The new, improved, revised, expanded, abridged, amended, appended and groovier Harry Potter (v1.01)
Chapter 1. Who's afraid of the big, bad Voldemort?
The rain was coming down in torrents now, streaking the night with glistening droplets. Lightning illuminated rooftops and trees in brief flashes, although the figure braving the streets had no need for it; he had his own torch, which cast an eerily greenish light on the dark streets. The electric streetlights had long since gone off, the storm surge blowing the grid for miles around. The figure paused for a second and smelt the air, his flat nostrils flaring. "They're not there," he murmured to himself "not to bother, the kid's there, and another." He sniffed at the air again, and an evil twist lifted the corners of his lips. On another face, it may have resembled a smile, or at least something similar, but this face was incapable of any such thing. A forked tongue shot out of his mouth and licked thin lips which remained as dry as before. "Sirius Black, you filthy Blood Traitor, just like your brother. Don't worry; you'll be joining him soon."
The door exploded with hardly a sound; one moment it was there, holding back both the rain and any intruders, the next, a thousand flying splinters were the only memory of what had been. The figure stepped over the threshold unchallenged, to his great consternation. He made his way towards the scent of his prey, up the stairs and left. Still, he remained unchallenged. Black was a coward; a fool, a Blood Traitor and a coward. And he was going to die. He threw the door open and saw a man in his early twenties leaning back in an armchair regarding him with slight amusement. A boy, no more than a year and a half old, was skimming around on a toy broomstick, about a foot off the floor; he did not pay any special attention to either of them. The man in the chair looked at the intruder and chuckled. "I was wondering when you'd show your ugly face, Riddle."
The figure called Riddle raised a hand, which clutched a wand in spiderish embrace. "Never taint me with that Muggle's name." he spat "I am Lord Voldemort! I am the Dark Lord! Now, prepare to d…"
"Expeliarmus!" Shouted Black, whipping out his own wand, and Voldemort's wand flew from his hand. Black jumped out of his chair and caught it with a deft flick of his wrist. "Did you really think that I was that stupid, Riddle? Did you think that James and Lily Potter, head boy and girl at Hogwarts, were that stupid? Did you think that Albus Dumbledore, Order of Merlin (first class), Supreme Mugwump of the Wizengamot, etc. doodah, was that stupid? Everyone knew that Pettigrew had been feeding you information, and we've been waiting for you for months. I've been waiting at least three hours tonight." He studied Voldemort's wand and then, with great deliberation, he snapped it in half.
Voldemort watched, emotionless. He'd been right, Black was a fool. Anyone who knew anything about wandlore knew that all a wand did was to act as conduit via which the wizard's own internal power could be properly directed. With enough practice and concentration, one could do it with one's own hand, or foot, or even nose, though the latter was impractical – you could only point down at your own feet. It was a good party trick, though, not that Voldemort went to many parties – he wasn't really the partying sort. That impetuous imbecile Black was speaking again.
"You want to kill the kid? Go ahead, be my guest."
Voldemort, hand still raised, turned towards the child. "It would be my sincere pleasure, and I'll deal with you after."
He laughed, a high-pitched cackle which chilled Black to the very bones, pointed at the boy on the broom and whispered "Avada Kedavra." A flash of green light burst from his finger and hit the child on forehead. The boy blinked as the light channelled itself into his forehead, and then nothing happened. Voldemort stared from the boy to his hand and back again. Suddenly, the light burst back out of the boy's forehead like a lightning flash and struck Voldemort square in the chest, lifting him off his feet, and throwing him against the wall. He collapsed to the ground, lifeless. Sirius Black walked over to his inert body and kicked it in the groin. "I think he might just be dead" he said to himself, as Voldemort's body started to disintegrate, mingling with the dust in the air. He walked back to his armchair and sat down with a dull thud. The Potter kid skidded towards him, handling the broom like a racing car. He put out his hand and ruffled the boy's already messy hair. Beneath it, in the centre of the forehead, glowing like the midday sun, was a scar, shaped like a lightning bolt and pulsing. "Well, well, not only a talented flyer then, are we, young Harry? Eh? Were gonna have to keep an eye on you, you little rascal."
Harry looked up at him, and, with deep sincerity, stuck out his tongue.