The Boy Who Kind-of Lived
Chapter I: The Case of the Decapitated Baby
Harry Potter was a happy baby. He lived in a nice home with his Mother Lily and his Father James. He was occasionally visited by his three uncles, Sirius, Remus, and Peter, all of whom he loved nearly as much as his mother and father. When Harry was a little over a year old, something would happen that would change his life forever.
Harry, despite being only a bit over a year old, knew something was not quite right with the world. His parents were always taking him along to strange meetings filled with many odd wizard passing hushed whispers among themselves. Many times at night, either James or Lily would leave and return hours later, exhausted and sometimes injured. His undeveloped brain could not understand exactly what was going on, but he knew somehow that it was something bad.
Steadily, things began to get worse. His beloved uncles stopped coming around to visit as often, and the meetings got scarcer until the Potters stopped attending them entirely. In fact, the Potters stopped leaving their cottage in Godric's Hollow at all. His father would sometimes stay awake all night, pacing in the entranceway, and his mother would sometimes burst into tears for no reason at all, prompting the once ever-happy toddler to do the same. A grey pallor settled over the Potter home.
It wasn't to last for long. One night, under cover of darkness, a single wizard slipped through the powerful charm protecting the young family as if it was nothing, and approached the entrance to the home. The man paused at the door, and with a single flick of the wand in his hand, blasted it off of the hinges. As was his wont, James Potter was pacing in the entranceway of the little house, and was killed instantly by the corner of the door smashing into his skull at roughly half the speed of sound. Voldemort, the evil wizard who had just destroyed the door, smiled as he walked inside and noticed what he had inadvertently done.
'Lucky!' he thought, as his dark eyes swept the surroundings for any threats. Finding none on the first floor, he began ascending the stairs, where he was sure he would find the person he had come to kill.
In her son's room, Lily Potter was cradling her young son when she heard a loud crashing sound come from downstairs. She looked upward and closed her eyes as she cradled young Harry to her chest. A small tear rolled down her cheek.
"The time has come, Harry," said Lily, smiling down at her sleeping child. She set Harry in his crib, and began chanting softly in a tongue you or I will never know, as she made intricate movements with her wand. A glow began to suffuse the young mother, making her many times brighter then the few candles illuminating the room. She spoke a final word, and the glow gathered at the tip of her wand before launching itself at her sleeping son, and almost instantly being absorbed into his skin until there was nothing left of the mysterious energy. Harry smiled in his sleep as he felt a sudden loving warmth wash over him, and then fade, but never entirely disappear. Lily smiled sadly as she felt a great emptiness take root within her. She turned to face the doorway to the bedroom, wand held before her. She knew she only had moments to live, and now, had nothing left to live for. A hard expression, tempered by compassion settled across her face. She had fulfilled her purpose in this life.
Expectedly, the door to the room opened. Standing in the doorway was Tom Marvolo Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort.
"Lily Potter nee Evans," spoke the man with dark eyes, "a pleasure to meet you again. Especially under the current circumstance." An almost triumphant smirk adorned his face.
Lily stood firmly in front of her resting son, silent. She glared into the man's eyes with all of the hatred her empty body could muster. "Voldemort," she spat, "I know why you're here, and I will never let you harm my son. Never."
The man in the black robe scoffed. "You don't have much of a choice, mudblood. The only choice I will give you tonight is if you would like to keep your filthy life or to die like so many others. If you step aside now, I will spare your life and take only what I came for." Voldemort's lip twitched as if it wanted to smile, as he mentally chuckled over the horrendous choice he had offered the woman. Knowing the character of the mudblood bitch, she would never allow harm to come to her child while she lived. It was the only reason he had indulged the little request of Severus's.
Lily growled. "Never! You fucking monster! "She attempted to cast a reducto curse at the man in front of her, but instead felt something deep within her snap, and instead fell to the floor. Her eyes rolled up into her head as she died. He last thought was hardly a though at all, but a silent plea to whatever gods existed that her child would live.
Voldemort jumped back a step as Lily collapsed onto the floor, shocked. He composed himself, and silently wondered if the woman had had a stroke or heart attack. 'Perhaps a brain aneurism,' he mused. Shaking his head, he mentally congratulated himself on his good luck tonight. The only two people who might have been a danger to his plans had died, and he hadn't had to even cast a single spell against either of them. Lightly chuckling at the circumstances he swore to tell his inner circle all about it over cocoa after he killed the baby. They would have all share a nice laugh.
Stepping around the corpse of the red haired mudblood, Voldemort walked to the edge of the crib and peered down at the sleeping child within. He had a light smile on his face as he dozed, and appeared to be a completely normal baby. Voldemort once again mentally questioned the prophecy. Truly, he didn't know whether it was true or not, he hadn't taken divination and had in fact never really studied the subject at all. 'Any threat to my power, though,' he thought, 'must be dealt with.' Obviously that fool Albus Dumbledore had put stock in the prophecy to have placed the Potters under the Fidelus, so Voldemort would treat the prophecy as real until proven otherwise.
Grimly, Voldemort looked down upon the infant. He had never killed a baby before, but he imagined it would be pretty much the same as killing anyone else. He took a step back, and aimed the wand at the infant's head, and had nearly cast the killing curse when he had a thought. He lowered his wand for a moment, and decided that he wanted to send a message with the infant's death, the kind of message that a lifeless but mostly intact corpse would fail to convey. He thought for a moment more, then raised his wand, smirking. He first cast a spell on little Harry that did absolutely no harm at all. In fact, it didn't even disturb the infant from his slumber. The next spell he cast, however, did cause the baby to awaken. As the cutting curse impacted the infant's neck, his eyes shot open, and green orbs stared up at the Dark Lord as his head was severed from his body. There was no blood. In less than a second after the cutting curse impacted, a silent killing curse erupted from Voldemort's wand, striking the infant in the forehead.
Several things happened almost simultaneously. The cutting curse cleaved Harry's head from his tiny body, followed by the killing curse impacting his forehead. The curse instantly carved a red skull shaped trench into the skin directly above Harry's right eye. The skull shaped scar a deep crimson color nearly as soon as it was created, and then blasted the majority of the green killing energy back at Voldemort.
The Dark Lord had no time to even begin to understand what had happened, as the modified killing curse struck him dead. He collapsed to the floor as the soul occupying his body was extinguished, and a hole the size of a Jack Russell Terrier was punched through his chest. The curse traveled through Voldemort and destroyed the wall behind him in a shower of wood, paint chips and insulation. The curse continued to travel into the sky, boring a hole through the clouds in the overcast sky, and punching a relatively tiny hole in the ozone layer.
Several witches and wizards across the country of Great Brittan felt the powerful explosion of magic, most of whom were completely bewildered by it. One wizard was not. Albus Dumbledore sat up in his bed, awakened from his sleep by the inordinately powerful spell. He knew intuitively that something had happened to the Potters.
"Fawkes!" he cried. A ball of fire erupted scant inches from the wizard's face, dissipating suddenly to reveal a beautiful red and gold bird. Mentally relaying his command to his familiar, Albus Dumbledore grabbed the Phoenix's tail and as suddenly as it came, the bird was gone taking his master with him.
Dumbledore surveyed the damage to the house from the front garden. An entire side of the top floor was blasted away, exposing the interior of what he knew to be the nursery. A feeling of dread overcame him as he began to fear for young Harry. He knew that there was no chance the other two Potters had survived, not if Voldemort or his forces had made it to the baby's room. Grimly noting the lack of a front door, Dumbledore stepped into the home.
He spotted the corpse of James Potter under the door he was standing on, and stepped off of it quickly in embarrassment.
"James," the old wizard said, pain visible in his expressive blue eyes, "My boy, I'm so sorry." He reached down to close James's eyes, but they stubbornly opened again as soon as he removed his hand. Frowning, the most powerful wizard in Brittan reached down again and pulled the corpse's eyelids shut. They opened back up. Growling, Albus pointed the Elder Wand at his onetime pupil's head and silently cast a spell that glued his eyes shut. Coughing slightly, Albus stood up and climbed the stairs, sure that Lily's last stand would be the nursery.
Looking into the room, the first thing Albus saw was a black cloaked figure on the ground a few feet from the crib. As quickly as he spotted it, he had cast a powerful stunner on the body. Too many times had an Auror or a member of the Order been killed due to a death eater playing possum to take any risk. His safety assured for the moment, the Headmaster of Hogwarts stepped into the baby's room . As the body came into view a tremor went up Albus's spine, nearly causing him to fall to his knees. The body was that of Tom Riddle! He almost shouted in excitement, as he noted the enormous hole in the dead wizard's torso. There was no way to survive a wound like that, even with magic. Albus would have gladly examined the corpse for days to learn it's secrets and to confirm some theories about the man who had risen from a talented yet normal student to a Dark Lord, but his business was not finished.
Albus Dumbledore stood up and approached the Potter child's crib, dreading what he would find. Looking down, his worst fears were confirmed. There lay Harry Potter, his little head severed from his neck, bother pieces of the infant lying still. Albus's closed his eyes as he was overcome with grief. The Headmaster of one of the most prestigious schools of magic in the world broke down in tears at the loss of such an innocent life. Great honking sobs belched from his ancient throat, until he felt he could cry no more. Besides, the giggling was killing the somber mood. Whoever was doing that was being very disrespectful.
'Wait, what?' thought Albus, looking up. His old tired body flew around in a full circle as he tried to discern where the jubilant sound came from. He spotted nothing, and yet the sound continued. He once more peeked down into the crib, at the baby he had first assumed was dead. Little Harry's bright green eyes were wide open this time, and as Albus watched stunned, the boy's disconnected body reached up and began to play with the end of his beard as the head, laying about a foot away from the child's neck, again produced a tinkling laugh.
"What in the fuck?" asked Albus Dumbledore in confusion.
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Chapter II: The Inexplicable Half Inferi Infant
Preview: "Well, when he's ready for school we can be sure that the boy will be the head of his class!" barked Sirius as he collapsed to the floor, tears and hysterical laughter overtaking him.