Supreme, Supreme, Dark Lord!

What is the feeling of the soul being flogged after the wounds are added to the flaws that already exist?

…Actually, the unexpected pain was not as painful as imagined. Voldemort only felt his consciousness was dim and chaotic, like ice floes floating on the turbulent ocean currents. It looked complete on the outside, but it was actually fragmented, and there was a creaking whine with every squeeze. , and then slowly sank as the body shattered and lost buoyancy.

Icy.

It was Voldemort's first feeling when he was wounded, but as the disintegrating pain spread from his limbs, the black sea beneath him seemed to become warmer, softer and more comfortable, and as he sank into it, he also seemed to unconsciously think about it. The temperature of deep sleep... yes... like amniotic fluid...

Facing the one above, he opened his eyes.

The sky I saw was claustrophobic black.

The dull color is like the Muggle theater I have been to before, and it is so dark at the beginning of the movie, when there is no sound.

Voldemort was thinking drowsily, he wanted to concentrate, but his consciousness was still hazy, and he seemed to see some fragments flashing in the dark sky above, but those fragments were like a meteor shower, complicated and disappeared really Too fast, it just fell from the east to the west in the blink of an eye, and then fell into the deep sea, broke apart and ran, and a few seemed to be fleeing in the direction of Voldemort.

Voldemort unconsciously stretched out his hand to try to catch it, and he actually got a few pieces of silver remnant stars... He saw a pair of big grass green eyes──Lightning Scar, the one who was locked in a closet and pulled spiders out of socks who is the boy

And who was that boy in the gray and shabby clothes who rode on top of a child and fought like a Muggle?

Walking through the trees, the scales on the abdomen rubbed against the grass, soft... wet and itchy... imprint... loneliness... the split diary... the Elder Wand──stop!

Voldemort almost exhausted all his mental strength to get out of the vortex that was melting him in his head, but he felt that the warm touch on his body did not disappear.

It was hot like magma, and penetrated deeply into every cell of him at a rapid speed. Although his body was obviously not injured, Voldemort still suppressed the place and moaned. It's a mess.

He is Harry Potter?Is he Tom Radou?He is Nagini?No... these are not him, he remembers that he is...

"...Tom..."

-

It was a zenith with beautiful planks.

The bright gold that diffused into light and shadow on the top made him a little stunned, and then he realized that he seemed to be looking at the chandelier on the ceiling... This place, is it the feeling that he has seen it somewhere before...?

Voldemort blinked, only to feel a sudden lightness on his shoulders, leaving an afterimage of the bright red tail feathers in his eyes, he blinked again, a fiery hand stretched out to hold his palm, and at the same time Hearing that old voice that called that name seemed to say something again.

But the voice seemed to come from far away, and he couldn't even hear the words clearly. Voldemort wanted to look in the direction of the voice, but a big face approached blocked his sight and the light above.

Voldemort frowned, because of the hindrance, maybe also because the other party was too close to him and his outline was hazy, and the too long bangs made his face tickle?

The hot air blowing on his face made him a little itchy, Voldemort collected himself, and then realized that this face was too familiar.

The dizzy memory came back from this moment, Voldemort shook Tom's hand back, sat up on the bed with his strength, then squinted at Tom when Tom was laying a pillow on his waist and said, "Tom...isn't hurt? "

The hoarse voice was no longer deep and elegant as it used to be, it was rough and broken, as if several notes were missed, or several stones were stuck in his mouth when he spoke. Voldemort frowned, but Tom didn't answer, but just clenched his hands silently. Fist, the hands that are already slightly adult bone are tangled on the white sheet of the medical wing, which looks surprisingly graceful.

Voldemort frowned and wanted to ask again, but at this moment, an old man with a long beard over his waist, wearing half-moon eyes, and a magic robe full of brilliant stars walked over. He stroked his beard, and his sky-blue eyes seemed to hold the sky. Unpredictable: "Are you all right, Mr. Lord Voldemort."

The golden red that had flitted before landed on Dumbledore's shoulder. The old professor still looked amiable, but his brows seemed to be furrowed, "Including Mr. Malfoy, who was stared at by the basilisk, under your protection, my child We were all successfully rescued, Mr. Lord Voldemort, thank you for arriving in time, otherwise something big will happen to Hogwarts..."

Dumbledore bent down and bowed, as if he meant it sincerely, and his phoenix ambassador also flew to Voldemort's bed and stared at Voldemort with his head tilted. Voldemort felt that the situation in front of him was really awkward, so he turned his gaze away, not To see Dumbledore staring at that phoenix...

──Damn flat-haired bastard, take your master whose head is caught by the door panel and stay away from me!

Voldemort was sure that he had already sent such a message to the red bird with his eyes, but the phoenix came over, dragged its long tail feathers and stepped on the bed like a big walk, and then gently pecked at him like it was affectionate. the back of the hand.

Voldemort immediately withdrew his hand, but Dumbledore stroked his beard and smiled: "My Buddhist envoy also seems to like you very much, Mr. Lord Voldemort, it seems that both of you father and son are rarely recognized by the Phoenix..."

"...Who told you that he is my son?" Withdrew his hand under the quilt, Voldemort's expression was so gloomy that water dripped out, he ignored the flat-haired bird, and just casually glanced at Tom's belly, The skin there is smooth and soft, and it doesn't look like it was injured at all. Was it also healed by that stupid bird?

Voldemort's tightly knit eyebrows seemed to loosen unconsciously, but Dumbledore's next words made Voldemort's brows furrow even tighter.

The red color of the beard has faded from the root, and the professor of transfiguration who will be even older in the future bent down, said in a low voice, staring intently into Voldemort's eyes: "Mr. Lord Voldemort, although this request seems presumptuous, but... …Can you hand Tom over to me?"

"...pardon?"

The author has something to say:

The Seven Deadly Sins of the British Language:

NO.1: Neversay "parden."

A British female best-selling author even believes that the word "parden" is worse than "fxxk". The use of "parden" by lower-class people in an attempt to improve their status is particularly harsh and ridiculous to the ears of the upper-middle class who consider themselves aristocrats.

In the same semantics, the middle and upper classes tend to use "sorry." or "what.", but the "t" sound in "what." must be pronounced, because people in the lower class often pronounce it as "wha." British aristocrats have very sharp ears.