He was far from being dead though.
True death was improbable for the man with a treasure trove of Horcruxes on his side, guarding his feeble, fractured soul. He just wanted the media to think that he was one of the many, so he could move from within the shadows, unsuspected. However, being buried in the second row as the seventh one down was a downright insulting little thing. Tom Riddle had technically started this revolution, after all. At the very least, the Prophet could've had the courtesy to put him at the head of the list. Although, at the same time he could not blame them for not recognizing him. It was not like Tom Marvolo Riddle was anyone of importance and he highly doubted that anyone really noticed or cared that he was gone. A shopkeeper at one of the most shady, disreputable establishments in Knockturn Alley was not exactly the type of person you cared went missing. However, he was the very first to disappear from the public's eye. The others merely followed diligently after him into the dark. It was his old-school gang of Slytherins on a much larger scale. A real growing army. They rebranded themselves as the 'Death Eaters' and Tom also decided that he needed a new name. So, he also officially took on the name he had created in his school days to refer to his other persona,
Lord Voldemort.
Tom Riddle was currently "dead"; however, Voldemort was keeping his mission to get seven Horcruxes and achieve immortality very much alive. It had always been more of Voldemort's quest anyway. He just needed two more and then he would be invincible. Voldemort was also still looking for places to stash his current Horcruxes. It wasn't too safe having them out in open air and he couldn't always have them on him. Even on his person, they weren't in the safest place. Not to mention part of the reason Tom had to leave Borgin and Burkes in the first place. Mr. Burke had caught a glimpse of all his precious treasures when he was searching Tom's room, in one of his frequent room checks. He didn't normally pay attention to the bag with the Undetectable Extension Charm, but it had accidentally tipped over and the Horcruxes had spilled out. Burke naturally recognized all the priceless, rare artifacts and immediately went straight for them. Tom quickly stunned him, gathered his few things, including the Horcruxes, and had no choice but to leave a bit earlier than he originally planned. Knowing Burke, he would stop at nothing to get those treasures from Tom. He was probably still trying to track him down, despite the notice that Tom Riddle had been missing for so many years now and it only made logical sense to assume he was dead.
Tom had slipped away with not much of a plan. The need for a sort of an army, or a band of followers, didn't come till much later. He had always thought, when he was Tom, that he only needed that one person in his life, and he would not ever have the need for anyone else. However, as Voldemort, he realized he had a great need for other people. Followers equaled power. He had once told Slughorn that he didn't want to be Minister of Magic, although, he was not actually entirely being truthful. He didn't want to be minister because being minister was still meeting other people's expectations and following society's rules.
Voldemort just wanted to rule.
He didn't just want control of the Ministry, but to have control of the entire wizarding world. To have everyone kneel to him. An ugly part of him missed the acknowledgment and praise of his skills that he'd received at school. They were complimenting something that practically came right out of the dumpster, and they had absolutely no idea. He'd come so far. It would've been rather foolish not to have gone after his dreams.
So, Tom decided to visit the Ministry after that incident at Borgin and Burkes. It was not to kick the Minister from his chair, or beg for a job and infiltrate from the inside, but to visit a few of his old friends. Malfoy, Lestrange, and Avery were top of his list of people who had proven to be easily manipulated. He had decided against recruiting Peter, despite his genuine loyalty to Tom. He somewhat doubted the boy's devotion to Voldemort would be the same. Originally, he intended to include Peter, but a small part of whatever was left of Tom's sympathy had kicked in when he was in the lift at the Ministry. Peter and Ellyn had walked in on the next floor, holding hands and smiling happily. They were talking about supper plans, completely unaware that their old friend was right behind them and about to disappear for good. It was so trivial, so utterly domestic. There was no way Peter and Ellyn could join him in their current state. So, he let them pass.
There was also the fact that they would surely tell her. He couldn't have that happen. Voldemort may still have done something horribly cruel to her, but he would sooner die then let her discover the ugly truth about what really happened to Tom Riddle.
He reached Malfoy, Lestrange and Avery without being caught and told them of his intentions. They had no choice but to follow him into darkness. Tom had always been the leader and always would be. Ever since he found out he was a descendant of Slytherin, he had them all under his spell. The rumor spread throughout the house and soon everyone had started calling him the Heir of Slytherin, or sometimes the Dark Lord. He had come up with Voldemort soon after. He rearranged his own plain name and started using it as a sort of alias. Only professors and some of the people in his own year dared to call him Tom. The old Death Eaters had brought him quite a band of followers when they all 'disappeared' from the Ministry. Then, Voldemort traveled far and wide, looking for people who sparked his interest to join him.
He'd forgotten all about his promise.
*~*~*
It was December 31st, 1956, when Voldemort decided to come just a little out of the shadows. He and a few of his followers had Apparated into the snowy town of Hogsmeade and started heading for the Hog's Head Inn, immediately. It was decently crowded for a Sunday night, so the five could slip upstairs to one of the rooms without notice. Nott and Rosier entered with him, while Muldber and Dolohov guarded the door outside. Voldemort removed the hood of his traveling cloak to brush off a little of the snow. He was becoming less and less like Tom Riddle each day. His dark eyes were not yet that piercing scarlet red he had often dreamt of, but they were slowly on the pathway there. His face was as pale as the sprinkled snow glistening on his shoulders.
"My lord, would you like us to accompany you up to the castle?" Rosier asked him, taking off the hood of his own cloak as well.
"No, I need to go in alone..."
Voldemort started the hike up the winding snowy path from Hogsmeade a few minutes later. He did not have the time to waste. He was walking at a brisk pace and soon found himself a few feet away from Ogg's hut. He stopped to peer in the window. Hagrid and Ogg were sitting, laughing. It was probably about something stupid. They nearly looked his way, but he managed to duck in time. Sitting in the snow under the frosted window, he waited a brief moment for their gaze to pass over. Voldemort could see the wilted tree sitting by the lake, off in the distance. Memories flashed. He rose immediately and pulled his cloak farther up on his head, so he could not see anything but the snowy road ahead. He kept on walking. Finally, he got a glimpse of Hogwarts, as he drew nearer in the foggy, snowy haze. There it stood in all its glory, a place that he had once called home. Eleven years had come and gone and yet it didn't even show.
Voldemort abruptly stopped once more in the entrance to the castle. He could hear the clacking of someone else's heels on the stone floor and quickly glided up the staircase, before whoever was there could see him. He reached the third floor and for some reason the stairs to the headmaster's tower had already been revealed. The gargoyles had stepped aside for the unwelcomed visitor. Voldemort slowed his pace as he carefully climbed the stairs. When he reached the door, he didn't bother knocking, but just simply entered. It was more or less the same as his other office had been. It was, instead of a square and slightly cluttered space, a large circular room. It was still full of little objects and odd noises. The walls were not plastered with the trinkets and doodads of trivial things though. They were covered with portraits of old headmasters, who were currently snoozing in their frames, unperturbed by the late arrival. The portrait of the young, sunny haired girl that used to hang centered on the wall in his old office, Dumbledore seemed too have gotten rid of. She must have not gone with the décor anymore. Dumbledore sat behind the enormous, claw-footed desk, showing no sign of surprise. Voldemort looked at him with a somewhat surprised look though. If you thought one of your old students was dead, surely, you'd show some kind of emotion if they came walking into your office late one night uninvited.
Someone must have warned him...
"Good evening, Tom." Dumbledore stated. Voldemort already felt a singe of anger, from being referred to as Tom, but did his best to suppress it. Dumbledore gestured to the seat in front of the desk that was normally placed for students. "Won't you sit down?"
"Thank you," Voldemort smiled, taking up the seat to which Dumbledore had gestured to. "I heard that you had become headmaster. A worthy choice..."
"I am glad you approve." said Dumbledore, cracking a small smile. "May I offer you a drink?"
"That would be welcome," Voldemort replied. "I have come a long way."
Dumbledore stood and swept over to a cabinet full of several different bottles. He picked a bottle, poured the dark liquor into two goblets and handed one to Voldemort. Then, returned to the seat behind his desk. "So, Tom... to what do I owe the pleasure?"
Voldemort did not answer at once, but merely sipped his wine. He was restraining the dying urge to glare at Dumbledore for once again calling him that dreadful old name of his. Dumbledore was all-knowing, but perhaps he had not heard, or more likely he had heard and was just as infuriating as ever. "They do not call me 'Tom' anymore," he said, silkily. "These days, I am known as —"
"I know what you are known as," Dumbledore stated, with a strangely pleasant smile. "But to me, I'm afraid, you will always be Tom Riddle. It is one of the irritating things about old teachers. I am afraid that they never quite forget their charges' youthful beginnings."
He raised his glass as though toasting Voldemort, whose face remained expressionless. Dumbledore's refusal to use Voldemort's chosen name was a refusal to allow him any amount control in this meeting. The air grew tense and stiff as Voldemort eventually raised his glass as well.
"I am surprised you have remained here so long," Voldemort stated, after a short pause. "I always wondered why a wizard such as yourself never wished to leave school."
"Well," Dumbledore smiled. "to a wizard such as myself, there can be nothing more important than passing on ancient skills, helping hone young minds. If I remember correctly, you once saw the attraction of teaching too."
"I see it still," Voldemort replied. "I merely wondered why you — who are so often asked for advice by the Ministry, and who have twice, I think, been offered the post of Minister —"
"Three times at the last count, actually," Dumbledore corrected him. "But the Ministry never attracted me as a career. Again, something we have in common; I think."
Voldemort inclined his head, no longer sporting his fake charming smile, and took yet another sip of wine. Dumbledore did not break the silence that stretched between them now, but waited, with the same look of pleasant expectancy, for Voldemort to talk first.
"I have returned," Voldemort stated, after the long pause. "later, perhaps, then Professor Dippet expected . . . but I have returned, nevertheless, to request again what he once told me I was too young to have. I have come to you to ask that you permit me to return to this castle, to teach. I think you must know that I have seen and done much since I left this place. I could show and tell your students things they can gain from no other wizard."
It was yet another lie, for the most part. There were several things he had returned for.
First, was the sword of Godric Gryffindor. He had the rest of the founder's set of artifacts, all except something of the Gryffindors. The sword would make the perfect Horcrux. It was a powerful, valuable, historical artifact and something that could not easily be destroyed. He could see the sword trying to hide itself among all the portraits on the wall behind Dumbledore. All Voldemort needed to do was get past him. The next reason was the safety of his current Horcruxes. He kept the locket around his neck and his ring around his finger, but the diadem and the cup needed hiding. He was not worried as much about the diary. It was the only one of his Horcruxes that wasn't valuable to anyone else, yet he still kept it in the pocket of his robes, always. The castle was impenetrable and had plenty of secrets already hidden there. Surely, there was somewhere he could stash them. Then there was the off chance he actually got the job. Voldemort wasn't exactly lying when he said he wanted it. In the Dark Arts position, he would be able to raise entire generations as dark witches and wizards and would be creating future followers for him. He could overthrow the entire school and make it his headquarters. It could be his home again.
"Yes, I certainly do know that you have seen and done much since leaving us," Dumbledore sighed. "Rumors of your doings have reached your old school, Tom. I should be sorry to believe half of them."
"Greatness inspires envy, envy engenders spite, spite spawns lies. You must know this, Dumbledore."
"You call it 'greatness,' what you have been doing, do you?" Dumbledore asked.
"Certainly," Voldemort remarked, his eyes seeming to blaze red at the question. He could feel them burning in their sockets, but he ignored it and rallied on as usual. He needed to keep his composure. "I have experimented; I have pushed the boundaries of magic further, perhaps, then they have ever been pushed —"
"Of some kinds of magic," Dumbledore corrected him, quietly. "Of some. Of others, you remain—forgive me—woefully ignorant."
For the first time, Voldemort smiled. Not an actual smile or his fake charming one, but a taut leer one. An evil thing, more threatening than a look of rage.
"That old argument," he smiled, two-facedly soft and saccharine. "But nothing I have seen in the world has supported your famous pronouncements that love is more powerful than my kind of magic, Dumbledore."
"Perhaps you have been looking in the wrong places." Dumbledore suggested. He glanced at the door for a moment, as if trying to indicate that was where Tom needed to be looking too. But, Voldemort kept his eyes viciously fixed on Dumbledore.
"Well, then, what better place to start my fresh researches than here, at Hogwarts?" Voldemort added, attempting futile charms on him. It was a lost cause considering Dumbledore hadn't fallen for them back then either, but he had to put in all the efforts at least to try and resolve this meeting peacefully. It'd be a pity if things got messy. "Will you let me return? Will you let me share my knowledge with your students? I place myself and my talents at your disposal. I am yours to command."
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, suspiciously. "And what will become of those whom you command? What will happen to those who call themselves — or so rumor has it — the Death Eaters?"
Voldemort's eyes flashed red again. How on earth did Dumbledore know that name? Where could he have possibly heard it from? He felt the urge to yell at Dumbledore to cough up a possible traitor amongst his ranks, yet he remained seemingly emotionless.
"My friends," he answered, after yet another moment's pause, "will carry on without me, I am sure."
"I am glad to hear that you consider them friends," Dumbledore stated. "I was under the impression that they are more in the order of servants."
"You are mistaken." Voldemort replied, simply.
"Then if I were to go to the Hog's Head tonight, I would not find a group of them — Nott, Rosier, Muldber, Dolohov — awaiting your return? Devoted friends indeed, to travel this far with you on a snowy night, merely to wish you luck as you attempted to secure a teaching post."
"You are omniscient as ever, Dumbledore." Tom laughed, trying to not let Dumbledore's surprising amount of knowledge get the better of him for the hundredth time.
"Oh no, merely friendly with the local barmen..." Dumbledore replied, lightly. Voldemort was silently cursing himself for picking the Hog's Head for a meeting place. He had forgotten about Aberforth. It would seem the unremarkable brother was good for a thing or two.
"Now, Tom . . ." Dumbledore started, setting down his empty glass and drawing himself up a little in his seat. "Let us speak openly. Why have you come here tonight, surrounded by henchmen, to request a job we both know you do not want?"
"A job I do not want? On the contrary, Dumbledore, I want it very much." Voldemort answered, trying to look very surprised at the implication that Dumbledore suggested.
"Oh, you want to come back to Hogwarts, but you do not want to teach any more than you wanted to when you were eighteen. What is it you're after, Tom? Why not try an open request for once?"
Voldemort sneered. "If you do not want to give me a job —"
"Of course, I don't," Dumbledore replied, like it had been so obvious. "And I don't think for a moment you expected me to. Nevertheless, you came here, you asked, you must have had a purpose."
"This is your final word?" Voldemort inquired, getting to his feet.
"It is." Dumbledore responded, also standing.
"Then we have nothing more to say to each other..."
"No, nothing," said Dumbledore, and a great sadness filled his face. Like he had so much he wanted to say to him, but just could not bring himself to do so. "The time is long gone when I could frighten you with a burning wardrobe and force you to make repayment for your crimes. But I wish I could, Tom...I wish I could..."
Voldemort's hand twitched toward his wand in his pocket and was about to draw it out, but then there was a sudden noise behind him that did not seem to match the other random noises coming from in the office. It was the sound of the jiggling door handle. He turned around and sure enough the door's handle was being turned and twisted. The door opened, after what appeared to be much struggle, and in flew a woman juggling about fifteen different rolls of parchment at least.
"Dumbledore, I'm sorry. I know it's late, but I have—"
Voldemort had only glanced for a moment and maybe the slightest hope for someone interesting had come, then his eyes got transfixed on her, unsure if she was real or a ghost. He got locked into a perplexed and slightly dumbfounded sort of stare. The woman had stopped mid-sentence for she was staring at him too. She looked a little confused, yet he had recognized her in an instant. How could he ever not? She was the reason he had wanted the stupid Defense Against the Dark Arts position in the first place, not because he planned to mold an entire generation of witches and wizards to his beliefs, or hide his Horcruxes in the impenetrable castle and make it his base of operations. He'd wanted it because he never wanted to leave her. Voldemort had completely forgotten the girl he had left behind at this school. Yet here, she clearly remained. Right where Tom had left her.
Frankie...