Get up", I snapped. It felt wrong, having him grovelling at my feet. I wasn't Tom Riddle. I wouldn't be Tom Riddle. "What do we have? Men, supplies?"

He looked at me oddly again, but answered quickly.

"We have food for a few days, and water from the well. We have no one but Nagini, but Crouch will join us once the term at Hogwarts is over."

Crouch. It took me a moment to realize who he was talking about.

Oh fuck. Right about now, Barty Crouch Jr. would be trying to assassinate Harry, unless things had changed enough already in this timeline as a result of my actions. Of course, I realized with sudden terror, that change could go both ways. If Crouch raised his wand a few seconds earlier, or he saw who was coming in his Foe Glass-Moody's Foe Glass, which he had stolen-then...

Harry would be dead. I'd probably just sent the boy to his death.

"Is there any way to contact him?"

"Owl mail", he said blankly after a moment.

I starred.

Think fast.

"Peter", I snapped. "Aparate to Hogwarts immediately. Enter the grounds in disguise. Find Barty Crouch at tell him to return here immediately. The plan has changed. If you are seen, stun and obliviate the witness. No killing." Stood, starring, frozen. "NOW!" Peter jerked into motion, turned on the spot, and was gone. I sagged, leaning back against the wall. I could feel myself shaking as the adrenaline of the last... how long had it been? Maybe twenty minutes? As it wore off. I felt my legs give way and slid down the wall, to sit with my head in my hands on the floor.

Some Dark Lord I am
, I thought. I chuckled bitterly. At least I could be glad I wasn't like the man who's face I know wore. I can't do this. I'd been running on autopilot, more or less, just reacting, but now that I had time to stop and think, I was so utterly fucked. Everyone in this fictional world who wasn't a mass murdering racist terrorist would want me dead. This world. I was in another world. I'd never see my home or my friends or my family again. I was in another world. In another man's body, created and twisted with dark magic. God, what about the Horcruxes? Was I immortal? That thought was actually appealing, but then I realized what that would mean. Was my soul in pieces now, damned like Voldemort's to be trapped forever between worlds? No. No, I told myself again, more certainly now. If that was true, I wouldn't be caring this much. Or would I? Soulless didn't mean emotionless. I shook my head. I wasn't Voldemort. I still had my soul. Surely I had that. Surely I would know if it was gone?

Would I?

For that matter, I realized with dawning wonder, I was now in a world where souls were real. Provably real. And so was life after death. And immortality and magic and...

My brain shut down for a little while. The next thing I remember was a soft voice whispering.

"Massster?"

I looked up. I couldn't see anyone, but I could see something... slither in the shadows on the floor. I felt my skin start to crawl, and my heart beat faster.

"Nagini", I croaked.

"Masster."

And that was when I realized that I could talk to snakes. Which meant that some of Voldemort's soul was still in me, just like in Harry- I shook my head, my thoughts racing, desperately denying. Its not his soul. Its just his magic. You've got his body. It makes sense, its just his magic.

"Masster?" The snake sounded... concerned.

"Sorry", I said. "I can't speak snake."

Silence. Then another hiss.

"You have spoken to me many timessss in Parsssseltongue?"

My skin crawled again. Nagini could understand me. She could understand English. Or was I speaking in Parsletongue without realizing it? Harry had done that, I thought. But then she would have said I was speaking in it, wouldn't she? And then I remembered.

Of course. Nagini was a human once. Or was that just the movies? I looked at the snake that might have been a woman.

"Can you... understand me?" Stupid question.

"Issss this a game?"

"No, no game", I said quickly. "My... the ritual. Something went wrong. It will be better soon." It was a pathetic excuse, but it was the best I was up to right now.

The snake was silent. I wondered how to broach the next question.

Fuck it.

"You... were you really human once? Truly?"

Silence. Then a soft, sad hiss.

"I think I wasss. Sometimesss I am uncertain."

So she and Voldemort had talked about this before. And Nagini was a human. Had been. I suddenly felt a powerful sense of kinship with the snake-woman. To be taken from your body, shoved into that of another creature, a predator, a monster... Well, I had never thought that that would be something I'd identify with.

I shook my head. My brain felt numb, and I felt tireder than I ever had before. I needed sleep. I hoped I could trust Nagini not to eat me, but right now I was almost too tired to care. I looked around, and saw a sofa sitting in the next room. I rose, reluctantly, and stumbled over to it. It was moth-eaten and dusty and mouldy, but it was soft and almost long enough to stretch out on. I lay down, resting my head on one arm and my legs on the other.

When I opened my eyes, pale yellow light was filtering through the windows in dusty beams.
"I know its easy to be defeatist here because nothing has seemingly reigned Trump in so far. But I will say this: every asshole succeeds until finally, they don't. Again, 18 months before he resigned, Nixon had a sky-high approval rating of 67%. Harvey Weinstein was winning Oscars until one day, he definitely wasn't."-John Oliver: https://youtube.com/watch?v=zxT8CM8XntA

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Re: I, Voldemort (Harry Potter SI-ish).

Post by VX-145 » 2019-08-22 12:27pm

Interesting take on a self-insert fic. I hope Tom Riddle's mind hasn't ended up anywhere inconvenient...

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Re: I, Voldemort (Harry Potter SI-ish).

Post by FaxModem1 » 2019-08-23 02:12am

Hmm, if he can't do any magic, or at least not without several years of practice, the best he can hope to do is commanding a bunch of Magical Neo-Nazis to do his bidding before they get wise that he isn't killing them all stone dead at the drop of a hat.
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Re: I, Voldemort (Harry Potter SI-ish).

Post by The Romulan Republic » 2019-08-23 06:36am

VX-145 wrote:
2019-08-22 12:27pm
Interesting take on a self-insert fic. I hope Tom Riddle's mind hasn't ended up anywhere inconvenient...
Commenting on that would be spoilers.
FaxModem1 wrote:
2019-08-23 02:12am
Hmm, if he can't do any magic, or at least not without several years of practice, the best he can hope to do is commanding a bunch of Magical Neo-Nazis to do his bidding before they get wise that he isn't killing them all stone dead at the drop of a hat.
The fact that the protagonist can speak Parseltongue shows that he's inherited Voldemort's magical powers, or at least some of them- but without Voldemort's memories he has no actual training in how to use it, beyond whatever he can remember from the books. So his magical prowess approximates that of a first-year Tom Riddle at this point (actually possibly less, since Riddle was a magical genius and self-taught himself some pretty advanced wandless dark magic as a kid). Which is more powerful than any mundane human, to be sure, but any Death Eater or Auror and most of the Hogwarts staff could wipe the floor with him if they weren't too scared to try.

Yeah, I'm trying to subvert the idea of self-insert as authorial power fantasy, to an extent. Probably still bending things in the protagonist's favor a bit beyond plausibility, to be honest, for the sake of a story, but easy breaks like getting a download of Riddle's memories and full powers ain't happening. Which means that yes, at this point its pretty much just bluffing on Voldemort's reputation plus foreknowledge of canon and hoping that even if the Death Eaters notice something is off, they're too scared to actually do anything about it.

Of course, bluffing on Voldemort's reputation means everyone who isn't a Death Eater will want you dead...
"I know its easy to be defeatist here because nothing has seemingly reigned Trump in so far. But I will say this: every asshole succeeds until finally, they don't. Again, 18 months before he resigned, Nixon had a sky-high approval rating of 67%. Harvey Weinstein was winning Oscars until one day, he definitely wasn't."-John Oliver: https://youtube.com/watch?v=zxT8CM8XntA

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Re: I, Voldemort (Harry Potter SI-ish).

Post by The Romulan Republic » 2019-08-26 02:22am

I sat up quickly, blinking in the morning Sunlight. I paused when I noticed that my legs were too long, that I was dressed in some kind of dark robe, and that my feet were a corpse-like pale. For a few confused moments, I thought that I was in one of those awful states where you're half-asleep, and you can't tell for sure if you're dreaming or not. I felt a sudden movement over my shoulder and looked up, yelping in fright as a snake thicker than my arm slid down my shoulder and onto the sofa beside me.

Nagini.

It all came back then, too strong and too real to ever be a dream. My hands started to shake. How long had I been asleep? How could I have been so stupid? Wormtail could have stuck a knife in me or cast a curse on me, and I never would have known it, not that I could have done much to resist him if I'd been awake. No, he wouldn't do that. He was still too afraid of me, or rather who he thought I was. Wasn't he? I looked around. Where was the little rat? Had he simply bolted while I was asleep? That might be a relief- except that I'd sent him to Hogwarts to keep Harry from getting murdered. And hopefully to keep Barty Crouch Jr. from getting his soul sucked out, I remembered. Was that something I wanted to prevent, I asked myself. The answer came back quickly "yes". Crouch was a murderer. A monster. But some things shouldn't be done to anybody. It was the first time I'd really thought about the fact that I was in a world with Dementors, and soul-sucking. That made me shiver, a deeply unsettled feeling running through me. What happened to a soul when a Dementor consumed it? Was it destroyed? Trapped between worlds for forever, mangled and in agony, like Voldemort's... like my soul might be? And then there was the slavery, and the causal mind control, and I didn't want to be a part of this world, not for one more second.

I rose, mostly just because I felt a need to pace, and Nagini slid off the sofa onto the floor beside me. I looked down quickly, remembering that it wasn't actually a snake that I had just rudely pushed aside.

"Sorry", I said.

She looked up at me, hissed, and somehow, it sounded questioning, even confused. And her face- well, until that moment I didn't know it was possible for a snake to look puzzled. It took me a moment before I got it. Right. Voldemort probably doesn't say sorry a lot. That made me feel oddly better, even if it risked raising Nagini's suspicions. I might have to wear that monster's face, his skin, but the less I thought and acted like him, the better.

Careful, I told myself. You can't let Peter know. You can't let Nagini know. You sure as hell can't let Barty Crouch know. Barty worried me the most. Peter was a coward, and I wasn't sure what Nagini thought, but Barty Crouch in the books had been probably the smartest and most dangerous Death Eater, one on one, who wasn't Severus Snape. And he was fanatically loyal. It was implied, from what I recalled, that he'd seen Voldemort almost as a second father. His real father. If he found out his master had been replaced by some Muggle... the thought terrified me. Barty could kill me easily, and probably painfully. I couldn't let him know.

I needed to talk to Nagini-and the thought that I could set a little thrill through me, because despite everything, this was magic, and I had it. I could do magic. Maybe not much, maybe not well, and maybe there'd be a horrible price for it, but I could do magic. I wasn't completely helpless against these people. Talking to snakes wasn't much, but it was something. And if I could do that, I realized, I could learn more. That thought both excited and terrified me. I pushed it down. One thing at a time.

So, what next? Find Peter. Find out what happened to Harry, and Crouch. I didn't really want to know the answer, but the problem wouldn't go away if I ignored it. I took a deep breath and started to walk toward the door, watching and listening for any sign of anyone else. Nagini slithered along beside me. I tried not to let my nerves show. I still wasn't sure how far I could trust the snake woman, either. Probably not very. I couldn't help feeling sorry for her, but she had served Voldemort loyally, as far as I knew. Hell, she was detached enough from humanity to be perfectly fine with eating people on Voldemort's command, at least in the books. I shuddered slightly. Or maybe not willing. I doubted Voldemort gave Nagini any more choice in whether to obey than he did the rest of his servants. Slaves was probably a better term. I shook my head. Nagini was another problem to figure out later. I realized that I was putting more and more things off for later. That was a bad habit of mine, but I knew it was one I couldn't afford now. But at the moment I felt too overwhelmed to really care very much.

The house, I noticed, was old, the wallpaper peeling and the wood underneath often black with mold. Most of the furniture looked like it hadn't been dusted in years. I realized that this had been the house of Voldemort's biological family, on his father's side... at least until he had killed them. I swallowed. I suddenly felt like I was being watched, like the ghosts of Voldemort's family were haunting this place, and the monster who had dared intrude upon their home. I shook my head. There were no ghosts, I told myself. Hell, for that matter, couldn't only wizards become ghosts in this world? I didn't really want to think about the theological implications of that. My mind, I knew, was wandering, so that I didn't have to focus on the subject at hand. Fortunately, a distraction quickly presented itself.

A rattling noise made me look up as I crossed the foyer, and through the kitchen door I saw a pale, disheveled Peter Pettigrew standing frozen in sudden surprise, a piece of bread halfway to his mouth.

"Peter", I said after a moment, hoping my voice didn't audibly waver.

He quickly dropped the bread slice, trying to discretely kick it out of sight as he clumsily knelt before me.

"My Lord, I... forgive me. I did not wish to disturb your rest."

"No matter", I said. "You can give your report now." His face paled further, and he looked at the floor, hands twitching nervously, and my heart sank. It couldn't be anything good. My mind created images of Harry lying dead at Crouch's hand, because I'd been so stupid- but I also noticed that there was no Barty Jr. "Where's Crouch?"

Peter twitched again.

"My Lord, forgive me. I... I was too late. By the time I arrived, Dumbledore had already unmasked the spy."

In which case, the Dementors had likely already taken Barty's soul. I didn't feel too bad about that, mostly because the full significance of losing one's soul, and of there being souls for that matter, hadn't really sunk in yet. Peter was cringing with fear- he clearly expected to be punished for his "failure", even though I doubted it was his fault. I thought carefully about how to handle this. I didn't want to be like Voldemort, and in any case, the Cruciatus Curse wasn't an option for me, but if I seemed too soft, too forgiving, Peter might start questioning things I didn't want him questioning.

"And Potter", I asked.

"Alive. I overhead Dumbledore and McGonnagle talking- they said that he was in the hospital wing."

I relaxed a little, and immediately hoped that Peter hadn't noticed. So far so good.

"Stand", I said. I hated having him cringing on the floor in front of me like that. Peter scrambled to his feet, keeping his gaze downcast. "Barty's fate is... unfortunate, but the failure rests with him", I said, keeping my voice as cold as possible. There are some benefits to being an actor, even if it wouldn't be anyone's first choice of experience to survive a fantasy war. "He was clumsy, and he paid the price for it. If he survives his capture, we will determine what to do with him in the future. For now... I trailed off, unsure of what to say next. I realized that I had no idea what my next step was. That was bad. I'd been running on instinct and reaction, dealing with each problem as it came to keep from thinking about what was happening to me. So far, it had worked, if not well, at least not catastrophically badly. What was the next step? I realized I was hungry. I needed to talk to Nagini. And then...

Worry about that later.

"Leave me", I told Peter. He started to scurry out, but I stopped him. "And have something to eat and drink. You'll be no good to me if you pass out." He hesitantly reentered the kitchen. I pointed to the scrap of bread he'd dropped on the floor. "Finish that." He scurried to pick it up, then stuffed it in his mouth. I knew it was a dick move, making him eat scraps off the floor, but I didn't want to waste any supplies, and besides, a little humiliation might help convince Peter that I was still his dreaded Master. I smirked coldly at him, hating myself, and then strode from the kitchen, Nagini sliding along beside me.

"And bring me food and water", I snapped as an after thought. For lack of a better idea, I made my way to the sofa again and sat down. Nagini slithered up on the top of the sofa beside me. I sat there for a long time, head in my hands, lost in thought.

I was tired. I was confused, and afraid, and there were so many things that I needed to decide, but my brain just kept circling, unable to get a firm grasp on any thought before it slipped away again. I started when Peter entered, bearing a tray of food and water. I paused for a moment, uncertain if I could trust him not to poison it, or even if this body ate ordinary food- but I was pretty much too tired to care at this point. I ate and drank, and then I sat back on the sofa, leaving the tray on the floor. Peter will get it later. After a moment I lay back and closed my eyes, trying to clear my mind. I kept coming back to two things.

First, I was, as far as anyone knew, Voldemort. That meant everyone who wasn't a Death Eater would want me dead, and if the Death Eaters ever found out I was lying, they'd kill me. Horribly.

I could come clean, except no one would believe me. Or would they? This was a world with magic. Body-switching wasn't that out there, was it? And there would be magical ways of verifying my story. penseives, legilimency, polyjuice potion... the possibilities were almost endless, I thought excitedly. Maybe Dumbledore would even know a magic that could send me home. For a few beautiful moments, I was certain I had a way out.

Except the Death Eaters would certainly try to kill me. And what if not everyone believed me? What about the people who just wanted revenge, regardless of whether I was really the on who had wronged them? I'd have to live my life in hiding, always on the run, always looking over my shoulder.

Its not as though I wouldn't have to do that anyway. Coming clean was still safer. Wasn't it?

I heard Nagini hiss as she slid onto the sofa beside me. What about Nagini? I couldn't help her if I was living in hiding. I wasn't sure it was possible to help her, or if Voldemort had simply not bothered to undo the curse on her because he preferred a snake as a servant to a human. Or, more likely, because he wanted to keep her dependent on him. I shook my head. I wanted to try to help her, but I had none of Voldemort's power, besides the bit about talking to snakes. There was also the fact that she was a monster at this point- a murderer and a servant of Voldemort. Anyway, Dumbledore could help her, if anyone could. Of course, that raised the question of why he hadn't done so before, if the details from Fantastic Beasts were accurate- but then, they'd never really met, had they? Or maybe they had, or would, in a later film. But then this pretty clearly wasn't the film verse, so- I shook my head. Trying to figure out the intricacies of continuity was starting to make my brain go in circles again.

So go to Dumbledore. Tell him everything. Go into hiding, and leave it in his far more capable hands.

Except that meant leaving it in the Ministry's hands, I thought. In the hands of people who fed criminals to soul sucking monsters and sanctioned slavery of sapient beings. But there was nothing I could do about that, even if I wanted to.

Was that cowardly? Yes. But what was the alternative? I wasn't a wizard, and I wasn't much of a leader.

You have power. Reputation. An army. No, I thought, feeling a surge of revulsion. I wouldn't, couldn't do that. An army of racist dark magic terrorists- terrorists who would kill me if they ever figured out I wasn't their master. To use them, I'd have to become as big a monster as Voldemort, just to keep the lunatic fuckers in line.

Could I take them down from the inside? Betray them into Dumbledore's hands?

Send them to Azkaban to have their souls sucked out? Either way, I was a monster. Either I let the wizard Nazis go free, or I subjected them to a fate worse than death.

My mind was spinning again. I knew that I needed to calm down, and think, because whatever decision I made here, I knew it would determine the rest of my life. And not just my life, but the lives of a lot of other people. I couldn't afford to act on impulse, but I couldn't think around in circles for ever. I'm not exactly good at being decisive, but whatever choice I made, I had to be certain in it, and I had to make it soon.

"Masster?" Nagini hissed beside me. I glanced down at the snake.

"Don't call me master", I said, more sharply than I meant to.

An uncertain silence.

"What then ssshall I call you?"

I was silent. I honestly didn't know. I wasn't Voldemort. I wasn't Tom Riddle. I didn't dare say who I really was, even in the unlikely event that Nagini would have believed me. She probably couldn't tell anyone else, except for Harry Potter, but I had no idea how she would react.

"For now", I said, "call me... Riddle." I'm not sure why I picked that name over Voldemort or even Tom. I guess maybe its because "riddle" seemed strangely appropriate to such a confusing and hard to figure out situation.

"Riddle." The snake woman was silent for a few moments. "Was that your name? Before Voldemort?"

She hadn't known. I shrugged, evasively.

"Its a name." Somehow, having said the name, I felt calmer. Like I'd made a choice. Riddle. This was... not who I was, but the part I had chosen to play. Not Voldemort, but... Riddle. I knew it was stupid, that I was probably going to get myself killed, but... I could play a part. At least until I figured out something better.

A noise in the foyer made me look up. Someone was knocking on the door. Pettigrew moved toward it, then paused, glancing warily at me. My heart was suddenly beating very fast. Who was on the other side of that door? Who knew that I was here? Could Barty Crouch have escaped after all? Oh shit, Dumbledore. Harry would have told Dumbledore everything. I wasn't ready to face Dumbledore, though I knew if I did I'd tell him everything. I wouldn't be able to trick him, even if I wanted to, and he could destroy me without even trying. He probably wouldn't kill me, I thought. But he might do something worse.

But would Dumbledore knock? He was perfectly capable of blowing down the door, probably through whatever defensive spells Voldemort had put up. Another very unpleasant thought. I was lucky I hadn't triggered any defenses by being not Voldemort. What magical traps might be waiting to fry anyone who tried to enter? Or maybe not- that poor old groundskeeper had been able to enter and get himself killed in the books.

"Who is it", I croaked. Peter drew his wand-my wand, I realized, and I cursed myself for letting the wanted mass murderer keep a weapon on him all night while I slept-and crept toward the door. He peered through the peephole. His face paled, and he shrank back.

"Who is it", I repeated, a thousand scenarios flashing through my mind. Dumbledore, Crouch, police, Aurors, some idiot neighbor who had no idea how lucky they were that they hadn't dropped by a day earlier. Peter didn't answer, and my panicked deepened.

"WHO!" I snarled, and that snapped him out of it. He turned to me, darting a glance at the door as he did.

"S-Snape, my Lord."
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Re: I, Voldemort (Harry Potter SI-ish).

Post by FaxModem1 » 2019-09-02 09:57am

Well, at least there's a potential ally there. Maybe. Snape is one of those people who is hard to reconcile in fandom due to a lot of people overlooking his many faults and how he's pretty much a straight up git because he wants to be, and is only not a complete git because of a teenage crush.
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Re: I, Voldemort (Harry Potter SI-ish).

Post by The Romulan Republic » 2019-09-02 09:39pm

FaxModem1 wrote:
2019-09-02 09:57am
Well, at least there's a potential ally there. Maybe. Snape is one of those people who is hard to reconcile in fandom due to a lot of people overlooking his many faults and how he's pretty much a straight up git because he wants to be, and is only not a complete git because of a teenage crush.
Snape is a colossal dick, yeah, although probably not quite as big a dick in general as he comes off in the book. He has particular baggage with Harry that constantly impedes his judgement.
"I know its easy to be defeatist here because nothing has seemingly reigned Trump in so far. But I will say this: every asshole succeeds until finally, they don't. Again, 18 months before he resigned, Nixon had a sky-high approval rating of 67%. Harvey Weinstein was winning Oscars until one day, he definitely wasn't."-John Oliver: https://youtube.com/watch?v=zxT8CM8XntA

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Re: I, Voldemort (Harry Potter SI-ish).

Post by FaxModem1 » 2019-09-04 07:50pm

The Romulan Republic wrote:
2019-09-02 09:39pm
FaxModem1 wrote:
2019-09-02 09:57am
Well, at least there's a potential ally there. Maybe. Snape is one of those people who is hard to reconcile in fandom due to a lot of people overlooking his many faults and how he's pretty much a straight up git because he wants to be, and is only not a complete git because of a teenage crush.
Snape is a colossal dick, yeah, although probably not quite as big a dick in general as he comes off in the book. He has particular baggage with Harry that constantly impedes his judgement.
An instance that comes to mind is when Hermione was under the effects of a jinx or a curse, and her teeth were growing dangerously larger, with Snape deciding that while a child's life might be in danger, it was a better time to snark about her having big teeth than letting her go to the school's hospital to prevent injury.
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