A Plague Set in Stone

Summary- What if the Potters weren't simply killed by Voldemort? What if he had a weapon worse than death at his disposal? It's Harry's 3rd year and he his boggart is something far more terrifying than a Dementor- it's an Angel. DWxHP. Mid-POA, post 'Angels Take Manhattan'.

Prologue

Goblin-forged chains rattled behind Voldemort as he made his way to Godric's Hollow on All Hallow's Eve. Even though the chains were made of the strongest steel and magically reinforced, he allowed himself a reassuring glance over his shoulder. The Angel still levitated behind him, face hidden in its hands. Lord Voldemort let out a breath that he hadn't realized that he'd been holding- if he were to be entirely honest with himself; he wasn't entirely sure what he would do if the creature escaped.

Assured of his safety, if only for the moment, a nasty smile spread across his once-handsome features- the Potters had escaped their due thrice, he would make sure that they would never be able to do such a thing again.

He finally arrived at the Potter's well-lit house, and spared a look through their window as he made his way to their door…such quiet domesticity…how…quaint. Lord Voldemort rolled his shoulders individually, reveling in their slow pops and cracks- he would enjoy this. Leveling his wand at the door he hissed, "Bombarda."

The door to the Potter home was blasted off of its hinges with such force that it flew down the hall and came to rest in the kitchen. After that, everything went quickly- the child released a high pitched wail whilst James Potter ordered his wife to run. Voldemort cackled- he would revel in a fight, but would, indeed, not mind a chase.

He came through the door, pulling down his hood. With a single wave of his near-skeletal, waxen hand, the Angel that had been trailing him throughout his journey, landed on the floor with a dull thud. James Potter, who had run into the hallway, wand drawn, laughed aloud in spite of himself.

"What's the matter, Tom? No spellwork today? Just going to bludgeon me to death?" he asked, his voice full of false bravado.

Voldemort only allowed that same twisted smile to creep across his hollow face. He replied, "I'm afraid not, Potter. I have something much worse in store for you."

James laughed again, "What-" but he never finished- Voldemort had spelled his eyes shut. Another wave of his hand and the chains fell from the Angel.

And then…Voldemort blinked.

And James Potter was gone.

Before even allowing himself a moment to gloat, he was sure to spell the cuffs back onto the Angel. No need to suffer the same fate as Potter.

He slowly made his way up the stairs of the Potter's cottage, taking the Angel with him. He didn't even need to search for them; he could hear the brat's whining from down the stairs. Voldemort reveled in the ease as he blasted the door open.

Lily Potter had pushed her son's cot into a corner and was standing in front of him, wand outstretched. He could see the tip quivering.

"Stand aside, foolish girl," he hissed. Of course, he would not spare her- none who defied him could be allowed mercy. But he wanted to break her. He wanted this woman to watch her son die by his hand.

"No," she replied, her voice firmer than he had expected.

"Your death is not necessary. Stand aside," his voice was less harsh now- silkier, far more seductive.

"No," she repeated.

"I grow impatient, girl. STAND ASIDE."

She began to shake in earnest now- tears began to fall down her cheeks against her will, "Not Harry," she begged, "Please, not Harry."

"Very well," he replied, "You have made your choice."

With an almost imperceptible jerk of his fingers, the Angel slid forward and with a wave of his hand the chains were on the floor. His bloodshot eyes remained open, unblinking. With another, almost careless, flick of the wrist, Lily's eyes were sealed shut, as were Harry's, and she screamed, begging for the life of her son.

Voldemort was unmoved.

He blinked.

And Lily Potter was gone.

Immediately, he chained the Angel. He moved forward and cast the killing curse on the unseeing child and, then, sealed his own fate. What remained of Lord Voldemort's soul was rent from his body- the resulting explosion collapsed half the Potter house.

Voldemort was no more.

At least, for the time being.

For now, there was simply an inconsolable child lying in a cot, unable to see and sporting a new scar. On the floor next to him, what remained of Lord Voldemort's most powerful weapon lay, now nothing more than bits of marble and some incredibly durable chains.

The weeping Angel itself might be no more, but Harry Potter would never forget the terrifying statue that came with that scary man to his house that day.

And this is where our true story begins…

…

A/N- Review! I rather like this plot despite that rather narrow category.