– – – – – Rebirth Chapter 07 – – – – –

Nearly a decade had passed before the two set foot back in Britain. During their travels abroad the wizard Grindelwald had been defeated in a duel by Albus Dumbledore, and his war to reclaim power over Europe for the Dark wizards had collapsed with his incarceration in the very prison that he had founded. But all of that had seemed a world away to the pair as they traveled and studied magic. Their return to Britain marked the completion of their studies, and the beginning of their primary quest.

Tom had never been one for small plans. As far as he was concerned, the way the magical world of Great Britain was run was an atrocity. A crime punishable by total annihilation. Tom wouldn't be satisfied to work his way into the Ministry and try to fix it's severe deficiencies from the inside out. No, he would only be happy if it was completely destroyed and rebuilt from scratch. Rebuilt in the way he deemed best. Heri was more than willing to follow Tom down whatever path he chose, and eagerly helped his lover in his recruiting efforts. He agreed fully that the way the British Ministry of Magic was run was flawed beyond redemption, and was looking forward to playing a significant role in rebuilding the world of magic that he loved so dearly.

Tom had always been extraordinarily charismatic and persuasive with the masses, so gaining followers was not that difficult. He also understood psychology and had studied revolutions of the past. Pin-pointing what had worked and what had led to failure.

Tom had come to understand that a successful total revolution would need strong leadership (himself and Heri), ideology that featured a scapegoat for the problems of the masses and a utopian retelling of the future, propaganda, terror, and a way to twist the truth around in a way that was able to convince people to think in novel, revolutionary way that defied the rules of simple logic. When he had first explained this one simple summary of his plans to Heri, the wizard had cocked a single brow at Tom and remarked that he made it sound amazingly simple and yet he somehow imagined it would not nearly be so easy a task to accomplish.

Tom, however, was convinced that he could do it. And he had the perfect plan for doing it. He wanted total control, but he needed to get people to support him. His base had always been the Darker wizards of Britain society. Former Slytherins, mostly, but plenty of others as well. Old pure-blood families and believers in the traditions of olde magick.

Finding a scapegoat for them point the finger at was simple and obvious. Muggles and muggleborns. Easy. Hitler's scapegoat in the second world war was the Jewish population. He made Germany believe that the Jews were responsible for everything that ever went wrong in the history of their country. Using terms like "lice" and "subhuman" to describe Jews, Hitler made clear who Germany's enemy was, and the country loved him for it. They eagerly handed over the reigns to him and hardly even put up a fight.

Heri was quick to point out that Hitler was dead but Tom brushed it off, insisting that he would learn from the stupid muggle's mistakes. He would not be so easily defeated.

And so they set to the task of recruiting followers. Tom already had a nice-sized group of wizards who were deeply loyal to him when word first reached his ears that the Defense Against the Dark Arts position was once again available at Hogwarts. It was now 1957 – ten years exactly since he and Heri's graduation from Hogwarts. And ten years since the last time he had applied for the post.

Wasting little time, Tom applied for the position and an interview was arranged. He claimed that he was only doing it so that he had a valid excuse for re-entering the castle. He had wanted to hide one of his horcruxes in the school. Hogwarts had been his first home and as sentimental as it sounded, he liked the idea of a piece of himself always being there. The plan was to hide it inside the Hidden Room – which would be simple since he would have to pass that portion of corridor on the way to the Headmaster's office for his interview.

Heri knew, however, that part of Tom was honestly hoping to get the job. Even with all his grand plans and goals, Tom truly did enjoy teaching. Knowledge was and would always be his one true weakness. After all; knowledge is power.

–

The horcrux that Tom hid in Hogwarts was the Diadem of Ravenclaw. Slipping into the Hidden Room and placing it had been a simple matter, and he had quickly cast several layers of charms that would work as a more powerful version of the notice-me-not charm. He had then left and made it to the headmaster's office right on time.

Dumbledore was now the headmaster of Hogwarts and and the aged wizard made it perfectly clear that he still held no trust for Tom Riddle. He even remarked on Tom's use of an alias and his recent gathering of Dark wizards. The name Voldemort was mentioned.

Tom returned to Heri in an angry huff. Dumbledore hadn't even considered his application for the job, just like he had never even considered Tom's request to stay way from the muggles during the summers, all those many years ago. Dumbledore had simply accused him of having ulterior motives and asked him, rather bluntly, why he was really there. Not that Tom really expected much different from the man, but it still angered him.

– –

Tom and Heri continued to grow a powerful base of wizards with spies in every department of the Ministry imaginable. As the years passed and violence began to escalate people became more and more aware that all-out war was on the horizon.

Tom was in high spirits. His plans were moving along perfectly. His life with Heri was never better. It was January 1966. Tom and Heri had both just turned 40 years old. Fourty years together. Forty years of hardly ever being apart for more than a few months at a time.

That was the month that Heri died.

It was during a raid that would have seemed to be entirely unremarkable at first. Heri and Tom were both there personally, leading a group of their personal fighters known as the Death Eaters, when Albus Dumbledore himself appeared with a group of his own allies.

The battle escalated and Tom began to duel Dumbledore with a tremendous ferocity. It was a duel worthy of the annals of history. Tom had the upper hand for most of it. He was fighting wonderfully. Heri had kept track of his lover out of the corner of his eye as he dueled with two of Dumbledore's allies at once.

He had dealt a swift death to one of them and had just successfully sliced the head off the second with a powerful Dark severing charm when he heard Tom exclaim. He turned to refocus on the duel between Dumbledore and Tom. Heri wasn't sure exactly what had taken place. All he could figure was that Dumbledore had to have been getting desperate to sink to using his enemies tactics. Whatever spell he had cast was dripping with Dark energy and it had Tom suspended a few feet above the ground, unable to move at all.

"This ends now, Tom," Dumbledore's deep voice boomed as he aimed his wand.

Heri saw a mixture of horror and fury in Tom's fiercely glowing red eyes. As Harry heard the words uttered from Dumbledore's mouth that he would have never expected the venerated Light wizard mutter, and saw the sickly green light begin to shoot from the tip of the man's wand, his body seemed to move before he could even signal the command to do so.

He screamed out in horror and all he could think was "Not Tom!" as he flung his body through the air, and intercepted the curse.

The scream of rage that escaped Tom at that moment was powerful enough to decimate whatever spell Dumbledore had been using to restrain him. The massacre that followed would leave no witnesses behind of what had happened that day, save one. Dumbledore himself had barely managed to escape with his own life, but had abandoned all of his comrades to Tom's explosion of anger and grief.

Heri was dead. The love of his life. His grounding force. His sanity. And Dumbledore would pay for taking him away. Tom swore to himself. Dumbledore would pay!

– –

No matter how sure you think you are about whether or not something is going to work, doubts have a way of quickly crawling their way into your mind. And Tom had never had a lot of faith in Heri's chosen method of immortality. The idea that his lover would have to be reborn into a new body and then grow up again was disconcerting on its own, but he wasn't even sure if he believed that would even come to pass.

He continued his war, and the violence only escalated after Heri was killed by Dumbledore's hands. But Tom never stopped looking or waiting for some sign that his Heri had returned. He and Heri had established a code-phrase so that when they saw each other again and Heri was in a new body, Tom could determine that it really was Heri.

One would say 'Non mortem timemus, sed cogitationem mortis', which was a quote from the Roman philosopher Seneca. It meant 'We do not fear death, but the thought of death.'

In response, the other was to say 'Omnia mutantur, nihil interit'; Everything changes, nothing perishes.

Heri had setup a similar deal with the goblins in relation to his vaults. He had instructed the goblins that in the case of his death, his personal accounts should be frozen but not closed. He set up a very specific list of requirements and told them if anyone came by who was able to precisely fulfill all of them, that the vaults should be turned over, in full, to that person. After Heri's death, Tom had, had Heri's wand placed in his personal vault in Gringott's London branch. It had been a terribly difficult thing to do, but was also a sign of his own personal hope. A hope that Heri would be back and some day be able to reclaim his wand.

But the years passed and nothing happened. No one ever came up to Tom and spoke Seneca the Younger's words to him. And no one ever accessed Heri's vault in London. So as to not get devoured by his own hopeless despair Tom put all of his focus into his war. If he couldn't have Heri, he could at least have Britain, and someday – the world.

– – – –

Everything was reddish and warm. Rhythmic wooshing and thumping sounds made up his entire world along with the occasional muffled voice of a woman. His awareness was inconsistent. In and out, his reality would come and go. His connection was still tentative, he realized. For quite a while he truly had no conscious awareness of what he was or what his world was. It was like a dream that he was only partially aware of.

His eyes started to work a bit better. Everything was still red and the world was a blurry mess, but he realized he could see his own hand. He also realized that he had a hand and that he knew what a hand was. He tried to wiggle his fingers, but found he had no conscious control over any of his muscles. His physical brain wasn't wired right yet. Any jerky movements his body made seemed entirely involuntary. The needed connections weren't there to allow him to communicate his needs to his various extremities.

So he was in utero. And he still knew who he was. It had worked. He would have smiled had his unborn infant body been capable of such a thing. As it was, he wondered if he even had lips yet. For that matter...

Crap... did that mean he was going to be a girl, or that his man-parts simply hadn't grown in yet? Oh wait... ah. Yes. There it is. A boy then.

He mentally sighed in relief. He'd been aware of the possibility of being reborn as a female, but it wasn't an idea he had particularly fancied.

He knew that he had to be fairly far along since he had individual fingers and toes, not to mention his man-parts. And his eyes worked. That was probably the biggest sign that he had to be nearing the finish line. Those were all things that happened in the late second and third trimesters. Not to mention the fact that he felt rather cramped.

He wondered what it would feel like to be born, but realized that he actually remembered it from his first life. His soul remembered everything, even the things from before he had destroyed the filter that separated his conscious mind in his physical body from the rest of his soul. So many years ago, when he had undergone all the rituals and performed the necessary necromantic spells to destroy his astral memory filter, he had gained access to the perfect, crystal clear, versions of all of his memories from the moment he was first born. But he had had to consciously intend to access them in his previous life since his physical mind wasn't accustomed to tapping into them.

One of the most interesting confirmations that Heri had made by doing all that, was that his life as Herakles Lucan Valerius really was his soul's first life. The spirits he had talked with in his youth had been right. He had been a new soul. So he hadn't been a necromancer in a past life. His tie to the necromantic arts was entirely based on biological heredity. The Valerius family had produced quite a few necromancers, after all, and it really only made him even more grateful that he'd been born into their family, even though it had meant being raised an orphan.

It had been a little disappointing at first, when he'd first realized that he was a new soul. He had actually hoped to suddenly have access to memories from lives he lived thousands of years ago. To suddenly know what life had been like millenia ago, or to suddenly know how to speak some long dead languages, or know of long-lost magics. But it was probably better this way. He was still himself, entirely. Nothing new or seemingly 'foreign' had been added in.

–

Time passed oddly. His awareness still came and went and he realized that he slept a lot. During that time he determined that his limbs liked to jerk about randomly and entirely of their own volition. He also determined breathing amniotic fluid was very odd, and that hiccups were insanely frustrating.

Birth was... strange. His first breath of actual air to fill his lungs was both an incredible relief, and a tremendous shock. Everything was so bright and so cold!

Put a blanket around me damn it!

And then there was that familiar feminine voice. He was placed directly upon her bare chest and she held him and cooed and cried while a man hovered beside her, smiling and tearing up a bit. The woman had such profoundly red hair. And bright green eyes. She was quite beautiful.

They were speaking but Heri found he had trouble making sense of any of the words. His brain wasn't processing sound right yet. The sounds came in and he heard them, but the wiring just wasn't quite right yet for it to be interpreted in any way that made sense. It was just garbled nonsense.

Another frustration, but he knew this all would just be temporary. Infancy was brief.

He looked up at the woman again and felt engulfed by the sense that he was loved. He had only ever felt loved by Tom, before. No one else had ever loved him and here, these two people instantly and unconditionally loved him even though they didn't even know him yet. At least for now. He would reserve judgment. But things were looking up.

Maybe he would actually be granted a nice childhood this time around. Wouldn't that be nice?

– –

It took about a month before his brain formed the proper wiring for him to finally understand the sounds he heard. His vision still sucked, but all infants had crappy vision. He just hoped it would improve.

By some sort of cosmic insanity, it seemed that his parents had named him Harry. What were the chances? It would certainly simplify things in the long run. Less confusion at least.

– –

Dumbledore. Bloody, fucking Dumbledore was in his home! The goddamned bastard that had killed him was fucking holding him! He screamed and squirmed and fussed and his mother quickly took him away, shushing and cooing at him, trying to calm him down and making apologies, insisting that he was usually such a calm baby. "He hardly ever cries at all. It's so strange," she was saying. "I've never seen him react like this to anyone before..."

Yeah, well, you never let the man who killed me hold me before either. Harry thought bitterly as he continued to scowl angrily at the old man who just looked at him, rather bewildered.

Harry couldn't help but notice that Dumbledore looked a lot older than he had when he had killed Heri. There wasn't even the slightest hint of auburn hair left on the man's head or face, and his beard had gotten a lot longer. It was the first time that Harry really wondered just how long he'd been dead for.

He knew he'd spent longer in the astral plane than he'd intended to, and time seemed to flow differently there than in the physical plane... He really had no idea at all how much time had passed, and couldn't even begin to wager a guess. He hadn't heard anyone say the date yet. He knew it was summer, but of what year – he had no idea. It was the first time that a horrible pit sunk into the bottom of his stomach.

Just how long have I made Tom wait?

– –

Well fuck.

So he'd come to realize that his new last name was Potter the first time that his mother ventured out into town with him in tow, in order to get some groceries. Some woman in the local market had called her Mrs. Potter and Harry had almost choked on his own spit. He had hated Charlus Potter back in school, and realizing that he was now related to the stupid man was less than pleasing. His only consolation was that he was probably a pure-blood in this life.

No such luck. No, his mother was a mudblood. But that wasn't what was really upsetting him now – no, he was fine with that. He'd been a half-blood in his last life and had come to terms with that. What was upsetting him now was the sudden realization that he had been born into a family that was very much on the wrong side of the war.

His parents were members of a group run by Dumbledore. This group was called the Order, or something like that, and they were fighting against a Dark Wizard – who, amusingly enough, none of them seemed willing to speak his name, save Dumbledore himself – and this Dark Wizard's group of fighters that were called Death Eaters.

Fuck...

At least he knew that Tom was still alive and still fighting. That was at least slightly reassuring.

He was nearing the three month old mark and his mother apparently felt the need to attend one of the 'Order's' meetings herself. She had insisted to his father that she was tired of being cooped up in the house all day and that this was her war as much as anyone else's.

Great...

She had considered getting a babysitter, but apparently all of her female friends who she would consider for the job were also members of this Order thing. But since Harry was such a remarkably well behaved baby, she decided to risk it, and just brought him along.

He was passed along the people sitting at the table and various people standing around a large kitchen of some sort. He recognized a few of them as visitors to the house from the past three months. His 'uncles' were there. Mooney, Padfoot, and Wormtail. Ridiculous nicknames that were used around the house. Now, at this meeting, he became aware that 'Padfoot' was a Black. A grizzled man with a few too many scars had called his last name out sharply and Harry had been stunned by the mere concept of a Black being on the Light side of the war. It was dumbfounding. But then freaking Padfoot had responded back. The man was his godfather, as best he could figure. So his godfather was a Black. Interesting, but still confusing. Why was a Black best friends with a Potter?

The meeting progressed and he kept his mouth shut and squirmed as little as humanly possible. Life as an infant was insanely boring and this was by far the most interesting thing he'd experienced yet. Perhaps if he behaved good enough, his parents would continue to take him to these meetings.

If nothing else, he could at least use his time here to learn some valuable information about Dumbledore's operation from the inside.

– –

Something was going on. He could tell his parents were trying to act normal around him, but it was obvious that they were stressed, and worried. Afraid even.

Dumbledore had been visiting a lot lately and there had been talks of going into hiding. Hiding from the Dark Lord. Why? Harry had no idea. It was obvious that his parents were trying to shelter him from their stress and never discussed it when he was in the room.

He knew that his father was an auror, and so was his godfather, Black. They worked together, but this week, his father had officially put in for a leave of absence. He would be staying home with Harry and his mum as a part of this 'going into hiding' business.

It seemed that his family had been specifically targeted for some reason. They seemed convinced that the Dark Lord himself was trying to track them down. Dumbledore even came and helped them cast a Fidelius charm around their home with that stupid balding man, Wormtail, as the secret keeper.

His father and Black had argued about it before hand. Black was supposed to be the secret keeper, but in the end, they had decided that was too obvious so Black became the decoy.

Tensions were high and everyone was on edge. Time seemed to be passing at a snail's pace and it was frustrating.

– –

Harry's first birthday passed with an overdone party and a cake. His dad had even gotten him a toddler-sized toy broom. He was walking and running with an acceptable level of stability now, but he still couldn't get his tongue and mouth to cooperate with his brain and could barely get out anything more complicated than 'No', 'Muh muh,' and 'Hungy'. It was annoyingly limiting, but at least things were progressing. A little bit more time and he was sure he'd finally be able to gain enough control over his vocal abilities to actually communicate again. He was looking forward to that.

Moony and Padfoot were there for the birthday party along with his mum's friend Alice and her son Neville whose birthday was only one day earlier than Harry's, but whose party they had held the weekend prior at Longbottom Manor. He overheard his mum and Alice speaking at one point in whispers and toddled his way over to eavesdrop. He was startled to hear the pair of them talking about... a prophecy? Alice and her husband Frank were going into hiding as well with their son Neville.

Dumbledore didn't think the prophecy was about Neville, but they couldn't be too careful since they didn't know for sure if 'You-Know-Who' would just go after both of them just to be thorough.

Just as things were getting interesting and Harry felt like he was on the brink of finally getting some idea as to what the hell was going on, damn Padfoot came up and snatched him up and flung him in the air and then perched him on his shoulders.

Harry squealed in surprise and Padfoot mistook it for a sign that Harry was enjoying himself and quickly began to run around the room with Harry on his shoulders.

Harry wasn't sure he ever remembered being so bloody frustrated in either of his lives.

– –

Halloween.

"It's him! Lily, take Harry and run!"

It's him? Tom? Tom's here?

What the bloody hell is she doing! Doesn't 'run' usually involve leaving the house, not running up the bloody stairs? Even Harry could feel the anti-apparition and anti-floo wards as they went up. Up the stairs is not going to be an effective escape route!

Harry was placed in his crib where he quickly stood up and clung to the rails, looking towards the door with trepidation. From what he had managed to piece together over the last three months, Dumbledore had overheard some sort of prophecy. This prophecy named a child that, it appeared, was destined to be a threat to the Dark Lord. It also appeared that this child was Harry.

This would be fine and meaningless – since all prophecies are bullshit unless someone believes in them and acts on it – if it weren't for the fact that a Death Eater had also overheard the prophecy and gone straight to Tom.

Harry certainly couldn't blame Tom for coming after him. Tom didn't realize who he was. As far as Tom knew, it was just the child of a Potter. A Light wizard; an Auror; a member of the Order. A child professed in some way to be a threat to him.

It was self preservation. Remove the threat before it becomes a real danger.

Harry felt the spike in the magic in the air, followed by a heavy thump, and knew that his father was probably dead. He heard the creak on the fourth stair from the bottom and knew Tom was drawing near. He watched with a bit of bewildered shock as his mother put her wand away and simply stood there, in front of his crib.

As Tom calmly entered the room Harry was stunned by what he saw. Gone were the man's handsome good looks. The silky black hair, always maintained in a perfect wave. His aristocratic nose and sharp, angular jaw... all of it had been replaced with sickly pale skin that had an almost scale-like quality to it. A flat plane with narrow slits where a nose belonged. Even his eyes had an unreal serpentine quality to them, thought they were still that familiar ruby red.

What had Tom done to himself to cause this? He was filled with a horrible sadness at the sight. It mattered not that he was surely about to die. Harry had come to terms with that fact. He would simply have to try harder this next time to make sure he was reborn almost instantly. He had only wasted about a year and a half with this life. He could recover.

Get reborn again. Go through infancy again. Hopefully in Britain still, but it wouldn't really matter where he was born since he could always find a way to get back to England. He would be gambling again on the gender...

"No, not Harry! Please, not Harry!" his mother pleaded.

"Stand aside you silly girl! I am only here for the boy."

Harry blinked. Was Tom offering his mother a chance to live? How... odd. Why would he do that? She was a muggleborn. Tom hated mudbloods...

"Please! Not my son! Take me! But not Harry!"

The next thing Harry knew, Tom's wand was leveled at his mother, a green light flashed and filled the room, and her lifeless body crumpled to the floor.

He watched her body fall, feeling a surprisingly powerful loss at the sight. She had been so kind. So loving. Even if he fundamentally disagreed with their politics, she had still been his mother, even if only for a short time.

But she had chosen her side in this war. She and James Potter both were fighters in a war, and had become casualties. But that didn't mean it didn't hurt to see them go...

He looked up, meeting Tom's gaze with resignation and calmness. He even sighed. There was no way he could speak the proper words to Tom. He could still barely string three words together, let alone speak a whole phrase in Latin.

Tom seemed unnerved by his behavior because his wand faltered for a moment and he frowned at the fifteen month old baby, standing in the crib, mere feet from him, staring him in the eyes with no fear. Then his serpentine face filled with determination and he once again leveled his wand.

"Avada kedavra!"

The glowing green light shot forward and Harry thought that he was about to die from the same curse, for the second time, but something different happened. The curse struck him in the forehead and he was thrown back in his crib.

It hurt!

Which was extremely strange. It wasn't supposed to hurt! I hadn't hurt last time he'd died, had it? No. There was no pain, just... death.

What was even more odd was that he didn't seem to be dead. And... and Tom was screaming! He wrenched his tear-filled eyes open just long enough to see the green light had somehow rebounded back and... and hit Tom!

No! No! Not him! You're supposed to take me! Not Tom!

The glowing light consumed Tom's entire body and then exploded in a shock wave that seemed to shake the very foundation of the house.

The last thing that Harry saw before he passed out was the billowing shape of Tom's robes as they fell to the floor in an empty heap. His body seemingly having disintegrated to nothing by the magical explosion.

– –

He had slipped in and out of consciousness over the next 24-hours. There had been a healer at one point. Dumbledore standing over him with his wand, frowning deeply. Then he had been given to that giant oaf, Hagrid and had been flown through the air in some sort of charmed motorbike that he recalled belonged to his godfather Sirius Black.

He'd woken again to see Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall, who he knew thanks to the Order meetings, had become a professor at Hogwarts at some point in the last couple decades. They were standing over him and McGonagall seemed to be arguing with Dumbledore. Something about 'worst sort of muggles!' had been said a one point.

Harry's head still hurt like hell and his vision was even worse than usual. He felt so damn tired. He just wanted to sleep, but he was cold and uncomfortable. He seemed to be in a basket of some sort, and wrapped in a blanket. But it was fucking cold out! He was a baby, for Merlin's sake, shouldn't they be taking him inside now, rather than just standing around in the dark arguing in bloody November?

But then Dumbledore bent down and tucked an envelope in the basket with him and smiled down at him, genially.

Merlin, he hated that smile.

And then... wait... where the hell are they going? They can't be serious!

They left!

They left him on a bloody doorstep!

– –