-on hiatus-Dark Lord Voldemort

the pain radiating from his scar is unfathomable , almost excruciating . any grief it had caused him over the past year & a half is a mere twinge , a hapless prod , as his mind struggles to balance what feels like two consciousnesses in one . in a faint glimmer of cognizance , as harry feels his own consciousness slipping beneath a dark tidal wave , he realizes that this is what it's been this whole time : two souls in one body , two forces so intertwined that harry could no longer tell whose voice is speaking .

so weak . so vulnerable .

tears ooze out the corners of his eyes , drip - drip - dripping on the cold tile of the ministry .  how  pathetic .  PITIFUL ,  even .  how  could  he  have  expected  anyone  to  put  their  hopes  in  him ,  their  trust  ?  the loneliness , the guilt of the last year still weighs heavy on him , an anchor that drags him further beneath the surface . everything he'd feared , kept bottled up every single day , is finally being ... emptied . freed . & instead of feeling exposed , harry feels ... relieved .

( no need to hide )

he doesn't have to pretend anymore . the rushes of rage that would fill him , at times so sudden & so severe he'd feel the indomitable urge to kick something ; the knee - jerk dirty disgusting i hate you that would play in his mind when he saw mouths twisted & ugly whispering about him in the corridors . it had all been so tiring .

( i don't need anyone )

                                    ( on the way to greatness --- !   )

the pain coils around him again , squeezes him tight in its unseen grip . a shockwave through the ocean he's drowning in . hands scrabble on the tile , thick with fine debris from the duel .

you're a weapon , & weapons don't weep .

the ministry had been so afraid that dumbledore had a secret weapon .

Professor Riddle took his position as Head of House very seriously. As the Head of Slytherin, each child in his house was under his care. They were his responsibility. At least temporarily, they were, for all intents and purposes, his own children. Which leant him a certain sympathy with all of their actual children. It was near the end of Severus Snape's first year when Tom got fed up with the consistent behavior problems displayed between him and the annoying band of Gryffindors who'd named themselves the Marauders. Even putting him in the same room as Potter or Black was a recipe for disaster and it could not continue.

He'd recognized, of course, that Severus didn't have a happy home life, but after their weekend conference and his dip into the father's mind... Well. It only took him a few days to solve that particular new problem.

The four of them exchanged anxious looks, and with an uncomfortable swallow, James stepped forward.  “We saw Snape in the corridor, sir, and we stopped him to talk.  It’s...” He looked embarrassed, his cheeks flushing.  “It’s weird.  His dad died and he’s been walking around like he doesn’t even care. We wanted to know why. So we asked.  And when he got angry, we might have made some accusations.”

“Did you or didn’t you, Potter?”

“We did,” he admitted.  “We... Well, he started yelling, and he looked really angry, and it wasn’t anything I understood, and I thought he might be cursing us, so I got my wand out, and- I think all of us did.  But it was in defense. You shouldn’t have your wand in your pocket like an idiot when you know you could be in danger, right?”

“Correct, but I would have expected you all to be capable of determining the difference between a criminal or a dark creature and an eleven-year-old who you share many of your classes with. Anything to add, you lot?”

Pettigrew looked petrified, and Lupin looked like he was trying to hide behind the other three, but Black pushed in front of Potter.  “He was obviously doing dark magic, sir! And we only asked a question!”

Voldemort did make an effort to be rational, but nobody had ever attempted to argue that he wasn’t vindictive, and he was far from pleased with the entire Malfoy family. Admittedly, the young one hadn’t done much to earn his ire, but he was the most convenient piece to hurt the other two.

The curse caught Greyback, but only just, and a little eye irritation was not going to deter him from his prize. The Dark Lord shielded him from any further spells until the two had entirely cleared the room, then he turned to Narcissa with a smile that contained even greater cruelty behind the softness of the expression.  “Why, Lady Malfoy? What is this? Begging? Now, you are willing to throw away your pride? It seems I have touched a nerve.  Perhaps… I ought to touch some more.”

Professor Riddle took his position as Head of House very seriously. As the Head of Slytherin, each child in his house was under his care. They were his responsibility. At least temporarily, they were, for all intents and purposes, his own children. Which leant him a certain sympathy with all of their actual children. It was near the end of Severus Snape's first year when Tom got fed up with the consistent behavior problems displayed between him and the annoying band of Gryffindors who'd named themselves the Marauders. Even putting him in the same room as Potter or Black was a recipe for disaster and it could not continue.

He'd recognized, of course, that Severus didn't have a happy home life, but after their weekend conference and his dip into the father's mind... Well. It only took him a few days to solve that particular new problem.

It had taken some adjustments, at first, but by the end of his third year, Hogwarts was well and truly his home. He had a strange relationship to his peers, and some sort of odd rivalry with a group of Gryffindors that had somehow ended up with him learning the most ridiculous charms he could, just to try and get as many laughs as they did.

Most importantly, for the first time ever, he actually felt like he had at least one professor who cared how he did-- moreover, how he was.

In retrospect, he should have gone to Professor Riddle before going home for the summer, because he knew before going back to his parents that if he was pushed too far he was going to do something drastic. But, it was harder to be proactive than reactive, and in the end he was happy enough to get away with just a comparatively small crime of stealing his mother's wand and creating a portkey. In the end, he spent the summer mostly in Israel, though it was not without multiple attempts to return him to his parents and Severus lashing out like a wounded animal whenever that occurred. In one moment, he bit Oren, which was humiliating and something he would never apologize enough for, but it was enough for them to relent that he could stay for just the summer. It was made clear that this behavior wouldn't be allowed to continue the next summer, though Miryam kindly and confusingly helped him with everything he asked for in terms of altering clothes and coloring his hair.

By the time school started, his hair was Slytherin green, and had been allowed to stay in it's naturally curly state-- or at least the mohawk he hadn't shaved off had been. The time out of England, someplace with sun, and enough food, and safety even if they'd been actively trying to send him back, had done wonders for his appearance. He was still too thin, but the perpetual pallor England and stress typically induced had darkened to a healthier olive.

Voldemort did make an effort to be rational, but nobody had ever attempted to argue that he wasn't vindictive, and he was far from pleased with the entire Malfoy family. Admittedly, the young one hadn't done much to earn his ire, but he was the most convenient piece to hurt the other two.

The curse caught Greyback, but only just, and a little eye irritation was not going to deter him from his prize. The Dark Lord shielded him from any further spells until the two had entirely cleared the room, then he turned to Narcissa with a smile that contained even greater cruelty behind the softness of the expression.  “Why, Lady Malfoy? What is this? Begging? Now, you are willing to throw away your pride? It seems I have touched a nerve.  Perhaps... I ought to touch some more.”