Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

This is just a oneshot from the random plotbunny I received when I was supposed to be doing schoolwork. Constructive criticism is welcome, as are reviews and such. I've never seen this done before, but if it has been, I didn't mean to steal.

Possible trigger?: Violent scene, Major Character Death

12/14/17~ I forgot how to edit my despicable grammar until just now, and I apologize for that. -Jace

Slaughtered Hope

1981

"You would hail an infant as my vanquisher? Harry Potter survived for my own amusement, and the entire nation jumped to the conclusion that since the boy wasn't dead, I must be? Even I had not suspected just how far the magical community was willing to go to acquire of the illusion of safety," The Dark Lord spat furiously, crimson eyes glinting with malice. "You would dare think me defeated?!" he snarled, grotesque face contorting even further in his rage. The vilest of magics permeated the air, pulsing from the deranged sorcerer who had long ago lost the inner balance necessary to know restraint.

Lord Voldemort cackled maniacally during the month following his 'death' at the hands of a child. He shifted easily between seething fury and malicious joy that so many believed him dead. He, the most powerful wizard in the world, dead? Were they truly so foolish? So naive, to think he would be killed by one man alone? They doubted his power, even after seeing it with their own eyes, and in the lifeless eyes of their fallen loved ones. The Dark Lord was incensed; he would use this opportunity to remind Wizarding Britain once and for all who they answered to.

Lord Voldemort had his agents orchestrate a ministry ball fundraiser to erect a monument in honor of the Potters. As every official and reporter would be in attendance, it was the prime opportunity to take the ministry all at once. As the stage was illuminated for what the crowd assumed was the minister's speech, Lord Voldemort instead materialized from smoke onto the platform. His followers barred the exits, and poised their wands threateningly, prepared to halt any interruption.

Voldemort revealed Harry Potter's sniffling form, formerly concealed behind the smoke. The child was levitated above the crowd, his cries growing louder in fear. "You wanted a martyr, did you not? Why don't we give him the same treatment you so generously gave to my captured followers? A special kiss for the darling Potter child, how precious," he crooned, lipless mouth curling into a revolting mockery of a smirk at the slowly-dawning comprehension on their faces. "Call it," he demanded coldly.

Every liquid in the room froze solid as a foul dark creature descended from the ceiling, where it had been waiting. Potter went dead silent as his infant mind was assaulted with true horror for the first time. Screams of torment were heard from everywhere in the room, and the Dark Lord produced a loud noise from his wand to redirect their attention to the main event.

"Goodbye, Harry Potter," Lord Voldemort announced quietly as the dementor grabbed the boy's tiny throat, and brutally stole the lifeforce of the sobbing child. The baby turned to ash, his form not able to cope without a soul. Screams of panic and terror were heard from every person still conscious.

"Let this be an example to you, for the next time you consider defiance," Lord Voldemort spat towards the assembly. The Death Eaters stunned any still awake, then looked towards their master for instruction.

"Let them awaken in chains, and interrogate the useful ones," he ordered coldly.

Lord Voldemort, leader of Wizarding Britain, threw his head back… and he laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

The End