(Tom Riddle)
It was well past midnight when the last of the prison wards collapsed.
Azkaban had always been an ugly place. Crude. Brutal. A monument to fear rather than intelligence. Its stones remembered despair, not loyalty. That made it easy to break.
My followers emerged from their cells slowly at first, blinking like creatures dragged from the depths of the sea. Some fell to their knees. Some laughed. Some stared at me with hollow, disbelieving eyes, unable to reconcile the figure before them with the legend they had worshipped for decades.
A few whispered my name.
Others did not believe.
That was expected.
Time erodes faith when all you have are dementors and silence. But belief was easily restored.
I raised my hand, fingers curling slightly, and called upon the marks burned into their flesh.
The response was immediate.
Gasps turned into screams as dark magic flared beneath their skin. Men and women who had faced Aurors without flinching collapsed, clutching their arms, backs arching as pain flooded them with exquisite precision. I did not need to shout. I did not need to threaten.
The Dark Mark answered for me.
When I released them, the silence that followed was reverent.
No one questioned me again.
Portkeys activated one after another, flaring briefly before tearing holes through space. I sent them in groups, carefully spaced, each to the same destination. A nondescript cottage tucked deep within a warded valley, layered in concealments old and new. The Carrow twins would receive them there, explain what little needed explaining, and ensure order was maintained.
They were loyal. Adequately intelligent. Cruel enough to command respect.
That left one matter unfinished.
"Bellatrix," I said.
She was already watching me, eyes alight, breath uneven, devotion practically vibrating off her. She moved to my side instantly, heedless of the others still gathering themselves.
"My Lord," she breathed.
I turned away from the ruined cells and gestured for her to follow.
"There is something I must ask of you," I said calmly. "Something I entrusted to you."
Her smile sharpened.
Good.
I had not known, not for certain, whether the original me had placed a Horcrux in her care. My other self had been… sentimental, at times. Careless with trust. This was my confirmation.
"You hid it well?" I asked.
Bellatrix laughed softly, a sound full of pride. "Perfectly, my Lord. No one has ever suspected. It rests exactly where you commanded."
"And where is that?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.
"In my vault," she said eagerly. "At Gringotts. The cup you gave me. Hufflepuff's relic."
Confirmation settled into place like the final piece of a puzzle.
Excellent.
I handed her a wand, still faintly warm. Taken from one of the guards who would never need it again.
"You will use this," I said. "And you will disguise yourself."
"At once," she replied.
With practiced ease, Bellatrix transfigured her prison rags. The filthy grey fabric flowed and reshaped beneath her fingers, darkening into layered black robes. A hood rose to obscure her face, shadows swallowing her features until she was little more than a silhouette.
Unrecognisable.
We did not linger.
Gringotts received us without comment.
The goblins noticed everything and cared about nothing that was not their concern. Escaped prisoner. Dark wizard. None of it mattered as long as the rules of their domain were followed.
Gold was gold.
Vaults opened.
The cup gleamed dully in the torchlight, heavy with old magic and older arrogance. I took it myself, feeling the familiar hum beneath its surface. Alongside it, I claimed a considerable sum of gold. Wealth was useful. Fear even more so.
Then we were gone.
When I returned to the cottage, they were already waiting.
Every last one of them.
I conjured a raised platform with a flick of my wrist, stone rising smoothly from the ground. I stepped onto it, ensuring they would have to look up at me. Submission was as much posture as it was magic.
"My followers," I said, voice carrying effortlessly through the room.
Silence fell instantly.
"I welcome those newly freed," I continued, "and I commend those whose loyalty endured despite Azkaban's cruelty. Your faith has not gone unnoticed."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
"Those who stood by me will be rewarded," I said softly. "In time."
Then someone spoke.
A mistake.
"How do we know?" a man demanded. "How do we know you are truly him?"
The audacity was almost impressive.
I raised an eyebrow. "Was the Dark Mark not proof enough?"
The man swallowed but pressed on. "It could be a trick. We followed because you freed us. But now we are free, we could go our own way."
Before I could respond…
"Crucio!"
Bellatrix's voice rang out like music.
The man collapsed instantly, screams tearing from his throat as pain consumed him. She advanced on him with a smile of pure delight, wand steady, spell unrelenting.
"You dare question our Lord?" she hissed. "In front of me?"
Her voice trembled with fervor. "Who gave you the guts?"
She did not hesitate.
She did not soften.
She did not care that the man writhing beneath her spell was Rodolphus Lestrange.
If anything, the fact it was her husband only seemed to deepen her enjoyment.
After half a minute, I lifted a hand.
"That is enough, Bellatrix."
She obeyed instantly, stepping back, breathless.
Rodolphus lay on the floor, twitching, sobbing, barely coherent.
I looked down at him.
"I believe you understand your mistake," I said mildly. "Do you?"
"Yes-yes, my Lord," he gasped, nodding frantically. "I won't question you again. It was foolish."
His younger brother hauled him to his feet.
"See that you do not," I said.
Then I smiled.
"A feast has been prepared," I announced. "Tonight, we celebrate your freedom."
The response was thunderous.
Cheers echoed through the cottage, hungry, desperate, joyful. They had not eaten properly in years. Hope tasted almost as sweet as fear.
As they followed the Carrow twins toward the long tables, I held the cup in my hands and felt its magic pulse in recognition.
Everything was falling into place.
The war had begun.
And this time…
I would not lose.
…