Supreme, Supreme, Dark Lord!

Quidditch is the national game of wizards.

When life is boring and boring, people yearn for speed and excitement, and this is why there are Borgs on the field──Think about it, when the searcher is about to catch the golden snitch but is shot down by Borgs with one step difference, How unexpected and interesting would that be?

Quidditch played with nervousness, heartbeat, and scheming, but for a wizard who had children on the field as players and was injured, that was another matter.

When Tom was hit by the Borg and fell, Voldemort felt cold all over his body, as if there was a cold current rushing up from his tailbone, clammy, weak, powerless and terrified, he had to be very restrained to endure the urge to get angry on the spot , but even so, he still exposed too much.

With the magic of his eyes he shattered the Borg who was still about to attack Tom.

He used the Levitation Charm without reciting the spell and accurately fixed Tom a few hundred meters away from the stands.

Although he remembered to pick up his wand to cover up after this, Headmaster Dippet and Dumbledore still looked over. Sure enough, was it too eye-catching?

If it was normal, the noble Dark Lord would have a hundred ways to cover up or deal with the past. The time has not yet come, and unnecessary showing off will only increase others' wariness towards him.

But when Tom's body fell limply into his arms, all Voldemort thought of was running to the medical wing, and then he tightened his lips and said a replacement to the voice calling him behind him.

What is more important than the Dark Lord?

Yes, the Dark Lord himself.

Voldemort couldn't tell whether the flame in his chest was from anger or anxiety, just like he knew very rationally that there would be no accidents to the Quidditch students and he had blocked it in time, he just paid attention to Tom, or rather own body?

…Damn it, he hadn't liked the sky and long, thin, stiff brooms before, and Tom's flirting with flying lessons was all right, but a dangerous race like this?How dare he?How dare he?How dare he?

Almost trembling with anger, Voldemort's face turned black, and his feet ran straight to the medical wing. Apparation is forbidden in Hogwarts. He didn't use the power of blood magic to break it, because that method could only teleport him alone. However, Voldemort's running speed is not slow at all, and even if he is holding someone in his arms, he is still well-coordinated and fit...if he can ignore the crazy cough caused by his breathing disorder.

"Cough cough cough..."

"Cough cough...cough cough cough..."

──Hmm...it seems impossible to ignore.

Looking at the expression on Lord Voldemort's face, maybe this noble Demon King should be the one who should lie on the bed first after rushing to the medical wing?

Gossip aside, after a lot of trouble, Voldemort, who was coughing and panting until he was dying, finally sent Tom to the medical wing.

There shouldn’t be any sequelae if he was sent to the hospital in time, he thought, but when he wanted to explain Tom’s condition to Mrs. North, the person in charge of the hospital wing, Mrs. North stopped him before making a fuss: " My God! Professor Lord Voldemort, why is your face so ugly? Come here and lie down!"

"I...cough cough...it's okay...don't worry about Tom...he...cough cough..."

Voldemort coughed so badly that he couldn't even speak, and the dizziness caused by lack of breath made him very weak, but he still shook his head resolutely, refused Mrs. North's support, and then he put Tom on the bed and wanted to say something, But Tom's hand grabbed his neckline, and at the same time, his eyes opened a thin line, and the weak voice sounded like a dying patient: "...Voldy? I...what's wrong...?"

"You...cough cough..." Voldemort wanted to say that you were knocked down by Borg without a head, but the rushing air in the lung cavity usurped his will, and his body went limp. Fortunately, there was still a bedpost to support him, But Mrs. North, who saw this scene from the side, was not satisfied.

Stretching out her hand and crooking, she hugged Voldemort by the neck and legs, placed him on the bed and covered him with the quilt, and then this strong woman rolled up her sleeves and gave a heroic order: "Two patients a day Is it? Very good, I am in charge of my territory, you are not allowed to talk, just lie down obediently!"

...What a rude woman.

Voldemort ignored her and wanted to get up, but the result was that the resistance was futile and he was suppressed, again and again, and finally Mrs. North became impatient, pinched Voldemort's nose and directly poured the water of life and death (one A powerful sleeping pill): "Look at you, you are still so old and still unwilling to settle down? Can't you learn from Ruidou to be a good patient and rest obediently?"

Voldemort couldn't respond to this nagging, because his consciousness was already hazy, and he was still resistant to this kind of potion, blinking his eyes in vain, trying to stay awake, but the result was in vain.

When the heavy eyelids were pressed down, Voldemort saw Tom's eyes, those eyes were black and shiny like never before, they looked indescribable, but they were extremely deep...

-

Voldemort had a dream, a weird dream.

In the dream, he returned to his childhood, where he was loathed and feared by everyone.

He was pressed to kneel, and people pointed and pointed in front of the familiar black and white checkered ground, while the old priest beat his head with a heavy Bible time and time again, and drenched him with ice-cold holy water. through.

People's faces were shrouded in darkness, shadowy, and their faces had long been blurred. In Voldemort's memory, the humiliating treatment and rejection he received became more and more clear.

Yes.

At that time, he was treated as a demon because he was born extraordinary.

Foolish men and women questioned him because of his peculiarities, and regarded him as a snake. If Britain had not passed the middle ages of burning wizards and regarded itself as a gentleman, it might be Voldemort's only thing to be roasted at the stake. ending.

But even so, Voldemort's life never got any better.

After his extraordinary behavior, he was regarded as a demon and was excluded by everyone. Voldemort was placed in the tallest and narrowest attic hut, with no windows to see the outside world. The changes of the seasons and festivals had nothing to do with him. The meal will be delivered to his room, and he is not allowed to come in and out at will.

No matter how good he is, no one will praise him in any way, and those people in the orphanage will only "reflect" him with cold and retreating eyes, accompanied by distaste and prejudice.

Voldemort won't admit it, but it's true that those days made him extreme. He hated laughter, hated the incompetent mother who left him in an orphanage and died, hated those ignorant existences, and even hated all individuals different from him , Those stupid and incompetent human beings are inferior and cowardly, so they don't understand his excellence, so they--

They should not exist in this world!

Voldemort felt a little dizzy in his head, as if being slowly stirred by a hand, his memory unknowingly went back to the orphanage, and this time it was he who was already tall standing at the door, looking at what Tom had expected of him when he was a child He raised his head in snake language: "Are you... are I my father?" 』

──Are you the same kind of person as me?

similar?

Never, never.

There is only one him in this world, and there is also only one himself, one Lord Voldemort.

Human beings are born alone.

The Voldemort in his memory was thinking coldly in his heart, but the damn past was as warm as through a goose yellow filter, that color represented happiness and warmth, but the four corners had a dark blue that gradually spread.

Melancholic and soft.

Perhaps Voldemort hadn't noticed in the past, but when he was with Tom, Tom was always this color in his memory.

...Wait, why does he see the color of his memory?

...stop...you stop for me...

Voldemort yelled in the sea of ​​consciousness, but his trembling hand didn't stop flipping through it. After recalling a few things, Voldemort involuntarily went back, forward, further forward...

Finally, in a bloody darkness, he sneaked into the broken house, and then killed his father in fragments...

──Enough!

Shrinking his mental strength and punching that guy suddenly, Voldemort felt the man's magical hand recede like a tide, and then he "woke up" and sat up violently in the astonishment of Mrs. North.

... The most suspected Tom is in a deep sleep in the clinic, his face is rosy and his breathing is steady. He should have attacked that person, so who is the person who reads his memory...?

Voldemort cast his annoyed eyes on Mrs. North, if it wasn't for this woman's presumptuous assertion...could it be her?

But Mrs. North didn't flinch at all. Not to be outdone, she put her hands on her hips, raised her chest, and raised her chin slightly: "I'm not wrong—and I won't apologize, Professor Lord Voldemort, you should know your own physical condition." .”

...If this woman can take Legilimency on him, then the Dark Lord can change his name, so who is it...?

"...Who came when I fell asleep?" Voldemort frowned as he pressed his painful forehead. Mrs. North seemed a little surprised that he wasn't angry, so she came to press Voldemort to lie down again: "Not much, you Rest is not enough, you should continue to sleep."

"Go away, I don't need it."

"You-"

Seeing that Mrs. North was still pestering her, Voldemort's black eyes turned into red pupils, and the silent "All Petrified" motion fixed Mrs. North.

"What I hate most is that other people make any decisions for me without authorization."

He stared directly at Mrs. North with his bright red pupils like a snake, and his gloomy eyes were filled with magma-like anger. It was because of this troublesome woman that he would recall those annoying past again... Voldemort was very angry in his heart. , but he just gently touched Mrs. North's face, lifted the petrification on her body and said in a soft voice: "I'm leaving, please... take good care of my Tom."

He shook his robes, and stepped out of the bed leisurely. The quilt and pillows on the bed returned to their proper positions after the master left. Then Voldemort turned his head and squinted at Tom, with a twitch on the corner of his calm mouth. A smile that is not a smile.

He walked away steadily with his wand on his hands, and Tom, who had been silent and closed on the bed, opened his eyes after a long time, his ruddy complexion remained the same.

Tom stroked his chin, narrowed his eyes and smiled.