Chapter 338: Cornering a Snake

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31 October 1995, Azkaban (Earth 2)

Lord Voldemort had no idea why he was feeling nervous. He hid it, of course, from his followers. It wouldn't do for them to doubt their mission. However, there was something wrong. He could feel it in his bones. He would never admit it, but Lucius' confession to the Diary's destruction, just after the reported Gringotts robbery, had unsettled him to the state of his Horcruxes.

He didn't rush in, of course. If his secret was discovered, then it was safe to assume that Dumbledore was watching his every move. There was no need to physically see his Horcruxes, not without confirming the fact that the Cup was stolen from Bellatrix's vault first. And with Nagini safe, there was really no reason to worry. Tonight, he would break out his most faithful followers, and in a few days, he would know if someone had discovered his greatest secret.

Lord Voldemort and his followers landed near the prison's entrance and waited. He could feel their shivering, the cowards, at the Dementor's presence. He did not suffer such. His soul was not whole, and the creatures could not deprive him of it. It was an accidental countermeasure of his immortality and how he was able to bargain with the creatures in the first place.

They waited for a few minutes and Voldemort used this time to admire the fortress before him. It was built by the Dark Lord Ekrizdis, as a safe place to conduct his experiments. The island itself hadn't even been discovered until the man's death. In many ways, he admired Ekrizdis for his constant desire to push magic to more extremes. There were rumours that the man was the last master of soul magic, and it was a shame that he didn't leave a tome or grimoire behind. However, he was also a failure of a dark lord. He had no ambition beyond his research, no desire to change the world or to make his mark in history. With amusement, Voldemort thought Ekrizdis was what would have happened if a Ravenclaw decided to become a Dark Lord.

He wiped any trace of amusement from his face as he noticed the dozens of dementors floating down to meet him. Seeing the questioning body language that the creatures expressed, he decided to speak up.

"Why do you hesitate?" Voldemort's voice cut through the cold, low and commanding. "You know who I am. You know what I offer. What I have offered in the past." He stepped forward, his eyes gleaming like slits of crimson in the dimness. The Dementors circled closer, their ragged breaths creating an unnatural chill in the air, but he did not flinch.

"You have served the Ministry, kept in chains by those who think they control you. But I can offer you freedom. I can offer you the world beyond these cold walls. Serve me, and you will feast on the fear, the despair, and the very souls of those who dare to oppose us. Together, we shall reshape this world in darkness."

The Dementors hovered in silence, their cloaked forms swaying as if they could taste the power radiating from him. Voldemort smiled, thin and cold, knowing their hunger was already drawing them to his side.

"The Ministry would have you starve in this forgotten fortress," he continued. "But I will give you purpose. In my new order, you will thrive."

He paused, letting his words sink into the void-like consciousness of the creatures. "Choose wisely, for this is your only chance. Either ally with me and rise, or be left in this miserable fortress, starving yourselves, unable to even claim a single soul, forever."

The dementors looked at one another and bowed at once, letting him pass. For the first time since entering Azkaban, Voldemort smiled, "You will not regret this decision. Await my message when I am ready, and you'll be able to leave this place and feast to your heart's content. As for now, I have a few faithful followers to free from this place."

It went as well as it could have. In mere minutes, the dementors had followed him and Azkaban was unofficially his. He slowly walked into the fortress, his followers looking at him in pure awe. There was no need to be hasty. He was not some common criminal seeking to attack the prison. The fortress was his own.

As Voldemort, his dear Nagini trailing behind him, and his followers moved deeper into the fortress, the air grew thicker with the oppressive chill of the Dementors, who now hovered silently in the dark corners of the prison, awaiting their next command. Voldemort's smile remained fixed on his face as they passed through the desolate corridors. Everything was falling into place.

But then, a sudden, frantic shout echoed through the stone halls. "Stop! In the name of the Ministry!"

A squad of Aurors, patrolling the prison, had spotted the intruders. Their faces, once hardened by the grim duties of guarding Azkaban, now twisted in terror as they realized who stood before them. One of them screamed an uncontrollable burst of fear in the presence of Voldemort's cold, serpentine gaze. His followers stepped back instinctively, readying themselves for battle.

"You!" the lead Auror gasped, his voice trembling. "You're supposed to be dead!"

Voldemort's red eyes flickered with amusement. "I have defeated death," he whispered, his voice carrying like a deadly hiss.

The Aurors, panic overtaking their judgment, raised their wands and launched a barrage of spells at him, but they were no match. With a flick of his wrist, Voldemort conjured a shimmering, dark shield that absorbed their feeble attacks.

"Fools," he muttered. With another flick of his wand, a green light erupted from its tip.

"Avada Kedavra."

In an instant, the lead Auror crumpled to the ground, his life extinguished in a flash of sickly green. Another attempted to flee, but Voldemort's wand struck out again. "Avada Kedavra." Another lifeless body hit the stone floor.

The last Auror, trembling, tried to scream for help, but no sound came. Voldemort's smile deepened as he silenced him with a mere thought.

With a final, graceful motion, he finished the last of them off, their bodies scattered on the cold, unforgiving floor. The Death Eaters watched in silent reverence as their master lowered his wand, the green glow fading as quickly as the lives he had just taken.

"Pathetic," Voldemort remarked, his tone indifferent. He turned to his followers, who stood frozen, admiration and fear mingling in their expressions. "Come. There is more to be done."

Voldemort continued his steady pace deeper into the fortress, unfazed by the fallen Aurors, as if their deaths were of no more consequence than a flickering candle being snuffed out. His followers trailed behind him, silent and awestruck.

They reached the maximum-security wing of the prison, where his most faithful followers, the last members of his inner circle were kept. Voldemort stopped at the entrance to the wing, his eyes scanning the rows of cells, his voice rising above the hollow silence. "Free them," he commanded his followers, his tone sharp as a blade. "These are my faithful, those who never faltered in their loyalty. They deserve to be at my side once more. Go."

The Death Eaters moved quickly, their wands raised as they began blasting apart the locks and doors that held the prisoners within. Cries of shock and disbelief echoed through the corridors as long-forgotten wizards and witches stumbled from their cells, blinking in the dim light, some too broken by years of imprisonment to understand what was happening—until they saw him. Voldemort stood, tall and dark, the very image of their salvation.

As the other Death Eaters worked, Voldemort turned his attention to one cell in particular, Nagini slithering behind him. It was at the far end of the hall. He could still feel her, after all this time. The prisoner inside was more than just a loyal follower—she was his most trusted servant, his fiercest warrior, his unspoken voice, his weapon on the battlefield. She was the main reason he had even come to Azkaban.

Bellatrix Lestrange.

He walked toward the cell with slow, deliberate steps, a faint smile playing on his lips. The Dementors that once guarded her had drifted away at his command, and now there was nothing to stand between him and his most devoted servant.

With a mere flick of his wand, the heavy iron door creaked open. Inside, Bellatrix sat slumped against the wall, her once wild hair now matted and tangled, her face gaunt from years of confinement. But her eyes—they burned with the same devotion that Voldemort had always admired.

She looked up, and for a moment, she seemed uncertain if she was seeing a dream or reality. But then her lips curled into a manic smile as she struggled to her feet, her voice hoarse from disuse. "Master… you've come for me."

Voldemort stepped into the cell, his smile widening ever so slightly. "Did you doubt I would, Bellatrix?"

It should have been a joyous moment. He had achieved his goals. This mere effect would demoralize the very few people who believed Dumbledore, to show them that his influence, which they had spent years trying to remove, could return in just a single moment. His followers, whom they imprisoned, could be free whenever he wished.

He even had Bellatrix with him, and after a few days of recovery, she would be able to go to Gringotts and check that the cup he entrusted her with was still in her vault.

Then why was he feeling nervous? Why did he feel that something was wrong?

Then he heard it, from the silence of Azkaban, a simple whistling tune. It could have been a prisoner lamenting, but the sound reverberated all over the prison. Then a large bolt of lightning hit just outside of the fortress, the thunder overwhelming any sounds.

It was then that he noticed him, having appeared out of nowhere, still whistling. He was wearing a silver hooded cloak that seemed to glow with the moonlight and hid his features. The most disturbing thing was that he was holding a familiar wand. He had crossed it enough times to recognize it with a single. It was Dumbledore's.

The man spoke in a smooth voice, "Well, well. If it isn't Lord Voldemort himself. In the flesh."

The Dark Lord hid the unease he felt at the man's presence, "Thank you. You know me, but I do not know you."

"How can anyone not know you? The red eyes that people fear so much, the serpentine look, and of course, for those who can tell, your mangled little soul."

Voldemort stiffened at that last comment, "You tread dangerous grounds."

"Did I? Was that supposed to be a secret? Well, you can't blame me for not knowing. It's not my fault that you wear your abomination of a soul so proudly."

"You talk too much," the Dark Lord uttered and cast one of his fastest killing curses. A jet of blinding green light flew towards the intruder, only for him to dodge it barely.

He noticed the man was still standing unconcerned, "Now, that was uncalled for. You're so easy to anger and still very impulsive."

"You will not survive this night, stranger."

The man's tone turned amused, "Everyone thinks they'll be able to defeat me. But in this world, no one has beaten me yet. Everything has a price, Tom Riddle. How blind you are that you cannot see that."

Voldemort was about to reply, only to notice that the man was not looking at him, but at Bellatrix. Whose skin was slowly getting darker, until it slowly turned to dust. The last words she ever spoke were, "My Lord…"

She never got to finish until she disappeared, just like that, dead. Lord Voldemort could barely process how quickly things went when his followers started attacking the mystery wizard. He dodged a killing curse from Lucius, and beheaded Rookwood with a flick of his wand, only for the man's head to turn into an explosion, blowing up the captains of Greyback's pack. Nott was impaled by a spear of black ice and banished into Rabastan Lestrange's cell, where both men were swallowed by a dark sphere.

All of this happened in less than two seconds and Voldemort decided he would not waste more followers' lives. That man knew more than he let on and would die by his hand. He gathered his magic and conjured a giant beam of darkness that swallowed the man's entire body. He kept powering the spell more than he probably should have. The upper half of the fortress was destroyed by the attack, which was a feat that had never been done before.

He was so sure, only for the dust to settle with a man standing behind a white shield that pulsed and banished the darkness away, including the dementors that accompanied him to the cells. The man looked at him unbothered and wiped some non-existent dirt from his silver cloak. At this moment, a small part of him resurged, one that he had tried to hide for decades, the last remnants of Tom Riddle as he stood alone and afraid in muggle London as bombs flew down from the sky, "Who are you?"

"Oh, Tom. I'm disappointed. Don't you recognize me?"

The man removed his hood and revealed a familiar face with a very familiar scar, "Potter!"

"Yep. Now, Lord Voldemort, what did you say about beating Death again?"

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AN: So, it's finally snake hunting time. I'm excited to write this part of the arc. I hope you like it and if you know, I'm open to rewrite the chapter if it doesn't come out right. It's kinda an important chapter so I wanted to do it properly. As usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.

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If you want to support me check out my patréon at https://www.patréon.com/athassprkr

I tend to upload drafts of early chapters on there to get people's opinions of them so you can read up to 20 chapters ahead as a bonus.

Thank you guys for your support in these hard times.