Lord Voldemort creates Nagini
In this alternate timeline, Lord Voldemort killed Albus Dumbledore at the Battle of the Hogwarts Express in early September 1979.
Many of his closest followers including Bellatrix Lestrange, Severus Snape, Regulus Black, and Evan Rosier were captured by the Order of the Phoenix and sent to Azkaban. Yet, the Dark Lord emerged victorious. Now he uses the death of Dumbledore to create his final Horcrux.
Full story: ”Lord Voldemort and the Lost Decades, ” by Birger, ao3
September 1st, 1979
A cold wind whipped across the cliffs of the Irish coast as Voldemort's remaining followers gathered inside the ancient stone keep known only to them as Slytherin's Fortress. Everyone was still in shock of had just happened.
Even Voldemort, who stood at the front of the hall, seemed frozen not in fear, but in the strange, heady disbelief of a long-awaited dream made real too suddenly.
Albus Dumbledore was dead. Killed by his wand. Killed by his hand. Killed in a flash of green that still burned behind his eyes.
Dolohov stood slightly apart from the others, still unable to fully comprehend what he had just done.
Lucius stood beside Narcissa, almost shaking from the adrenaline of the battle. Greyback paced restlessly near the door. The Carrows, Rodolphus, and Macnair lingered uneasily. Their victory felt unreal.
Finally, Voldemort spoke.
"You doubt what you have seen."
The Death Eaters bowed instantly.
"You wonder," he continued, "how it happened so swiftly. You wonder whether it was truly possible."
His red eyes gleamed, feverish with triumph.
"I have dreamed of this moment since Slytherin's lineage first stirred in me. And now the greatest obstacle to our ascent has fallen."
A murmur of awe rippled through the hall.
"But hear this," Voldemort said, lifting one long finger. "I did not kill Albus Dumbledore alone."
He turned toward Dolohov.
"Antonin. Step forward."
The Russian wizard obeyed, startled.
"You," Voldemort said, his voice reverent and deadly at once, "struck the blow that unbalanced a legend. You enabled what no witch or wizard in this age believed possible. Without your spell, Dumbledore would have crushed us."
Dolohov felt honored for the first time in years.
"You have earned my gratitude," Voldemort continued, "and the gratitude of all who stand here."
The followers clapped, some more fearfully than others. Dolohov bowed his head.
Voldemort's expression hardened.
"Do not mistake this victory for the end," he hissed. "Most of our forces have been captured. Bellatrix. Severus. Karkaroff. Regulus. Rosier, Mulciber. Avery. They rot in Azkaban this very moment. Even though they will endure... it weakens us. We cannot afford such losses again."
Lucius shifted nervously. Narcissa held his hand in comfort.
Voldemort turned away from them, pacing slowly before the long stone table.
"The Ministry will never fear us until we spread our influence through its very veins. Power cannot be seized from outside alone. It must be undermined from within. The next step is clear. Our next target is the Ministry of Magic."
Gasps filled the hall.
"We will infiltrate it. We will tempt its weak, corrupt its ambitious, intimidate its fearful. Millicent Bagnold trusts her Aurors. Barty Crouch clings to his law. Dawlish thinks himself unbreakable."
A smile curled his lip.
"They have seen nothing."
He raised the Dark Mark high above his head. It glowed green against his skin.
"Tonight," he declared, "we celebrate the fall of Albus Dumbledore. Tomorrow, tomorrow we begin the fall of the Ministry itself."
The hall erupted in shouts, cheers, and twisted laughter. For the first time in decades, Voldemort's followers felt something they had never felt before. They felt victory. The real war could finally begin.
The celebration inside Slytherin's Fortress echoed like a storm. Shouts of triumph and the manic laughter of those who had finally tasted victory after years of humiliation, filled its ancient halls. Bottles opened and glasses clashed. Drinks were spilled on the floor as the Death Eaters celebrated their victory. However, Voldemort drifted away from it all.
Outside, the fortress grounds were quiet. This part of Ireland was barren, forgotten, yet rich in serpents from Salazar Slytherin’s retreat. Riddle had always sensed them here, hiding in the rocks and heather.
A cluster of snakes stirred at the sound of his steps. A lone adder, lifted its head to regard the intruder.
Voldemort raised the Elder Wand.
"Come," he whispered in Parseltongue.
The adder obeyed instantly, gliding forward with reverent hesitation. Voldemort knelt, allowing the snake's small tongue to flick against the cold air inches from his hand.
"You will be more than you are," he murmured.
Magic burst from the Elder Wand, silent, sickly green. The adder shuddered, body twisting as its bones elongated, scales stretching and darkening. It grew thicker, longer, coiling upon itself as its fangs lengthened into pale ivory knives. When it finally stilled, the creature was enormous, larger than an anaconda but carrying the deadly venom of a viper. Her eyes glowed an unnatural yellow.
Voldemort placed a hand over her head.
"You shall be Nagini," he declared softly. "My companion. My sentinel. My vessel."
The Elder Wand hovered over his chest as his lips formed the incantation he had invented long ago,
Pain surged through him. His soul tore once more. The sky darkened.
Nagini's body spasmed, and Voldemort pressed his hand harder against her scales. A fragment of what he was, what he had chosen to become, forced itself into the serpent. For a heartbeat, the world held its breath.
Then it was done. The snake rose in the grass, towering, coiling protectively around him.
Voldemort breathed out slowly.
"The final step," he whispered.
With Nagini at his side, his last anchor, his final horcrux, he was now truly unkillable.
Inside the fortress, his followers cheered, oblivious to the transformation happening just outside their walls.






















