Ch. 34. Slip-sliding Away
Harry and his friends were on the staircase to the seventh floor when Scootaloo said, “Well. At least they can’t blame this catastrophe on the Cutie Mark Crusaders!”
“Yeah,” agreed Sweetie Belle. “I don’t know anypony crazy enough to be a Vampire Hunter, anyway.” She shuddered.
Ron sighed heavily. “Do ya think they’re gonna cancel the Quidditch match?”
They all turned and stared at him.
He shrugged. “Well, do you?”
They looked back down the stairs. “I don’t see how they could still have the match,” Ginny said. “Who knows if any of the Quidditch players were injured.”
“Oh, Merlin,” Ron said with a horrified look, “I didn’t think of that! Oliver will be beside himself, if anyone is.”
Hermione huffed and rolled her eyes. “With most of the school confined to their common rooms, I don’t think there would be many spectators at the game, anyway, Ron.”
Ron slowly nodded.
“Look on the bright side,” Harry said, “Now we’ll have another week to practice before the game!”
Ron cheered up at that thought.
The battle in the Great Hall was the main topic of the common room, despite the best efforts of the Prefects. Fortunately, most of the discussions were about what they did to get out of the Great Hall, and dodging the stuff falling from the ceiling. And complaining about who had pushed them or stepped on their toes. There was also much wondering if Goyle had been possessed by a vampire, or acting for some other reason.
Plus, for the older students, there was a lot of commentary on how the Slytherins were always causing trouble for those they considered “below them.” That Malfoy and Crabbe had been attacking their fellow pure-blood Slytherins just threw everything into a tailspin.
Could they have been possessed, too?
Were there three vampires hiding in the school?
Oliver, oblivious once he saw that his team members were all unharmed, was already planning out when he wanted to schedule practice sessions in the coming week. That he would have to work with the Hufflepuff captain on that was a minor consideration — the Hufflepuffs almost never practiced in the early morning.
^-~-^
Tom cursed under his breath at the morning’s events as he walked out of the Leaky Cauldron and into Diagon Alley. The moment that fraud had mentioned possession, Tom knew things were going to go pear-shaped. The man was a better actor than Tom had expected. He had certainly managed to fool Tom into thinking he didn’t suspect anything.
A silencing spell around the three of them in the Great Hall while the fraud pontificated on renfields had given him time to throw together some last-minute plans. It had allowed him to place compulsions on Crabbe and Draco on what to do, based on what he did.
In the best of all worlds, he had hoped to slip through the class undetected, avoiding a confrontation. In which case, the other two would do nothing and he would obliviate them later of what he had instructed. If he had been detected but, but wasn’t trapped under a barrage of curses, he would have needed a distraction to escape the Hall. In the worst case, where he was under attack by more than one professor, the two stooges would send bombardas at the professors, and everyone around them.
As he had half-expected, he had been detected, but only by Lockhart. The fool clearly hadn’t confided in the other professors what he suspected, or what he planned. If he had, Dumbledore would never have left the Hall after breakfast. The other professors casual attitudes, and the matching attitudes of their assistants, had shown they equally were unprepared for anything other than a boring class. Lockhart casting the knock-out jinx had caught them by surprise. But not him. He had been expecting an attack as soon as he stood up from his desk to go onto the stage.
He had had Goyle immediately cast at the professor as powerful a flipendo as the boy could manage. He had wanted to use a bombardo, but that would have instantly killed the wizard. It had been much better to use the knockback-jinx to fling him into the other professors. That had surprised and delayed their response.
His two “friends” had cast bombarda maxima at the ceiling, as he had compulsed them to do if he attacked anyone. The ceiling coming down had been perfect for sowing confusion and terror. Then they had started casting cutting-curses at their classmates. The screaming that caused had drawn attention to them and away from him.
He had had Goyle follow his knock-back jinx with a powerful cutting curse at Potter. Unfortunately, he hadn’t had the time to see how badly he had hurt the boy. Those two spells had almost exhausted Goyle, and the boy had barely had the magic left to cast the smokescreen jinx to cover his escape. No one would find traces of his magic when they examined the Hall, later. He had used the cloud of smoke to escape the Hall through the Professor’s Door.
He had shrunken his trunk this morning, not trusting a “special” class in DADA to be totally innocuous, and had it in his pocket. Goyle’s exhaustion after casting the spells had the benefit of making it easier to control him. His magic was too weak for the normal innate resistance to a possession. It also lowered the resistance of the boy’s soul to his absorption.
A disillusionment charm, cast by Tom, he still had full reserves of his magic, had covered his retrieval of his fidelius-protected diary in the library, and his subsequent escape through the one-eyed witch’s tunnel to Hogsmeade.
Months ago, he had stolen and dis-illusioned a Hogwarts broom. He had stuck it just inside the tunnel, in the corner where the wall met the ceiling. That preparation had made it a quick trip to the Hogsmeade exit in the basement of Honeydukes. However, instead of sneaking into Hogsmeade, he had stayed in the tunnel underneath the shop. He had quickly stripped and used the polyjuice he had blackmailed another student into acquiring for him, just a few weeks ago, when he came up with this impromptu escape route.
This vial had a hair fragment from a random witch he had seen in Diagon Alley. His pursuers would never think he had not only used Polyjuice, but had switched genders, as well. He had transformed his clothes into something more appropriate to his new adult size and sex, then put them on. A few adjustments, and it had become the perfect disguise.
Through one of the basement windows, he had heard the Aurors arriving. They were racing from the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade to Hogwarts. He had grinned widely just before he disapparated, still undetected, from below the basement.
Apparating to, and getting inside, the Goyle House had been a matter of seconds. He had again dis-illusioned himself, the better to accomplish his goals undetected by either his “parents” or any of the portraits in the house.
His luck had held good. Goyle’s mother was off visiting a friend, apparently, and his father had been in his study. Tom had stuck his wand into the room at floor level, and stunned the man.
Getting the vault key had been just as easy as he had thought it would be. It had been in the currently-unlocked centre desk-drawer. He had taken Goyle Senior’s “walking money” money pouch from the wizard’s pocket.
Tom had considered breaking into the house safe. He had decided, instead, that the bank vault would be more lucrative given his limited amount of time before word got out that the Aurors were searching for Goyle.
He had then propped the older man up, carefully, with a weak sticking charm on his chair. After picking up a few other things, he had rennervated him and left while the man was still somewhat disoriented. With the smallest bit of luck, the man would think he had been momentarily distracted and not realize he had been knocked out for a period of time.
Hopefully, the fool wouldn’t look for either his key or his walking money for the next hour or so. Longer than that, and both items would be back in his home-office. He would be most unhappy to learn he had no walking money, but he would probably blame the empty wallet on his wife. It would be only when he used his key to access his vault to replenish his wallet that he would discover he had no galleons, sickles, or knuts. The Goyle family would be in for some hard times in the near future, until their business brought in some more profits.
Unless they had some big bills come in that needed immediate attention. Then they might have to sell something they’d rather keep. On the other hand, Goyle, Senior, hadn’t been caught when the Ministry came looking for Death Eater paraphernalia or other dark items. So maybe he wasn’t as stupid as his son.
But that wasn’t Tom’s problem.
He had frozen the portraits in the floo-room before waking in and closing the door. He had dismissed the dis-illusionment charm, floo-ed to the Leaky Cauldron, and now he was in Diagon Alley. He needed to purchase a second expanded bag, visit Gringotts, and pack as much into his new bag as possible.
He smoothed his hair with one hand, sneered at a nearby hag, and set off down the Alley at a quick, no nonsense pace. He spotted Truckle’s Trunks a few minutes later without difficulty.
Truckle’s Trunks, was a small, dingy, shabby shop from the outside, yet the inside was bigger and brighter than one could expect. There were stacks of trunks everywhere. One wall had a stack from floor to ceiling of standard Hogwarts trunks: black with wooden rails around the edges at the ends and two around the middle. There was one open on the floor on top of a waist high stack. Like his current trunk, the others were about three by two by one foot in size, with a handle at each end.
There were other stacks of three or four on the opposite wall with several stacks in the middle of the room. What differentiated those trunks, though, were the signs. “Double-Closet,” “Three Compartments,” “Two Rooms,” and “Deluxe Apartment,” were up front. A moment later, the shop-clerk came out of the back room.
“Good morning,” he happily proclaimed. “I’m Mister Truckle, the proprietor of this fine establishment.” He grinned at Tom.
Tom frowned at the wizard. He easily had enough for a trunk, but he suspected he would need an expanded trunk. Without preamble, he said, “How much is the two-room, plain, shrinkable trunk?”
He blinked, looked at the trunk, then said, “Forty-nine galleons.”
Tom repressed his sigh. That would take all his galleons in one go. But, then again, he was headed for Gringotts. So . . ., “Forty-one galleons.”
The wizard shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said sadly, “but I couldn’t take anything less than forty-eight galleons.”
They settled on forty-seven galleons, fifteen sickles, and thirteen knuts — and a small, expanded bag.
Once more in the Alley, he cast a notice-me-not spell-variant on himself that he had created decades ago, or only a few years ago, depending on your point of view. He emptied Goyle Senior’s wallet into his new expanded bag. Then he carefully scoured the wallet of any trace of evidence that he had touched it. He portkeyed the now-clueless wallet onto the floor beside the desk in Goyle senior’s office. He would do the same to the Vault key once he was done, returning it to the desk-drawer where he had found it.
The Goyles would never suspect Tom had pillaged their vault, or stolen the galleons in the wizard’s wallet. Only that someone had done it. They would blame the goblins, no doubt. And drive deeper the distrust between the goblins and wizards.
Dismissing the spells, he continued on to Gringotts.
Walking in, he was well aware of the more than normal suspicious looks he was getting. Did they, perchance, have a spell that could detect polyjuice? He wouldn’t put it past the murderous little thieves.
He waited patiently in line. As soon as he reached the counter, he leaned forward and whispered, “I am not who I appear as. I am using Polyjuice to evade my enemies.” He slid the vault-key across the counter to the goblin. “Who are not you,” he added. That that was true only for this visit was beside the point.
The goblin picked up the key, sneering. He examined it carefully, then called, “Hooksword!”
A young goblin came running up.
“Take this . . . customer . . . to this vault.” He handed the key back to Tom.
The goblin turned on his heel, saying, “Follow me,” and set a rapid pace for the back of the bank.
Tom gritted his teeth and kept the sneer off his face. For the moment, he wanted to remain as non-descript as possible for the other customers in the bank. He quickly followed the goblin. Luckily, his longer legs made it easy to catch up.
Minutes later, they were hurtling through the tunnels and caverns at a breakneck speed. The cart rattled and shook as if it were about to fall apart, and unsupported-rails bowed and swayed as the cart shot across bottomless chasms. Tom had to restrain himself from whooping with delight at the experience.
Being an orphan, he had never had the chance to open his own vault. He had had only the stories his associates had told him of the times they had visited their family vaults with their parents. Those stories had ranged from terrifying to exciting to boring, depending on the temperament of the person — and their innate belief in telling the truth. Or lack of such belief.
He decided it was exciting. He resolved to open a vault of his own, in the future. The rides to and from would be an excellent way to reduce his stress levels. He could see himself visiting his vault several times a day, in fact.
Finally, the cart coasted to halt in front of a large metal door. He could see others dotting both sides of the long tunnel they were in.
“Key,” said the goblin in a bored tone as they climbed out of the cart.
The goblin snatched the proffered key from his hand and strode over to the door. He shifted the cover of the keyhole to the side, placed the key inside, and turned it. There was a loud CLACK! He leaned forward and caressed the door with two fingers. The door shimmied a moment, then opened outward with an even louder screech. Green fog wafted from the room inside.
Hooksword stood to one-side and leaned, bored, against the wall.
Tom stepped inside the vault and was not impressed. Or, at least, he tried to pretend he wasn’t impressed. The room was twice the size of the dorm room he shared with the other second-years in Slytherin. He had always dismissed as exaggerations his associates’ stories of the size of the vaults. Especially as he knew how small the storage boxes were at muggle banks.
Three-quarters of the room was filled with stacked furniture, portraits, and heirlooms of dubious quality. Those he dismissed out of hand. In fact, it reminded him most of the Room of Requirement, in that respect, only there were no obviously broken items or school contra-brand.
The other quarter of the room, however, did impress him. There were three stacks — mounds, actually — of stacked coins: galleons, sickles, and knuts. Each mound came almost to his waist. There had to be many thousands of coins. It was much more than he had ever seen in his life.
He took out his new bag and filled it with several hundred galleons. Then he pulled out his shrunken trunk, enlarged it, and opened it. He turned to the door and said, “May I use my wand to gather the coins I need?”
His associates of long ago had insisted that using your wand without express permission was a quick way to losing your vault. The fines were truly breath-taking — they were based on a percentage of the vault’s value, not a set number, and scaled up with each unauthorized spell. It took only a handful of such casting to empty a vault, regardless of the vault’s content’s value.
Hooksword peered around the edge of the door, sneered, and said, “Only that.”
Tom nodded, and promptly cast the spell that would send the remainder of the galleons into his trunk — there was still a rather impressive pile. Then he did the same for the sickles. Both would easily fit in one room. As the coins streamed through the air, he considered what to do with the knuts. They really were beneath his notice. He could take and destroy them . . . but that was petty, really. The Goyle’s were truly quite accommodating with letting him drain their only son of his life. Even if they didn’t know that was what they were contributing to his resurrection.
He decided to benevolent and leave the knuts alone.
As soon as the coins were all in the trunk, he closed it. He took one last look around. There might be more valuables in the vault, but he didn’t want to waste time searching for them. He was under a deadline with the Polyjuice, after all. He shrunk the trunk, then returned to the cart, saying, “I am finished.”
After a second thrilling ride, he returned to the lobby and sought out another clerk. “A hundred galleons made into quid,” he ordered, taking the coins out of his new bag and stacking them on the counter.
His eyebrows rose as the goblin replaced the golden coins with an impressive stack of hundred-pound notes. That was quite a bit more than what he had expected. He slid two bills from the stack. “Exchange these two for tens,” he said.
Satisfied after stowing the funds in his bag, he made his way back into the Alley. It was past midmorning now, and his time as a woman was quickly running out. He took a moment to portkey the vault-key back into the drawer he had fetched it from at the Goyles, then headed for the Leaky Cauldron.
He wished he could see Goyle Senior’s face when he looked into his vault and saw the empty spaces formerly occupied by galleons and sickles.
He quickly covered himself with a notice-me-not and snuck into the wizard’s restroom on the second floor. He carefully locked the door, then stripped out of his clothes and waited out the remainder of the polyjuice. In the meantime, he cast a permanent muggle-aversion charm on his undetectably-expanded bag. He could take it out in public for funds without any of the muggles noticing what he was doing was impossible. Thet wouldn’t notice the bag if he waved it in front of their noses. They would assume he put away or retrieved anything he put in or took out as coming from his pocket — no matter how silly, ridiculous, or absurd that might be.
Magic was a wonderful tool.
Ten minutes later, a dapper-looking man in a top-hat walked out of the restroom and quickly made his way out the Leaky Cauldron’s street door.
Stepping outside the Leaky Cauldron into London was shocking. The city had changed from what he had known. Not the buildings, but everything else. The cars were sleeker, much more colourful, and there were far more of them. The lorries were giant, colourful, painted advertisements for their owners. The streets were cleaner, too. He glanced at the bookstore beside the pub, and had to do a doubletake. Gone were the drab green, brown, and black books he was familiar with. The books on display were more like magazine covers, with bright pictures of people, scenes, and locations. Through the glass, he could see that the inside was just as colourful, brighter, and more welcoming, too. If he hadn’t been on a schedule, he might have gone inside.
The people had changed the most. Many of the girls and women he could see were wearing trousers, like common tramps — and their skirts! They were so short it was positively scandalous. Some were so short they could almost be called extra-wide belts! How did they escape being arrested for indecent exposure?
Not that he didn’t appreciate the view. But to go out like that in public!?
Their hair was similarly disturbing, some with colours that were not natural to either nature or muggles. And the men! Not a hat in sight, and ties were definitely uncommon. He even saw a man wearing shorts!
Muggle society obviously had changed greatly while he slumbered in his diary. He dispelled his hat and tie, then changed the illusion to more closely match what he saw the majority of the men wearing. Luckily, this close to the Leaky Cauldron, the muggle-aversion magic cloaked what he was doing. It also meant the Ministry would ignore any alerts about underaged magic being cast.
An auror seeing him would just assume he was modifying his appearance to blend in, and think no more of the matter. Except maybe to commend him for being so conscious of the Statute of Secrecy.
It took only a bit of searching to locate a taxi. “The Post Office on Bexley High Street, if you please,” he said, sliding into the back seat. The ruffian in the driver’s seat, he wasn’t even wearing a suit, nodded, “At once, sir.” He pulled out into traffic.
While they were driving, Tom took the opportunity to survey what he could see of the city. It had changed, remarkably so. In 1945, the tallest building in London had been St Paul’s Cathedral, and that was only because of the spire on top. Now, he could several building that dwarfed the Cathedral — not with spires, but with occupied floors of offices or flats! He saw at least one that had to be twice as tall as the Cathedral. Any one of those monsters could house every English wizard and witch, with room to spare!
There were far more people, too. At least, the streets seemed busier. There were certainly more vehicles in sight. It would seem that nowadays far more people drove into the city than took the trains.
Finally, they arrived. “That’ll be two quid,” the man said, turning in his seat. Normally, Tom would have obliviated him. However, his host was still under seventeen. As such, any use of magic by him this far from a wizarding enclave would be detected by the underage trace.
The trace was placed on the wizard, not the wand, as many of his colleagues at school had supposed. Idiots.
Being traced was the last thing he wanted at this juncture. He pulled out a ten from his pocket and handed it to the man. While the driver busied himself with getting change, Tom looked around the street. He shouldn’t have too much trouble finding a flat for the night.
He took his change, gave the man a one-quid tip, and started slowly down the pavement. If not for the cars and the way people dressed, the street looked remarkably like any street he had known in London . . . before the blitz had hit. Then, every street had its share of bomb damage marring its appearance.
He passed several eateries before finally stopping at one and ordering two large lunch-sandwiches and two bottles of fizzy drink called coca cola. What a weird idea for a fizzy. However, it was almost lunch time, and he did need something to drink, after all. He ordered two because one would be his dinner. He stopped between two buildings and stowed his meals and drinks inside his bag.
He continued on until he found a hotel. He brought out his trunk, unshrunk it, and carried it into the lobby of the hotel. The clerk behind the counter looked up from whatever he was doing.
Tom smiled as he walked up to the counter. “Do you have a single available for a week?”
The man frowned a moment, and looked at the row of small boxes on the wall behind the counter. He turned back. “You’re in luck, one of the single’s left early this morning and room-service just finished setting it to rights.” He retrieved the key as he stated the weekly and monthly rates, and turned the guest book around for Tom to fill out.
Ten minutes later, Tom was in his room and wolfing down his lunch. A last meal for the condemned, you might call it. Besides, there was no real reason to suffer the pangs of hunger for no reason. Dinner this evening would be his first real meal since he had entered the diary, fifty years ago. It would be interesting to compare his taste buds’ reactions to the food over those of the soon-to-be-late Goyle’s.
While the day had started disastrously, it seemed to have played out well for him in the end. He had made it this far without encountering any trouble. The rest of this afternoon, and possibly evening, he would absorb Gregory’s soul, and finally return to the land of the living. It should only take a few more hours, it wouldn’t be past early evening, even if he took his time. However, there was no need to be cautious, anymore.
In fact, considering what he had heard the ponies mention about their Princess Twilight, he should probably push it as hard as he could. She might know of a magic to trace the boy’s magic or soul. The sooner neither remained, the more secure he would feel.
Might as well get it done with. It would take him a while to get used to having a body, again. He expected that remembering to eat would be the most annoying.
Tom’s new body, basically his old body, but reborn, wouldn’t have the trace on it. Goyle’s wand would work for him, but not well, he knew. He could force it to work for him until he got a new one. He would have to make a trip on a ferry to the continent for that. He would have to brush up on his French and German.
On the plus side, the further he was from the English Ministry, the better.
The diary would be useless when the transfer was complete. He would need to disable its protections before he could destroy it. Which wouldn’t take any longer that it would to dispose of Gregory’s corpse.
Well, at least he had intended to destroy Gregory’s body. Leave no traces had been his plan. After some thinking while walking, though, he had changed his mind. Instead, he would conjure a snake, without venom, and have it bite the boy’s neck in the proper place. Then he would carefully drain most of his blood into a container.
The boy had, after all, freely allowed Tom to possess his body. So, it was freely given blood — a very powerful potion’s ingredient. It would keep for a very long time under a stasis charm.
He would leave just enough blood in the corpse to maintain the fiction that a vampire was responsible — it was impossible to completely drain a body of blood without a special spell, after all. At a certain point, the heart just stopped beating. There was always a little blood leftover all over the inside of the body, as a result. Plus, not leaving any blood would be a clue contrary to the fiction he was trying to build.
When the body was found, the Ministry would conclude that Goyle had been done in by a rogue vampire. The parents would grieve and vow revenge. They would demand the Ministry avenge this wrong. The Ministry would launch into a nationwide hunt, eating up their resources for no profit, searching for someone who didn’t exist. The populace would be terrified that one of them could be next.
The failure of the Ministry to solve the crime would help besmirch their reputation in the eyes of the public. It was all to the good, from his point of view.
Delicious chaos to those damnable pure-bloods. They had thought they were better than him, but his parent soul had obviously shown them the error of their beliefs. He had pushed more families into extinction than even the goblins had managed during their various wars!
All while fooling those simpletons into believing he was a pure-blood himself! Ah, the wonderful irony.
Tomorrow, he would plant the suggestion in the clerk’s mind that he was still here, then he would leave for France. Dover to Dunkirk would be fastest, although Newhaven to Dieppe would be closer to Paris.
The clerk would think he stayed the entire week before leaving. That should throw off any pursuit. He would place a timed muggle-aversion charm on room’s door to keep everyone away until next week, too.
There might be a smell, but they wouldn’t be able to track the source until he had been gone for six days.
The Ministry obliviators would have fun cleaning up this incident.
No one would think Tom was to blame.
^-~-^
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Wow! Great job on Voldemort's exit strategy! You've used old Tom has a calm and cool yet totally despicable villain -- thinking and planning on his toes. And you've shown just how dangerous he is.
Keep up the good work!
Great to see Voldemort’s plans going off. Now will he make it to France? I hope he will be ready for how modern France is.
Interesting. Now, the question becomes, does he get away with it, or did he get done in by Changelings ?
I don't mind seeing the incompetent Fudge lose his reputation - there is not much of it to begin with.
So we do have a competent villain again...who isn't a pony. They say age makes wisdom, but clearly not in Voldemort's case, as Tom has twice proven to be a lot smarter than his adult self. Less need for the dramatic and more practicality. Obviously making multiple horcurxes isn't good for the mind any more than it is for the soul.
Backup Tom must have gotten lucky with his lunch purchase. If he'd handed over, say, three pounds for a £2.89 meal and been grossly shortchanged by receiving 11d instead of a half guinea, a florin, and a penny, it could have gotten ugly.
Man... I hope Goyle is able to be saved. He might be a brat, but he's still just a kid.
This is going to be good. No infrastructure to fall back on, no ready and willing supporters, just our Tom showing why he became so scary in the first place. It's going to be interesting to see what his plan B for immortality will be - he's already acknowledged that he might not be capable of making new horcruxes, and the diary can't save him.
Looking forward to how Elly and her hide react. She has to be kicking herself for ever thinking Lockhart WOULDN'T fuck this up. But how proactive can she afford to be, particularly if this vampire cover story takes hold? She could get ahead of the story and use her hide to alert the British government directly, but that's going to seriously strain her cover story - how does a menial worker supply this much info?
Moldy Voldy really thought this through. This piece of his soul seems more... sane and logical than his older one? I can't remember if it was said in the Canon that making so many Horcruxes made you insane?
nice
That was well done.
10880163
makes sense, if your going by when this fragment was created and given that it was the first. being the first he made means he might not have the fine control of later when hes made a bunch added on to the fact that at a younger age his control wold be worse in general. As well as depending if the splitting part of it is true this is the most complete version of him.
10880163
the Diary was his first Horcrux, so yes; it is quite sane by comparison. Hopefully, the cameras used by the government to monitor the Leaky Cauldron across the street were able to pick up the well-dressed 20th Century gent transforming into a modern day 90's guy and help piece together where exactly Goyle went to save him before he is truly lost. Draco probably would hate to lose one of his boyfriends so soon.
This plan was basically perfect, given what information he could realistically possess... but said info is incomplete.
For instance, the "unnatural hair colors"? Practically all of them are Equestrians, thus not muggles, thus entirely unaffected by the muggle aversion charm. He also has no idea that someone knows he's connected to that incident, beyond merely "possession". And he couldn't even begin to consider the idea that the Equestrians have the common sense that he'd been exploiting the absence of!
10880130
Perhaps the ritual Tom Riddle would use would be interrupted at the right moment: enough for Tom to have his own body again, but not enough to truly kill Goyle; probably enough to leave him mostly comatose and have him be brought to Equestria for a better healing done to him since it was much closer than St. Mungo's at the time.
Would be interesting to have Goyle wake up in Equestria as a pony surrounded by his now ponified mates Crabbe and Draco waiting nearby for one of their herd to come back around again. Perhaps a few friendly jaunts in Ponyville while Goyle recovered enough of his life essence would do them all some measure of good. Show a bit of Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle as individuals rather than as part of a group with Draco and Crabbe showing varying levels of emotional distress because of what had happened to Crabbe and how they would cope because of it.
Perhaps even more, Harry and his herd would sympathize with what the trio is going through having been in a similar boat himself two years ago after Harry stumbled into Equestria half-alive as he was and waking up in a hospital in Ponyville. Irony at its finest if Goyle woke up in the now-renamed Prince Harry Potter Room.
Well. Here's hoping one of the new MI5 'Special Technology' agents will cross his path.
Sheesh, you actually have me feeling pity for Goyle! Then again, the moron apparently allowed himself to be freely possessed. So stupid games, stupid prizes and all that. Loved Tom’s old timey view of modern society, by the way. Little touches like that really give this fic a nice polish. Excellent chapter!
Request: have him succeed
I may be in the minority, but I actually kinda hope he pulls it off and Goyle dies.
Not for any hatred of the character. Just because I've seen so few AU "retelling the plot" fanfics like this that actually have the chutzpa to kill of characters that survived in canon.
Yes he's a kid and it's sad but he's first and foremost a fictional character. And , if I'm being blunt, not one whose survival really mattered in the long run of the plot.
Let the boy die. And let that monkey wrench bounce around in the gears for a bit.
10880219
Honestly, I'm sure a few muggles will have decided "Screw it, the magic horses have colorful hair in human form and no one gives them flak for it, I'm going to dye my hair colorful."
So maybe not all of the colorful hair squad can see through the charms. In fact, with how intelligent this Tom seems to be, if it's very few muggles that have done that he'll put enough pieces together quickly to know that colorful hair = magic. Certainly before he gets caught.
This chapter was a master class in worldbuilding and villain moves.
I can't wait for his genius and despicable plans to be foiled when he runs confidently into the brick wall he couldn't possibly have prepared for; the Equestrians. Already his foolproof contingencies have hit a snag, all those 'muggles' with odd hair colors are most likely ponies. Interesting to see they're so common by the way, someday I'd like to see what the general public thinks of them.
It would also be nice to see the Changelings do their job and take him down themselves. Tom ending up in the hands of the muggle government would be some delicious irony, and would give the British government a major bargaining chip.
All that being said, I wouldn't terribly mind if the part of his plan involving the disposing of his host goes smoothly. Not because I hate Goyle, but because it would be something truly different and unexpected.
Of course, we already know his plot will be foiled, because we know what his plot is. If a character's plan is revealed to the audience, then it WILL go awry.
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Then there is the fact that he is a good fifty years out of date and thus would stick out like a sore thumb, and the Equestrians, who not only have the resources of the muggle governments (which Voldy couldn't possibly know the extent of) but have access to the canon books and while the events in those books are officially off the rails, book six offers a pretty great psychological profile for Voldemort so once they figure out what is going on, they would know exactly what to look for and someone is bound to look at the security footage and notice a guy looking exactly like young Tom Riddle walking out of the same hotel Goyle's body was found in. His getaway plan was great but reliant on assumptions and incomplete information.
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It would also cause Lockheart to actually have consequences for his actions. He caused this by trying to be a glory-hog and not informing anybody in advance.
Well I hope his plans fail quickly. Nice worldbuilding chapter however.
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Agreed. There could be a good chance that older Tom simply is more unstable and arrogant in part due to having so much of his soul split into horcruxes, while young Tom is perhaps one of, if not the biggest parts of Tom's soul around, and with the benefit of knowing his older self failed on top.
Mini skirts were shorter in the 1960s. He also missed hot pants.
I've kept forgetting up until now that this version of Tom Riddle went to Hogwarts in the 40's.
Fowl class villain?
JKust not enough information on current enviroment to avoid discontinuities that can be traced?
Pretty sure that’s an extra word, unless he wants to actually get lots of attention.
We know that there is some sort of connection between the various Horcruxes. I have to think that Voldemort took steps to make sure that he didn't create a clone/rival. but I could be wrong about that. but I am wondering if Pretty in Pink Voldemort might not sense Tom on some level.
Magic users can move quick when they need. Wouldn't it be hilarious if Goyle got saved by Voldy, who is only interested in stopping a rival, or maybe she intends to get rid of her pony body, but due to circumstances she suddenly finds 'herself' a hero, and having to deal with the fact she has no parents she can direct the authorities to. And gets tossed into the Equestrian foster care system. Which is way different than the foster care system that formed her earlier character.
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I was just thinking the same thing. A true revival of young Tom Riddle is very different than the canon and pretty interesting.
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I need to probably reread but when was it established that original Voldemort is a pony? That doesn't sound familiar to me at all lol
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I'm pretty sure that there were people in London, mostly teens, who had hair colors that were definitely not blonde, brown, black, or ginger. Heck, I live in podunk NH and I remember seeing girls and guys walking around with green, red, and blue hair styles.
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Thanks.
10881184
Not in this fanfic. No pony Voldie here.
Things seem to be going almost suspiciously well for this Tom almost as though previously established changes suddenly didn't happen. Then again this whole chapter is from his viewpoint.
Also odd the crusaders haven't even considered Voldemort given one schoolmate was possessed with close ties to Malfoy.
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It's been mentioned in a couple of chapters he used the same ritual as Myrtle which turned him into a pink earth pony filly. Umbridge has been treating her as a pet since then. I doubt she'll play any part in this since they're in a different country and she doesn't know she can use a wand as a pony.
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Actually, not in this Fanfic. Last year only Quirrell was possessed. This year, the diary went for a Hufflepuff, but switched to Goyle. The other horcruxes were all discovered and disposed of.
10881435
Uh, Umbridge is currently in Azkaban for pretending to be a pure-blood in this fic, and I have no idea where you got voldie as a pink earth pony.
10881304
DOH! I keep doing that. Boy, and I was really looking forward to Tom meeting original
10881443
Yeah, but they did watch the movies, right? Thanks to Sunset? Shouldn't they know to already have a trace out on Goyle from the moment he disappeared?
A bit late in reading this chapter, wonder what Volde will think of the technological progress made by mankind in the modern era, like nuclear power, the internet, space travel, jetliners, a few experiments in fusion power should be underway in the early 90s, particle accelrators, etc...
Ooh, I wonder if Voldemort will see one of the news channels showing the launch of one of Britain's new interplanetary spacecraft, that would certainly shatter his silly belief that wizards are superior.
So to get this straight we have a Voldemort that hates with every fever of his being the pure blood ideology
Not the Orochimaru esque goul that gloats for being reborn from pure magic and was truly convinced of blood superiority
And that guy is now free to explore the modern world without that elitist thinking stoping him from using any means necessary to get his goals
After all that went down in Hogwarts and all political stuff that went down between Equestria and Magical Britain can we get chapter of Chancellor Neighsay having a visit to Hogwarts? I mean in order to see if it suits for Equestrian subjects to receive education in. His pro-Equestrian supremacy bigotry in combination with actual competence in regards to education would help rise tension even more, also it would nice to see pureblood supremacists on receiving end of their own BS.
Damn this is one of the most competent voldies I have read. Well done sir. We needed a good antagonist for the story and you have provided.
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10869868
Every disaster at Hogwarts is a learning experience for Twilight’s future Friendship School, showing her what pitfalls to avoid.
Neighsay and the Equestrian Education Association may insist the Friendship School have heavy-duty wards and defensive fortifications under the pretext of NATIONAL SECURITY. Right now, non-ponies (Changelings) are slowly acquiring wands, so the best way for Equestria to maintain magical dominance is to control non-pony access to wizard wand knowledge.
Nieghsay and the EEA may even suggest non-pony students be forced to take magically-binding oaths to limit what knowledge they share with their homeland (Griffonstone, Mount Aris, the Badlands, etc.).
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I would rather have Friendship School not appear in this story. It was already pretty much mockery of MLP:FIM original vision and creative bankruptcy on the part of screenwriters. It fits this story's version of Equestria even less, as this story features mass (genocide scale) casualties in both Canterlot Wedding changeling attack and Tirek's attack, putting aside all other features that make this version of Equestria more gritty and cynical. What can fit this AU is Twilight trying integrate friendship fostering as active part of school programs, in a form of education in emotional intelligence and club activities, as well as other developmental programs. Also, simultaneous , Twilight can create college or program for international student specifically to fostering international friendship on Equus and Earth, similar to Peoples' Friendship University in Soviet Union that was intended to produce qualified intellectual and political elites for Soviet Union Third World allies both ensuring their advancement and affiliation with USSR. This kind institution can realistic reincarnation of School of Friendship. Chancellor Neighsay can be involved in opposing both and I hope he will play greater role in this story, considering it involves Equestrian student studying abroad.
I'd like to note, for the record, we still haven't had a Princess get hurled by a trebuchet yet.
10881447
Mixing up stories again.
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Please! I have only so many monocles to lose!
So, no new chapter today?