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Chapter 3 - The Second Discovery

Voldemort, having been into as many of the parallel worlds as possible over the period of the last two days, finally sat down at the dungeon table to ponder on what he had discovered.

Each of the different worlds that he had stepped into through the screens had been different, yet all a variation on his world. For example, he had only ever met Voldemorts through the screens, never anyone else. Mostly he had found himself in a dungeon similar to his, but other times, in a completely different place such as a forest or a derelict house, even, sometimes, in a blank room. And each time the Voldemorts varied in tiny ways. There were those who looked exactly like him, but also others with slight differences. The different ones seemed to have a very dumb and boring character, as if not an active part of the life story going on in their world, and when asked what was going on in the wizarding world, had some very strange answers.

He had found himself on one particular occasion in a very plain room, where everything was in black and white, including the parallel Voldemort. When he had asked what was going on in the wizarding world, his grey double had replied in a monotonous tone that he didn’t really know, but that he had heard rumours that the mudblood Hermione Granger was pregnant, and that Draco Malfoy was the father. Voldemort had been so shocked and disgusted at this news that he had retreated back to his world without saying anything more to his double. The only way Voldemort could explain this behaviour to himself was that it was as if that world had been a book, that that particular double Voldemort as a character in the book had been only present in the background whilst the main plot featured on Granger and Malfoy.

This story theory seemed to be proving the only valid way to describe all of the worlds he had visited. In another world, he had found his double self dead on the ground, and the wizarding world rejoicing over Harry Potter’s defeat of the darkest wizard of all time. The characters present, which included what seemed like all of Hogwarts, the Ministry, and Dumbledore, had been driven into absolute mayhem and shock when he stepped into the scene, still alive and kicking. It would have been tempting to stay and kill them all, but he had his own problems back in his own world to be dealing with, so with a selection of well placed curses shot into the crowd, he had dodged all spells sent at him, and retreated hastily.

Then there had been the world where he was a still a young boy at the orphanage he had grown up in, when he had still gone by the name Tom Riddle. He had stood for a moment staring at the small, handsome and pure version of himself, and for the first time ever actually feeling regret at what he had become. The boy had stared back, not in horror or terror, but with a slightly haunted look. However, that world angered him, bringing back unpleasant memories, so he left there in a hurry too, without bothering to question his younger self.

In fact, thinking about it now, every world he had been into was like a different story based on his life story…or was his based on theirs?

This thought sent a shiver down Voldemort’s spine and he felt even more strongly the presence of someone other than himself influencing his life, his actions, his mere thoughts. Was he not real at all? Was he just a character in somebody’s story, where everything that happens is up to the writer of that story? And if so, which was the real world, and which ones the copies?

The thought that he, Voldemort, was just a fictional character who isn’t in control of his life, and also the possibility that he is only a mere copy of the original character, was deeply disturbing yet somehow reassuring. It would explain the strange feeling he had been having for such a long time now, and also how sometimes, no matter how strongly he thought an action was wrong, he ended up doing it anyway against his will. It would also explain why Harry Potter was getting the better of him all the time. He had no choice but to be the loser, the one defeated in the story. And coming to think of it, in no world that he had been into had he, Voldemort, been the one to be on top. It was always Dumbledore and Potter who were winning. Yes, he must definitely be a fictional character, along with everyone else in this world. And the other worlds he had been into, they were all fiction along with this world.

The moment he realised this, and accepted it no matter how grudgingly, a warm feeling tingled up from his toes to his ears, and suddenly he could see a very thin line in the air, a substance similar to the many screens he had been through, which he had never been aware of before.

Standing up curiously, he found that he could still move around normally, touch things, act as he had done all his life, but this thin line stayed in his vision no matter where he moved to. Concentrating closer on this line, it became clearer and he soon saw that it was a large screen like the screens he had created, but unlike those screens, had only one window, and was everywhere.

With the soul intent and purpose of going through this screen that seemed to be wherever he looked, Voldemort stepped through the slightly thick, shimmering substance…and onto a big black grid like floor, in front of which stretched a strange tiled floor with white letters, numbers and symbols on each black square block.

Feeling incredibly small on the large surface, Voldemort took a brave step forwards across the tiles, which sank down a little way under the pressure of his feet, each time with a slight ‘click’ that sounded loud to his tiny ears, causing him to stop and freeze nervously every now and then.

Eventually reaching the end of the tiles with great relief, he moved carefully onto the next bit of ground, a slippery silver platform, in the middle of which was a black square with what looked like two silver paving stones beneath it. And as he made his way to the edge of this silvery ground, he found himself a large step above what looked like a wooden floor.

Turning around briefly before going any further, to make sure he could see the way back home to his world, his eyes widened in shock. He had come into this world out of a giant white screen that stretched upright in front of him. The screen was filled with lots of black writing, and had a linear blue bar along the bottom.

Turning away from the screen to look to the left and right side of the area he was standing on, he almost gasped in shock. He could see books and pencils more than double the size of him placed on the wooden floor, and HUMUNGOUS bedroom items filling a room that appeared to him to be the size of Hogwarts.

He had just recoiled slightly to take in the shock of finding himself in what must be a giant muggle’s room, when something big loomed towards him and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. He had barely time to let out a squeak and whip out his wand, before realising that he was struggling in the thumb and forefinger of a giant hand, and being held up to the face of an enormous girl.

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