What makes a wizard 'dark' . . . Was it the magic that they use? Was it their intentions? Was it what they see as a necessity for a better result of their plan? Was it their sacrifices?
Tom Marvolo Riddle sat in front of fireplace gazing at the warm glow of the flames. "What makes a wizard 'dark' . . ." he asked the fire in parseltongue. Not that it would ever answer him, but it helped a little. With a sigh of defeat, he closed his blue eyes and leaned back.
Five Years Ago
A dark figure walked across the seemingly peaceful front lawn of the Potter's residence with only one intention. Murder. He was there to murder the boy that was prophesied to defeat him. The one with the power to vanquish his plans . . . The boy with the power to kill him.
There were screams that ripped through the night. There was death. Ah, but that was why he was there. Voldemort sneered at the fallen body of James Potter as he stepped over his corpse. Heading up the stairs, he followed the wailing of the babe and turned a deaf ear to the pleading woman as he killed her as well. He scowled as he found it rather easy . . . disgustingly easy. All they ever did was fear him—it rids their brains of rational action—makes them WEAK. His attention snapped up when he heard a muffled cooing under the baby's cradle. Waving his wand, the noise immediately stopped as a baby was levitated out from the under the cradle. Big green eyes stared at him with awe and wonder. He lifted his wand and pointed it to the babe's face. "Farewell, Harry Potter . . ."
He stared; the baby gurgled as it had lost its interest on him and found its feet rather delicious. He stared for a very long time, until he realized that he hadn't cast any spell on the tiny being floating in front of him. He sucked in a deep lungful before re-pointing his wand to the child's face. "I will kill you . . . I need to kill you—surely you understand." The baby, Harry, made a curious face before letting go of his feet and grabbing hold of Voldemort's wand. Shaking, he was shaking and he didn't even know why. He was by no means frightened of the child, no. It was something else telling him to stop. He stared at the child for a very long time before he blinked and pulled his wand back. He snarled nastily as he pointed it instead at the cradle and yelled a violent 'incedio'.
Present Time
The whole wizarding world had mourned the death of the Potters then. Unbeknownst to them that one was spared. Tom's eyes snapped open as the room was filled with the sound of small pitiful coughing. "Daddy?" Tom stood from his chair by the fire and made his way to the king-sized bed. "Yes, love?" a gentle voice so unfamiliar to him answered the silent plea. "I don't feel so good."
There was the sound of rustling sheets and more of them little harsh coughing before a gentle 'shushing' sound was heard. On the bed lay the Dark Lord cradling a child to his chest as a hand rubbed soothing circles on the small being's back. "You have a flu, child." He whispered tenderly as he felt Harry's fevered forehead come in contact with the skin of his collar. "I did tell you not to play in the rain, now look what you got yourself into."
"I'm sorry, Daddy." There was another hushing noise as Tom kissed the child's temple. "Sleep now, Harry. You need it to get well." The Dark Lord felt a nod on his chest. "Good night, Daddy."
"Good night, Harry . . ."
Tom Marvolo Riddle sighed as he wrapped his son in his arms. "What makes a wizard 'dark' . . ." he mumbled on the child's black hair. "It's when they forget their hugs." Tom blinked in start when he realized that the voice came from the supposedly sleeping child. "What was that, love?"
Green eyes blinked blearily at him accompanied by a soft drowsy smile. "A wizard—" the babe yawned tiredly. "A wizard goes dark when people forget to give them hugs . . . Right, Daddy?"
Blue eyes stared at Harry's face as he slowly lost consciousness. "Hugs . . ." he whispered, not wanting to wake his son. He closed his eyes, smiling as he held his baby to sleep.
"I'm glad I have you then."
~Fin