Disclaimer: All of Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling and her publishers, whoever they are. Any reference to any other media series is not meant to be infringement and I make no profit from the following.
This story is a trial what-if about Magic being integral to the soul and is inspired by Moratorium. Also magic is expected to be heavier stuff, similar to the Black Queen series.
This is a rewrite. cuz the slytherin thing is just no.
It was Samhain as He, Lord Voldemort, stalked the streets of the bastardized town of Godric's Hollow. Another year in his domain and still the disgusting Muggles continued to debase the passing of Time and Magic in their gutted traditions that now involved, of all things, costumes of the truly most Majestic and Magical, depraved by their feeble minds. He took delight in subtly threatening a mother and child as they passed, making note to later exact his wrath upon the entire muggle populous.
Normally, he would be leading his followers in a revel as they would indulge in the harvest of the land and the muggles, but not this night. For he had finally received the secret of the Potters' location, given to him by his spy, the worthless rat that it was. Today, he would erase a threat to his greatness, a child prophesied to defeat him. The audacity of such a thing. He was now Immortal, nothing could stand to harm him! And yet it was Severus who had given him the information. Severus was loyal, he understood what he had to gain and lose in his service to Lord Voldemort. And so here he was, looking past the gate towards a cottage whose occupants were preparing to rest. He would ensure this. He laughed coldly to himself as he unlatched the gate and set foot across the wards that designated the boundaries. He felt and heard the panic of the Potter male as he approached the door. With a breath his power forced his will against the entrance, guarded as it was by a number of charms and wards. He felt resistance as Potter attempted to reinforce the magics that guarded his hovel, but he was Lord Voldemort and he would not be denied. With a rush and a snap, he dug at the wards gouging the magic that Potter had employed, crushing the anchors in his exertion. The door was blasted open as he force his way through, feeling the crashing of the magic around him as the defenses popped and fell. He cursed the Potter male for the inconvenience even as the man attempted to rise from the backlash he had suffered, as the woman rushed up the stairs with his target. Potter was a dissenter of his rule and so he felt it quite reasonable that the man should die, if his blood could be a threat. Stepping over the body, he proceeded onwards stopping at what could only be the nursery door, decorated as it was. He tested the defenses and was pleasantly intrigued by the obscurity of the defense used, a configuration that even he had never considered before. Evidently the mudblood girl was truly talented enough to warrant the attention of his talented Potions Master. But even as he attempted to breach it he was rebuffed. He paused. This was blood magic. It was not the kind that He himself had dabbled in, no, but the method-it resembled the enchantments hidden in His castle. This was unexpected. The woman must then be of use. He spoke, to spare he and to convince her to give up the child. The door opened even as the woman whipped around from the child and begged and pleaded of all things. A witch this powerful should never act this weak, but her mind would be useful. So he gave her another chance as he had promised his lieutenant. But she continued to deny him. Finally he saw no point, he could Inferius her and claim her progress then. She died and finally he stood before his fated. He looked upon the child and was struck by the intensity of its eyes and it did not cry but stared back at him. Its eyes were an unbelievable shade of emerald such that he had desired for his colors, they were perfect. He would preserve them later, he mused as he raised his wand and prepared for the final element in truly attaining his immortality. He spoke.
Avada Kedavra.
And he watched as the beam struck the child in the center and watched as it settled, and was shocked as he saw it rise from the child bursting from its forehead even as he sought to do something, his eye widened as the beam approached him, his own magic turned against him, his defenses ineffective and he felt fear, and then the most excruciating pain he had felt in a long while, and then nothing.