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Chapter 40: Conversations With A Dark Lord
🕑 Added 2024-10-01 20:14:59 +0000 UTCPreviously, on Playing with magic.
It was working fine. Riddle didn’t make any headway into increasing his power with Quirrelll’s life force until I started to see dark mist oozing out the back of Quirrell's head….and heading straight for me.
The audacity of this bitch.
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Chapter 40: Conversations With A Dark Lord
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Location: Unknown
Tom Marvolo Riddle (Lord Voldemort)
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"What is this?” Riddle hissed, confused, finding himself transported to a vast, white void. His voice echoed across the emptiness that seemed to stretch infinitely in all directions. Further confusion started to set as his red eyes scanned his surroundings for any signs of life, only to find there was nothing. No escape, no path, no other soul in sight, nothing but endless white. “Where am I?"
Looking himself over, he noticed he was no longer in the same wraith form he used to terrorise the weak professor. Now, he was in the form he had been before his mishap with the babe all those years ago. Tall, skin as white as bone, and though he couldn’t see it without a mirror, there was no doubt the change came with the almost serpentine appearance he had purposefully crafted for himself to strike fear into his enemies.
The only thing that had him frowning in regard to his current change from wraith to true form was the fact that when trying to possess a person, he purposefully chose to stay in his wraith form in their mind for maximum effect. Surrounding the victims in pure darkness as they are tortured always seemed to produce the best results. The tactic was to stay the same when he got his hands on the student’s mind, soul and body. Just like all the others. But he could change into that form no matter how much he tried to exert his will.
To make things worse, for some reason, he couldn’t find the boy's mind or soul to begin with, or even a way back to his previous weak vessel.
Just…. nothing.
"You really shouldn’t have tried that, Tom." A calm, steady, deep voice spoke from behind him.
Voldemort slowly turned around, only to be confused further. Standing before him was a tall figure of a man. Dressed in a perfectly tailored, form-fitting three-piece suit. The man’s face bore a striking resemblance to the student’s—but older, more refined, muscular. The way he held himself, calmly with his hands clasped behind his back, could only mean this was his doing.
"You..." Voldemort hissed through narrowed eyes. His lack of control in this plane forced him to be more cautious as he looked for a way to get the boy under his control. "Who are you?"
The man gave a small, knowing smile, taking a few steps forward. "Don’t you remember?," he said as he tilted his head. "You just tried to possess my body. Terrible idea, by the way."
Voldemort recoiled slightly. His long, bony fingers twitched ever so slightly, as though he was resisting the urge to reach for a wand he didn’t have in his possession. His thin, lipless mouth twisted into a dangerous sneer, indicating his confusion was turning to anger. "You think you can stop me? You think a child can stand in my way?"
It wasn’t the first time he had possessed someone young. He hadn't spent all those years in Albania, after all, so he wasn’t surprised to see the manifestation of the boy’s soul as an adult figure. Considering his achievements, this was undoubtedly a result of a more mature mindset. Nothing more.
"You see, you tried to invade my soul,” The boy surprisingly remained calm as he slowly shifted his hands to his pockets. “But you clearly didn’t understand what you were stepping into…or who you were fucking with, for that matter. I made sure to put some protections in place. This place isn’t even my actual mind."
Voldemort continued to sneer as he took a few steps forward, his red eyes practically blazing with hatred. "You think this mind can withstand me? I am Lord Voldemort! I have conquered death itself!"
He was slowly getting closer to the boy, almost within range to get his hands on him.
The boy shook his head, almost pitying the dark lord’s ignorance. "You’ve made one critical mistake, Tom," he said softly, taking another step closer. "You’re not dealing with an ordinary wizard. This place is a manifestation I created with a spell of mine. You see, it allows me to trap a person’s soul. It's why you don’t seem to have the same amount of control here like you did in the professor’s own body."
Voldemort’s eyes narrowed as he tried to lash out, lunging toward the boy, hand outstretched, aiming to grab the boy, but just as his fingers were about to brush his skin, Voldemort was stopped—frozen in midair, inches away from his body. It was as if an invisible force had intervened, an intangible barrier between them that couldn’t be seen but was undeniably there, stopping any progress no matter how much he was trying.
Confusion flickered across Voldermort’s face. He pressed harder, but no matter how much strength he put behind the movement, it was all for nought.
The boy stood casually with an infuriating relaxed grin as he watched the Dark Lord struggle. "You can try all you want, but you’ll never reach me. You're just not powerful enough. It doesn't even have anything to do with me trapping my soul, so I don’t even have to put in any effort. Being Tamper Proof is nice like that."
Voldemort’s hand trembled in the effort, but they felt nothing—no pressure, no impact, just an endless. The more he thought about it, the more he tried, the more he realised that it wasn’t actually a barrier. It was like there wasn’t even anything there to begin with. His sense of touch couldn’t register anything in the physical plane. His magic couldn’t sense magic or even a soul.
Nothing.
Just the visual representation of what should have been a child’s mind and soul.
So the Dark Lord decided to bide his time. Waiting for the best opportunity to strike, like he always did.
Putting an end to his efforts for now, he took a deep breath as he stepped back a few paces, staring daggers at what he assumed would be his next victim soon.
“Now that you seemed to have relaxed a little,” The boy started with a smirk. “You can call me Dragon. Names, like words, have power. And I refuse to give you my own.” The smirk turned into a full-blown grin. “You are unworthy of it.”
The Dark Lord would not let the creature get the better of him. So, not to give the child the satisfaction of seeing him angered by his words, he chose to employ his many years of [Occlumency] experience and revert to a blank expression as he answered. “A mud-blood like you is beneath a being of my stature. I would not sully my tongue with something as disgusting as your name. Now, what is this place?”
“Oh, this?” The mud blood casually looked around the emptiness. “Like I said when you were throwing a tantrum,” Years of politics ensured the Dark Lord didn’t fall for the bait. “This isn’t even my actual mind. I guess you could call it the edge of my mind, soul and body. And If you can’t even make contact with me, even indirectly, then you’re not a threat….Not that you were a threat to begin with.”
The Dark lord was attentive. Picking apart every word, looking for a weakness while completely disregarding the very last thing the mud-blood said. Anything that would give him leverage. And he had to agree with the boy, if he couldn’t make contact, even indirectly, then it would be practically impossible to be released from this prison.
Without moving an inch, the boy Conjured two leather armchairs a comfortable distance apart from each other. The rich and dark wingback armchairs with deep leather upholstery stood facing each other.
“Chesterfield wingback armchairs,” The mudblood explained, gesturing with a slight smile to the armchairs. “They may not be perfect, I created them from memory. This place reminds me of the Matrix in a way, so it seems to be the most fitting chair to use for a conversation.”
Voldemort didn't understand the Matrix the boy was speaking of, but he would remember it for when he was he had achieved freedom.
"Why don’t you take a seat?" The mud-blood gave the Dark Lord a calm, almost casual glance as he offered while he moved to take his place in one of the chairs. With a soft, content sigh, the boy sank into the chair. Leaning back, he settled in as though he were getting comfortable by the fireside. He crossed one leg over the other, with his ankle over the opposite knee, and calmly adjusted his posture.
Voldemort eyed the second chair warily as his red eyes darted between the boy and the chair, as though expecting some hidden trap. Taking a few steps, he tentatively prodded the arm of the chair with his pale, spindly fingers, testing it for any sign of danger or magical trickery. His touch lingered, searching for a way to manipulate or escape through the conjured magic, but there was nothing unusual about the chair—just a simple, conjured seat. Finally, after a moment of hesitation, the Dark Lord lowered himself into the chair, though his posture remained tense as he continued to try and exert his will on the conjured furniture.
The boy observed him closely, even as Voldemort sat, the boy noticed the Dark Lord’s fingers subtly tapping against the armrests as if he were silently testing the limits of the void around them. With an amused small smile, the mud-blood reclined in his own chair. "I wouldn’t waste too much energy trying to use the magic here, even on the chair," the boy said calmly, his eyes moved to meet Voldemort’s own cold, red. "It’s pointless."
Voldemort’s eyes narrowed, but said nothing as he continued his prodding.
The boy continued. "This place—this white void—it’s a construct, completely controlled by me. Your soul is encased here, completely isolated. You won’t be able to interact with anything beyond this space, aside from this conversation. Meanwhile, in the real world, I’m currently enchanting a bottle to contain your soul during transport back to Hogwarts. I think it’s about time the old man dealt with you, don’t you think?"
Voldemort’s red eyes flickered at the thought of being placed in yet another prison and once more at the mention of the Headmaster, a few flashes of frustration crossed his face as the boy continued to blather on. He had been trying to manipulate the chair, perhaps to channel its magic or turn it into some sort of weapon or escape route, possibly using it as a link to the person who Conjured it. Seeing that he couldn’t touch the boy himself, it was the only thing he currently had access to, but with no progress, even with all his magical control and sensitivity, it was clear now that his efforts were in vain.
"You think you’ve won?” Voldemort hissed, his anger no longer concealed with [Occlumency]. His eyes bored into child, as if attempting to decipher the enigma of the boy who had brought him here, who had somehow outmanoeuvred him. “ That trapping me here, in this... void will stop me? I have survived much worse, boy. You think because you have been hailed as above average, that it will be enough to put a stop to the greatest Dark Lord to ever live?!"
The…creature remained calm and unbothered. "I didn’t say I’ve won, Tom. I just said you’re wasting your time trying to escape from something you can’t control. It will be up to the old man how this ends when I take you to him. Hopefully, he doesn’t balls it all up."
The Dark Lord blinked in confusion, a little taken aback, before he snarled in anger. It was only now that he realised the boy knew the name that wretched woman gave him after his birth, he wasn’t paying enough attention when he arrived. No one was supposed to know that name. He had made sure of it, killed any that got too close. Only the school staff could spread the information, but he spent years making sure enough of their allies ended up dead to make sure they would not spread the information out of fear.
“Why did you say that name?” Voldemort said, barely above a whisper as he started to grip the arm while he leaned forward. “Why did you say that name!?” He repeated with a hiss. “I will find, torture and kill all those you love, your Mother, Father.”
“I’m an orphan, so that’s not much of a threat.”
The boy had the gall to interrupt, but the Dark Lord ignored his insolence and he continued. “Every teacher you have learned, every pet. I will burn everything you have ever loved to the ground. And then when I am satisfied I have taken everything from you, I will spend years breaking you. Ripping your skin from your flesh, even letting my followers perfect their Crutiatus curse on your body. Then, when you are begging for death, I will feed you to Dementors. At least a mudblood like you can be useful like that.”
The entire time, the boy didn’t anger as the Dark Lord had hoped. He didn't even flinch, he just sat there with that infuriating blank look on his face as Voldemort spoke, finally responding after a few seconds after he had been educated of the consequences of his actions. “Yeah, but you're far too weak for that to even be considered an actual threat. I think if you put in some more work, you could at least survive a gaming lobby.”
“You will tell me how you know that name!” Voldemort demanded, ignoring the boy’s snark as a sinister smile made its way to his face at the mere thought of what he would do to the boy once he was free from his current bindings. “I will make sure of it. You will boy and beg for mercy. I will make sure of that too.”
The boy stared at his elder for a long moment, just sitting in his chair and watching the Dark Lord get lost in the bliss of the amount of pain he planned to subject him to in the future.
"...No," the boy finally replied, breaking the Dark Lord out of his thoughts, his features finally took on a serious look for the first time they both arrived in the void. His eyes seemed to start almost glowing with power as the white void, though it was supposed to be empty, started to shake, like a small earthquake was taking place.
The entire time the Dark Lord was looking for a lapse in focus that would cause the technique the boy employed to falter, but even now he couldn't find any. And he still couldn’t feel his magic.
"No,” the boy continued, shaking his head as if correcting a child. “A dragon does not bow to a snake.” A dominating cheshire grin started to form on the boy's face. “I do not hand you over to the old man because I am unable to kill you. That would be easy. I do so because I want to, that’s all.”
Suddenly, a massive, ghostly silhouette of a dragon emerged behind the boy, slowly making his way to his feet. For the first time in half a decade, a flicker of uncertainty flashed across Voldemort’s serpentine features. His face twisted with disbelief as he watched the ethereal silhouette of a dragon emerge behind the boy, its massive wings slowly unfurling in a display of dominance. Even without the ability to feel his own magic, Voldemort could feel the oppressive and dominating magic that was radiated from the boy.
No, it wasn’t uncertainty.
It was fear.
Fear, Helplessness and mortality.
Like all those years ago when he went through sleepless nights because of the bombs that would shake the orphanage.
The very feeling that drove him to tamper with his soul.
“But don’t worry.” The boy continued. The air around him crackled with energy, as though reality struggled to contain the sheer force of his presence. “If you make an escape somehow, we will meet again and…"
Voldemort’s hands were trembling in his bony hand, his fingers tightening involuntarily on the armchair's cushion, as if gripping it could somehow keep the fear from creeping in. His breath hitched for a moment, a sharp intake of air as his red eyes darted from the dragon to the…creature, standing before him. The raw power that emanated from it was palpable, overwhelming—so much so that it made the Headmaster seem like a child.
The head of the dragon’s silhouette, crowned with a menacing array of horns and spikes, reared back as it roared—but the sound seemed to have been negated by the reality of the white void. Though, there was no doubt it would have been deafening.
“I will Fuck. You. Up.” the boy—the creature—the dragon, growled, with a voice that resonated primal power. With a mere gesture of the creature’s hand, a blinding light erupted from the white void, engulfing the Dark Lord’s form.
“AHHHH!!” Voldemort let out an ear-piercing scream of pure rage and terror as he was forced out.
Though he would never willingly admit it, for the first time, the Dark Lord—so accustomed to inspiring fear in his allies and enemies alike—found himself on the receiving end of it. And there was no courage to be found.
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Forbidden Forest
Jonathan Grey
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Standing over the bound and still unconscious Professor Quirrell, I ran a hand gently through the unicorn's smooth, silvery fur. It decided to wait and see which of us would win when mouldy-shorts tried to possess me, and when I didn’t disappoint, it allowed me to pet it.
"Good girl," I murmured, stroking the creature's side absentmindedly as I held the enchanted bottle in my other hand that was now housing the wraith-like form of Voldemort. Tom's essence writhed and twisted inside thw Enchanted glass. Occasionally, his mouth opened in a silent scream as his spectral hands clawed at the inside of the bottle, indicating his movements in the void he was placed in.
[Enchanted Bottle Containing A Dark Lord’s Soul - Magical Item]
[Description - A bottle Enchanted by Johnathan Grey to trap the Dark Lord, Tom Marvolo Riddle, using the knowledge gained from the Horcruxes he personally destroyed. Traps a soul within a void while leaving them powerless to prevent interaction with the outside world. Enchanted to be unbreakable and uses ambient magic and the magic produced by the soul inside to power its Enchantments constantly.]
[+ Contains The Soul Of Tom Marvolo Riddle.]
I was brought out of my thoughts by my new horned friend as she softly nuzzled my hand. Taking a step back, I looked her in the eyes and asked with a small smile, "Would you be so kind as to give me a ride back to Hogwarts?"
The Unicorn intelligently lowered its head in acknowledgement, nodding gently.
"Much appreciate it," I thanked the upgraded horse with a widening smile. Climbing onto the Unicorn’s back, I waved my hand to the [Incarcerous] bound Professor, levitating him behind us as soon as I was securely seated. I made sure the unconscious professor floated gently in the air but didn’t touch the Unicorn, trailing behind like a stiff puppet as the Unicorn began to trot forward. The enchanted bottle containing Voldemort’s soul safely tucked under my arm.
I was this close to calling the Unicorn Roach.
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"They Never Learn. Pity."
—.Tom Marvolo Riddle, aka Lord Voldemort
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Autor Here
Hopefully, this won't cause McGonagall a heart attack.
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Disclaimer: I own nothing except my OC and original ideas. All credit goes to their respective owners.
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Thank you for reading.
As always, stay awesome.
Until next time, Light's out.
Comments
Ricardo Torres II
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LothWolf
Thanks for the chapter I look forward to reading more 👍😁👌❤️
LothWolf
“You can call me Dragon. Names, like words, have power. And I refuse to give you my own.” The smirk turned into a full-blown grin. “You are unworthy of it.” I’ve noticed that when a Supernatural being is powerful enough they sometimes notice when someone says their name and or title to a lesser degree
