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Sep. 24th, 2005 03:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
vivienIf you can see this, then you are on the Horcrux Filter! You are either someone whose opinion's I consider important, someone who interacts with Tom a lot, or a HP character-mun, or all of the above.
So John had this brilliant idea about Tom - the Tom in Milliways - being the horcrux that was set free when Dumbledore broke the black stoned Sytherin ring. After all, where does a fragment of soul go when set free like that? All credit goes to John, and this theory meshes incredibly well with Tom's Millicanon while weaving in actual canon, as well. I've thought on this a while, and I am writing the following ficlet as a result. It is rough and could use critiquing. I also would like to puzzle out some ways it could be brought out in game. Cygnus and I had a few ideas, but you guys are plot-o-rific folks. This is something we could hold off on, if we wanted to have End of Seventh Year plot in the Tom-Tonks wizarding world. Help me out?
Here is what I have so far.
July 1, 1954, Albania
The man who was once Tom Marvolo Riddle – “I am Lord Voldemort” – stood over a bound and gagged wizard huddled on the stone floor. This drugged man had once been his mentor, an extremely powerful follower of Grindelwald Voldemort had tracked to this remote part of Albania. He was powerful, but not powerful enough. The student had eclipsed the teacher, and still Voldemort did not have the power he wanted, the power he needed. He wanted to rule the world, and he wasn’t even close yet.
He swallowed down the potion that would allow his soul to shatter more easily into the signet ring the soon-to-be-deceased wizard once possessed. Stupid man. Voldemort had known a moment after meeting him that he’d stolen the ring off a young pregnant woman in London in the 1920’s. For all his power, the man was not a very good Occlumens and it didn’t take someone with the highest NEWT scores ever earned to figure out who the woman must have been.
Voldemort had been more patient than he thought he could be. The memory of his mother had spurned on his revenge, but the old yearnings he’d thought long buried had come back as well. The need for something he could not name – would not name – had coiled itself in the back of his mind, making him weak. He’d been wanting to make another horcrux, to hedge his bets, so to speak, as the diary alone would not be enough to assure him immortality. The ring that had been his mother's - no doubt an important heirloom - would be an appropriate vessel for his soul. Now he would be able to excise that weakness within him. You could direct which parts of your soul to fragment – he knew that now. He would excise all that lingered within him that had made up Tom Marvolo Riddle.
The potion went to work, making him dizzy for a moment. Then his head cleared and with all the hatred he possessed, he raised his wand to first wake the wizard and then murder him. The horcrux would be well made.
July 1, 1996, London
In a Wizarading world in which Merope Gaunt Riddle never existed, but Julia deHavilland Riddle did, Albus Dumbledore held a black signet ring in his hand. He would crack the black stone and when he did so, his hand would wither and blacken. In this world, where there would be in nearly a year a Death Eater attack on the village of Hogsmeade, the curses set upon the ring to protect its contents would not be enough to overcome him, and Severus Snape would be able to treat him and cure his hand.
There would be no green flash of light on the top of a tower at Hogwarts the following June, but there would be one less horcrux shielding Voldemort from a common death.
July 1, 1996, Milliways/London Below/London Above
There was a cracking sound, Tom thought muzzily, as if a stone had split. He’d just drunk the potion, and his head felt funny, but that was to be expected. When he looked around, Tom – “I am Tom Marvolo Riddle.” – saw he was no longer in the castle room, his intended victim at his feet.
He was in a bar. And there were all sorts of strange people here with him.
He reached for the familiar shield of power and malice he reserved for any unfamiliar situation. He reached for it, and- he felt strange. Different. He felt as if he were someone else, all of a sudden. Someone who would love a stiff drink about now and a chance to rest and reach for something he could not - but perhaps would - name.
So John had this brilliant idea about Tom - the Tom in Milliways - being the horcrux that was set free when Dumbledore broke the black stoned Sytherin ring. After all, where does a fragment of soul go when set free like that? All credit goes to John, and this theory meshes incredibly well with Tom's Millicanon while weaving in actual canon, as well. I've thought on this a while, and I am writing the following ficlet as a result. It is rough and could use critiquing. I also would like to puzzle out some ways it could be brought out in game. Cygnus and I had a few ideas, but you guys are plot-o-rific folks. This is something we could hold off on, if we wanted to have End of Seventh Year plot in the Tom-Tonks wizarding world. Help me out?
Here is what I have so far.
July 1, 1954, Albania
The man who was once Tom Marvolo Riddle – “I am Lord Voldemort” – stood over a bound and gagged wizard huddled on the stone floor. This drugged man had once been his mentor, an extremely powerful follower of Grindelwald Voldemort had tracked to this remote part of Albania. He was powerful, but not powerful enough. The student had eclipsed the teacher, and still Voldemort did not have the power he wanted, the power he needed. He wanted to rule the world, and he wasn’t even close yet.
He swallowed down the potion that would allow his soul to shatter more easily into the signet ring the soon-to-be-deceased wizard once possessed. Stupid man. Voldemort had known a moment after meeting him that he’d stolen the ring off a young pregnant woman in London in the 1920’s. For all his power, the man was not a very good Occlumens and it didn’t take someone with the highest NEWT scores ever earned to figure out who the woman must have been.
Voldemort had been more patient than he thought he could be. The memory of his mother had spurned on his revenge, but the old yearnings he’d thought long buried had come back as well. The need for something he could not name – would not name – had coiled itself in the back of his mind, making him weak. He’d been wanting to make another horcrux, to hedge his bets, so to speak, as the diary alone would not be enough to assure him immortality. The ring that had been his mother's - no doubt an important heirloom - would be an appropriate vessel for his soul. Now he would be able to excise that weakness within him. You could direct which parts of your soul to fragment – he knew that now. He would excise all that lingered within him that had made up Tom Marvolo Riddle.
The potion went to work, making him dizzy for a moment. Then his head cleared and with all the hatred he possessed, he raised his wand to first wake the wizard and then murder him. The horcrux would be well made.
July 1, 1996, London
In a Wizarading world in which Merope Gaunt Riddle never existed, but Julia deHavilland Riddle did, Albus Dumbledore held a black signet ring in his hand. He would crack the black stone and when he did so, his hand would wither and blacken. In this world, where there would be in nearly a year a Death Eater attack on the village of Hogsmeade, the curses set upon the ring to protect its contents would not be enough to overcome him, and Severus Snape would be able to treat him and cure his hand.
There would be no green flash of light on the top of a tower at Hogwarts the following June, but there would be one less horcrux shielding Voldemort from a common death.
July 1, 1996, Milliways/London Below/London Above
There was a cracking sound, Tom thought muzzily, as if a stone had split. He’d just drunk the potion, and his head felt funny, but that was to be expected. When he looked around, Tom – “I am Tom Marvolo Riddle.” – saw he was no longer in the castle room, his intended victim at his feet.
He was in a bar. And there were all sorts of strange people here with him.
He reached for the familiar shield of power and malice he reserved for any unfamiliar situation. He reached for it, and- he felt strange. Different. He felt as if he were someone else, all of a sudden. Someone who would love a stiff drink about now and a chance to rest and reach for something he could not - but perhaps would - name.