Chapter 266 "Voldemort's Monologue"

Today was meant to be a glorious day of rebirth.

By the way, this isn't my first time being reborn.

I was born in a London orphanage under the name of Tom Riddle, a name as mundane as any other orphan's. Everything seemed ordinary.

Yet, from a young age, I sensed my difference. I possessed magical abilities. Intense emotions would unleash an invisible force that shaped reality.

I kept my powers secret, believing myself a superhero from comics, a person born with extraordinary gifts.

I thought I was unique until that cursed old man appeared—

Dumbledore burned my illusions, revealing me as just another wizard, nothing special. There were others like me, he said, and a school, Hogwarts, existed to educate us. He visited me to extend an invitation.

I refused to yield. I couldn't.

Blame that wretched old man for shattering my dreams of uniqueness.

Yet, there were glimmers of hope. Ollivander, in his decrepit shop, claimed that the wand chooses the wizard. Chosen by the yew wand, I was destined for greatness. And at Hogwarts, I unearthed the Chamber of Secrets, a trove left by a powerful dark wizard, uncovering the truth of my lineage.

My instincts were validated. I am not ordinary. I am a descendant of Salazar Slytherin, one of history's greatest wizards and heir to the Slytherin legacy!

I resolved to honor my ancestors, restore pure-blood glory, and make Slytherin's philosophy a reality.

Yet, Dumbledore loathed me. He monitored my every move since my first day at Hogwarts. As I delved into the Chamber's dark arts, rising as a leader in Slytherin, his watchful eye only intensified.

Though I successfully wielded the basilisk to rid the world of a filthy mudblood and framed the blame on Hagrid, I knew it was time to halt.

Under Dumbledore's loathsome surveillance, I realized Hogwarts couldn't harbor my ambitions. My dreams awaited beyond its walls.

At the seventh year's end, I departed Hogwarts with top honors and a student council presidency.

Traversing the globe, I mastered formidable dark arts, underwent perilous magical transformations, and forged Horcruxes with legendary artifacts.

Upon my return to Britain, I was reborn.

I am no longer Tom Riddle, a name bestowed by my detestable Muggle father. I needed a name that would inspire dread and darkness, befitting my lofty stature.

Henceforth, I became — Lord Voldemort!

Gathering like-minded pure-blood families, I sought to cleanse Britain's wizarding world. Yet, due to a careless oversight, I perished at the hands of a mere babe.

Absurd, yes, but the harsh reality.

After 13 long years, today marks my triumphant return from the abyss of death.

This day was meant to be the pinnacle of my return. I had meticulously planned to slay that insufferable Potter before my followers, a ritual to mark my resurgence to unparalleled dominance.

But what transpires now?

More than half of my disciples are absent.

Potter, far from meeting his demise, slipped through our grasp unscathed, a mockery of my authority.

And here stands this wretch before me, sporting a counterfeit grin.

He is Lucius's second son, born into one of my esteemed servant's households. A scion of pure-blood lineage, he was destined to be a stalwart commander in my ranks, yet he chose defiance.

But that's not the crux of the matter. I've witnessed pure-bloods swayed by Dumbledore's rhetoric, sitting complacent in his shadow. Ending him would be trivial. The quandary lies elsewhere —

I cannot overpower him!

This isn't to suggest fear on my part.

I am Voldemort, the preeminent Dark Lord of our time. I am immortal and unrivaled on the path to eternity.

Granted, in terms of magical prowess alone, this youth pales in comparison.

The reason I couldn't best him was his demeanor upon arrival, as if he held a damning secret. I feared he'd uncover the truth behind my Horcruxes.

Moreover, my relentless concern for their safety hindered my resolve. The Horcruxes are my ultimate safeguard, the font of my immortality. There's no margin for error.

Consequently, I lacked the fortitude for a direct confrontation, rendering many of my spells impotent. My sole aim now is escape, to ascertain the security of my Horcruxes.

Thus, I summoned my bespoke Inferi, primed to detonate upon attack. It's a last resort, a ploy to buy time. Even I, ensnared amidst such infernal throngs, must first flee and strategize. Adaptation and long-term planning are paramount.

Securing my Horcruxes is paramount. Of the six, one remains in my grasp. As for the rest—Lucius's diary is likely lost, and Bellatrix's cup may be compromised. It's precarious...

The certainty lies with three: Ravenclaw's Diadem, the Gaunt family's ring, and Slytherin's pendant. The diadem's location eludes easy discovery, and that boy shouldn't possess such power... I hope. The ring's surroundings are ensnared in potent curses, not easily dismantled.

As for the pendant box, it's my best-kept secret. Apart from its concealed location, breaching its defenses requires unparalleled magical skill and a sacrificial victim...

But before I could revel in my schemes, he effortlessly subdues the Inferi and Death Eaters. How? When did magic advance to such a level?

The absurdity of him calling it a floating spell! Damn the floating spell!

Wait... His explanation does have some merit. Magic spells possess versatile applications. I've always known this truth, but my interest in exploring magic seems to have waned over time. When did this change occur? Ah, it dawns on me—

Since I created my first Horcrux, I have lost fascination with conventional magic. Power has become my sole pursuit. I yearned for potent dark magic, not frivolous spells that make objects levitate or foolish charms that merely illuminate wands.

Enough reminiscing. I must focus on the present predicament!

Confronting him directly is the only option—

You may wield the deadliest killing curse, but the magic stored within the wand must connect before it's discharged. This phenomenon is known as "wand resonance."

Once our wands engage, he won't be able to redirect the spell elsewhere. There's only one way to determine the outcome—

The outcome hinges on the magical prowess and sheer will of both contenders!

My magical might undoubtedly surpass his! Opting for Avada Kedavra is a testament to my unyielding desire to obliterate. This curse amplifies my determination to its zenith!

I refuse to entertain the notion that my illustrious Dark Lord could fall to a mere child.

But, even if the wand resonance yields an unfavorable outcome, I have a contingency plan—

The moment the connection breaks, I can channel the residual magic in the wand to disapparate instantly and escape. It's a unique spellcasting technique I devised during my studies of seamless spellcasting.

I venture to claim that nobody in the world is privy to it, except, perhaps, for the one I inadvertently imparted it to years ago... That imbecile Quirrell. But that's inconsequential; the wretch is long dead...

By the by, let's be clear—I'm not fleeing; I'm strategically repositioning. There's a distinction. How could I, the illustrious Dark Lord, cower and scurry from an adolescent? Preposterous! Nobody would buy into such a tale, would they?

Truth be told, there's an abundance of peculiarities surrounding this lad. I must gather more intelligence before determining how best to handle him. Once I've amassed sufficient information, well, then we'll see how I orchestrate his demise.

As for my loyal servants, their fate hinges on their individual wits and fortune. If they're astute enough to seize the moment and escape, I reckon at least half of them stand a chance...