Chapter Text
“Took him long enough.”
“Yes, we’ve been waiting in this limbo place for far too long.”
“Would you two quiet down, our original is waking up.”
Lord Voldemort opened his eyes to three faces looking down at him. Those three faces looked vaguely familiar.
“He doesn’t even know who we are, does he?” The youngest answered, who seemed to be in his early twenties.
“No, I don’t believe so.” Voldemort looked at the one who’d spoken. This one looked slightly older than the youngest; however, that could be due to his slightly gaunt, pale face.
“Who are you?” He asked. The last thing he could remember was fighting that annoying child… “Potter!” He shouted angrily.
“Yes, yes, we know you have an obsession with Harry Potter, but you can fantasise about him later.” Voldemort finally looked at the oldest. This one looked similar to the pale-faced one but had pure red eyes…to which he’d only seen the same shade on himself…
“You…you’re me…you’re all me…” He spoke to them in a bewildered tone.
“Obviously.” The youngest answered in a drawl eerily similar to that of Snape’s.
“What am I doing here?” Voldemort ignored his younger self’s comment. “I have to go back! I have to kill that brat! The boy-who-lived!”
“You can’t,” the oldest answered.
“And why not.”
“You’re dead.”
“What? I-I can’t be dead. I am immortal. I am the great Lord Voldemort! THE DARK LORD! I couldn’t have been killed by a mere child!” Voldemort seemed to be on the verge of breaking.
“Well, you are. And none of us can leave until you accept it.”
“ACCEPT WHAT? THAT I’M DEAD?”
“No…”
“WHAT THEN!”
“Until you accept the atrocities you committed, none of you will be leaving.” A disembodied voice answered.”
The three men grew paler than they already were. Their skin was like ash.
Voldemort seeing this grew pale too as he realised who the being was.
“Death.”
“You would be correct.”
Voldemort, after a long period of silence, finally mustered up the courage to speak, “W-why…am I here.”
“Hmm…my master was given a choice. He was given the choice of reincarnation, eternal damnation or reformation.”
“Why do your master’s choices affect me?”
“You didn’t let me finish,” the air around the being grew cold as he spoke. “My master’s choices were for you. He was able to choose what he wanted to do with you when you died.” Death grew silent as he waited for Voldemort to speak.
“A-And…what did he choose.” Voldemort knew that a lot of people hated him. He knew what death’s master had most likely chosen.
“Reformation.”
“Excuse me?”
“He chose your reformation,” repeated Death.
Death had finally left, making them all sigh in relief.
“I won’t change. I am the Dark Lord!”
“You will change...eventually. We all did.”
“You aren’t a part of me. You’re just some figment of my imagination.”
“Really? You haven’t realised what we are yet?” The youngest answered, “You must be more insane than we thought.”
“Be quiet Riddle.” The oldest turned back to Voldemort, “We are your Horcruxes.”
“Wha-”
“Oh, do shut up.” A fourth, of what Voldemort now realised was his Horcruxes, appeared. This one seemed to be from when he was still at Hogwarts. The boy had black hair and dark brown eyes. He wore what seemed to be the Slytherin uniform during the 1940s.
“Another of you?” Voldemort asked annoyed.
“Yes. You can call me Tom. I want to get this over with, so I can leave.”
“Get what over with?”
The other three Horcruxes disappeared, and Voldemort's vision darkened until he couldn’t see anything.
“Why…your reformation, of course.” The Horcrux (Tom) answered.