Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, amateur effort not intended to infringe on the rights of JK Rowling, Jack Chick, or any other copyright holder.

Author's Notes: AU. Besides the tangent from Deathly Hallows, in this timeline Voldemort only has six Horcruxes; Harry never was one.

In the darkened house, Lord Voldemort waited. The muggle filth who previously made their home there lay dead on the floor, the youngest now being swallowed by Nagini for her evening meal. He cackled with glee at the thought of Potter's reaction to the scene; the weak, foolish boy would likely be distracted by the sight.

His minions had been dispatched elsewhere, to cause chaos and take out any foolish muggleborns they might encounter. It occurred to him that, despite the genius of his trap, it might still be some time before Potter arrived. He glanced around; there might be something he could distract himself with, until the time came.

Glancing over the bookcases, he scoffed. A muggle home, after all – what would they have to interest him? Then a small comic caught his eye. He did have somewhat fond memories of reading the colourful tales of horror, on the occasions he could get one at the orphanage. And it was about a witch, no less! He picked it up. "'The Poor Little Witch'. Not the standard Hogwarts uniform that a girl that age would be wearing, but not bad."

Settling into a nearby chair that had only minimal bloodstains on it, he began to read. The tale that unfolded was one that felt familiar to him; the days before he discovered his powers, before he could control them, when his smaller size made him a target for bullies, and the one time he tried to tell a teacher he could talk to snakes ended with a lecture on the temptation of Eve and original sin.

The power of control, of knowing you'd had your revenge on those who hurt you through your wonderful abilities . . . he could relate to this girl. She cowered away from the dark arts rather quickly, but to live on in eternal paradise? He would have no need for Horcruxes if that option were available to him. What with the Order of the Phoenix destroying them left and right, a contingency plan couldn't hurt. It was hard to imagine bowing to another master, not since becoming a Dark Lord himself . . . but his own minions were fools, and it would certainly be to his benefit to ally himself with a being whose powers exceeded those of any witch or wizard. And if no weapon used against him would work, what need was there for the Dark Arts to protect him?

Cackling with glee, he recited the incantation printed there, "Lord Jesus, please forgive me and wash me clean. I want you as my lord and personal saviour. I want to serve you."

He felt an inner calm rush over him, and smiled. The sound of an apparition outside the house drew Nagini to sluggishly make her way to greet the attackers, but he felt no fear. He merely stood to greet them, and waited with his wand at his side. He felt a stab of regret as she was killed; it seemed his protection did not extend to his pet. But he would avenge her, after demonstrating to them his power.

The brat and his allies burst into the room, fury on their faces. "You're finished, Riddle! We're going to stop you from hurting anyone ever again!"

He merely smiled and stood there. They had no idea what they were facing, but soon they would see.

"Avada Kedavra!"

He was somewhat confused as the angel came to escort him to the gleaming throne. What happened to 'No weapon that is formed against you will prosper'? Ah, well – eternal glory would be his, in this world if not the last.

When he was set down, he bowed respectfully. "Lord, I have sworn allegiance to you and was killed in my faith. What is the glory that awaits me?"

The voice that responded radiated with power, but a hint of confusion. "TOM RIDDLE. YOU DID PRAY TO ME, BUT YOUR ACTIONS BEFORE . . ."

"I was told that if I repented, then all would be forgiven!"




As the angel escorted him into his temporary residence, he wished he'd checked that stupid tract for fine print.