Harry potter The Boy Who Remembers

"Oh, that's very simple, Mr. Potter. You see, I will be leaving this classroom with either a new apprentice who will need to know my true goals or a dead body to hide. After all, dead men tell no tales. You see, I can tell that you will grow to be an exceptionally powerful wizard and I can't take the risk of you being convinced with Dumbledore's honeyed words. So, you're either a potential ally and perhaps even my heir one day, or you're a potential enemy. I don't particularly enjoy threats to my goal, and you will be one. This is your choice, Potter, serve or die. So, what will it be?"

Lord Voldemort watched as the chained young wizard paled in fear. There was just something about the expression on his face that just delighted him. The terror at the thought of dying, the anger at being in the situation, the wounded pride that he would be nothing more than a glorified servant, and finally the regret for the actions that brought him to this situation.

The Dark Lord remembered this exact feeling all those years ago as if it was today. Back when he was Tom Riddle, back when he was nothing more than an exceptional student. He had just gotten his OWL results. He thought that they might be his ticket out of the hellish orphanage that he was forced to stay in. He was so foolish back then, believing in a utopian magical world.

That was until the wizarding great war came to his doorstep. Oh, the muggle one was still happening, and London was being bombed frequently, but the Ministry of Magic had tracked down every muggleborn in the country and set up a basic anti-bomb ward on their homes. It wouldn't hold up against any magical attacks, but it was more than enough to ensure his safety from the war.

No, the big shock came when two magical titans duelled in the middle of London. Grindelwald had decided to attack the city and Dumbledore was dueling with him. It was then that reality set in, that he realized how small he was in front of the two Archmages. His vision of the magical world was broken at the sight of the two duelers carelessly killing countless innocents, wizards and muggles alike, that were just bystanders to their fight.

An attack that Dumbledore redirected ripped the flimsy ministry wars as if they weren't even there and destroyed the orphanage with Tom still there. He had crawled his way out of the mess, his magic keeping him alive, and saw the destruction around him. Everyone was dead, not that he really cared about it, but magic was the only thing that saved Tom, the only thing that stopped Death from claiming him. The worst thing was that the fight ended with a stalemate with the Dark Lord retreating, leaving a devastated city in front of him.

The following day, most of the destroyed buildings were restored, and the survivors healed. The muggles chucked it up to a mass Nazi bombing after a few obliviation charms, and everyone went on their way, unaware of the constant threat of death that hung on their heads.

But Tom was aware. He remembered the emptiness. He remembered Death's icy grip almost touching him but his magic fought it off. He had almost died a meaningless death, without any meaning. On this day, he vowed never to feel such a feeling again. And thus, Lord Voldemort was born from the ashes of Tom Riddle.

At first, he directed his hatred towards Dumbledore and Grindelwald. Until that is, he researched such fights. In every generation, there were always two Archmages, one of light, and one of darkness, who fought, bringing nothing but ruin and destruction. If either side wins, another challenger would appear a few decades later, and the cycle kept going on and on until it was done. It didn't always happen in Britain, or even in Europe for that matter. But even if they were continents apart, they sought each other out and fought in their seemingly destined battles. It took years of travel and exploration to understand the nature of the light and the dark and their role in shaping the history of the magical world. He realized that to stop them, he needed to stop the entire cycle, not just Dumbledore and Grindelwald.

Thankfully, Grindelwald was imprisoned and not killed, meaning that he had time to prepare, and prepare he did. He honed his magic to a maddening degree, committed atrocity after atrocity, to hone his body and magic to compete with the absurd power of a champion. He succeeded, and with excitement in his veins, he was ready to start his revolution, to save the magical world.

And yet here he stood, barely more than a wraith, a cursed existence that could barely even be considered alive, nor have a presence in the world. He needed to rely on weaklings like Quirrell to survive. He had tricked the pathetic muggles studies professor into accepting his possession, only for the man to cowardly go back on his word when he had almost gotten a student killed. He ended up taking over the man's body before he could foolishly confess to Dumbledore, but the mismatch between Quirrell's magic and his soul was tearing the body apart, which was why he had needed unicorn blood in the first place. He had lost a chance from killing Longbottom during one of his hunts. He had lost it because of the chained boy in front of him.

Back to the boy in front of him, who was glaring defiantly at him, he amused the Dark Lord immensely. He was a brilliant boy, one that he would have assumed was the dark champion, if it wasn't for the fact that Grindelwald was still alive. He would have become a threat, but he was also a potentially powerful asset.

The boy responded, "We both know that you don't need an heir, so don't try to hone your words. It's servitude or death. There is no middle ground."

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