Halloween of 1981 seemed the same as any other night. Pumpkins glowed ominously in the Winter night, and children laughed and giggled as they went trick or treating, their bulging bags filled to bursting with sweets and chocolate. To them, the house of James and Lily Potter might as well have been on another continent for all of the attention they took to it, and the struggle going on inside.
'Lily, get Harry and run!' A young man with round glasses shouted up the stairs after his wife, his body tensed as if he was going to fly at the hooded figure in his doorway, as tendrils of darkness slithered from it across the hallway, smothering the light that once filled it. 'I'll hold him off!' At this, the tendrils shook and retreated slightly, as if laughing in amusement at his defiance. From the centre of the darkness, a single sickly green orb shot out, glowing with an eerie light as it sped towards the young man that was its target, his eyes widening as the light of the curse reflected off of his eyes. A second later and it was over. James Potter was no more, his body being blasted into the far wall with a loud crash. Sparing the body a look of contempt, the hooded figure slowly moved into the house, like a predator playing with its prey. Following the sobs he heard, he glided up the stairs, his feet barely touching the steps. As he turned the knob of the door closest to him, he stopped briefly at the sound of heavy objects being moved inside and the pants of the mudblood as she desperately tried to defend herself and her feeble son. Feeling the irritation growing inside of him, he turned his wand against it, blowing it off of its hinges and onto the floor with a deafening boom, crushing whatever pathetic resistance the mudblood had put against it. Turning his crimson eyes to the cot, he regarded the woman in front of it with cold contempt.
'Stand aside, girl,' the shadow commanded, his voice high and as cold as stone. 'This does not concern you.'
'Please, please not Harry,' the young mudblood sobbed, tears flowing down her pale cheeks as she spread her arms wide, as if she could protect the boy with her body.
'I am warning you, girl. Stand aside,' the shadow began to lift his wand, irritation causing the tendrils of darkness that spread out around him to lash out, smashing windows, toys; everything it could reach.
'Please, take me instead!' The girl screamed, refusing to move even as she flinched at the display of power. It might have been a touching sight - that is, if Lord Voldemort had a heart. Tired of the futile resistance, he hissed the words for the killing curse, the curse lighting up the room with a flash of green as it collided with the girl, her emerald eyes darkening as death clutched her in its cold embrace, pulling her into the void that awaited. With a vicious flick of his wrist, the body was sent flying to the far war, the soul that once occupied it past his ability to hurt. He knew Snape would be disappointed, but what would it matter? He was a servant of the Dark Lord, women would fall at his feet if he so wished it. This one was just a filthy little mudblood, after all. Barely sparing the corpse a second glance, the malevolent figure moved towards the cot, staring down at the boy that occupied it, a sick feeling of excitement filling his body. With a casual flick of the wrist, he lifted the boy to his level, watching him like a lion about to go for the kill. Smiling wickedly, he looked at the child, its emerald green eyes showing so sign of fear as it smiled innocently at him. Hissing in annoyance at the lack of fear he sensed, he pressed his wand against the boy's head, his blood red eyes widening in surprise when the boy didn't just smile but laughed, as if Lord Voldemort was some kind of joke. Opening his mouth to utter the words that would ensure his victory over Dumbledore and his order of weak-willed servants, he hesitated. Frustrated by this, he mentally cursed himself. 'He's just a boy,' he said to himself, growling in anger at his own weakness, sure that the boy must be tricking him somehow.
Casting his senses towards the boy, they confirmed what he thought; he could not hurt the boy! With a scream of fury, the tendrils went into a frenzy, sending the contents of the room flying. Looking back and forth between the boy and the woman, he slowly realised how it had happened. It was old magic, very old, dating back to the age of Merlin himself. Calming himself slightly, he dropped the boy back into the cot, where it smiled up at him trustingly. Regarding it with disgust, he mused over what he could do. Asking his servants to kill the boy for him was out of the question; that honour would be his and his alone. If he couldn't kill the boy, then neither could anyone else. As he contemplated what to do, he realised the danger that the boy posed; a child that was immune to his power? Dumbledore would undoubtedly use him as a weapon against him. Unless...
Turning back to the boy, he cast his senses out again, past the ward against him that made his skin crawl. Yes, the boy was certainly powerful, and only three people in existence knew of the prophecy. Smiling cruelly as a scheme came to his mind, he reached in and picked up the boy, resting him in the crook of his arm. He looked around, knowing that he'd have to fool Dumbledore into believing that the Potter boy was dead. Placing his wand against the boy's arm, he cut a deep cut into it, causing the boy to cry out in pain, stopping as soon as Voldemort healed the cut, leaving the skin smooth and white once more. Gathering the blood, he duplicated it, decorating the cot, the walls, and even the ceiling in the coppery liquid. Smiling at his handiwork, he could sense the approach of an immensely powerful presence. Knowing he couldn't risk a battle where the boy could hinder him, he apparated, escaping the room just as an elderly wizard entered the room, his long beard as white as snow, standing in stark contrast to the gruesome contents of the room. Walking briskly to the cot, his eyes widened in shock. It can't be! Casting a diagnosis spell at the bloody remains of young Harry Potter, he rested his face in his hands as it confirmed what he had already suspected; Harry Potter was dead. Looking across at Lily's still warm corpse, he knelt down next to her, gently closing her eyes.
'I'm truly sorry, my dear. I thought that by sacrificing you, the rest of the world may survive,' Dumbledore lamented, knowing that that only the dead could hear what he now confessed. 'Just know that Voldemort will suffer for this,' he continued, his eyes darkening in anger as he mentioned the self-proclaimed dark lord's name. Hearing a wail of grief from downstairs, he adopted the stance of a grieving man, moving towards the stairs to greet Hagrid as he entered.
A split second later, Voldemort arrived at Riddle Manor, startling a Lucius Malfoy who had been sitting in one of the chairs drinking a glass of rich red wine. Dressed in armoured black robes, his mask lying nearby so his exhaustion was clear to see. Lucius looked more like a resting warrior than an aristocrat. It shouldn't be surprising; he'd already been involved in three attacks this week, most recently on the Longbottoms. A pity that they'd been driven off before they'd gotten to the child, but no matter; he and Bellatrix had had their fun with the parents.
'My Lord!' He exclaimed, scrambling to his feet. Glancing at one of his oldest supporters, he reached into his cloak and pulled out the boy, covered in blankets to keep him warm in the icy manor's air.
'Take this to one of the rooms,' Voldemort commanded, carefully placing the bundle of blankets in his follower's hands. 'Be very careful with it.'
'Of-Of course, my Lord,' Lucius replied, knowing better than to ask questions. Bowing as he left his master's presence, Lucius moved towards one of the rooms, and as he did so one of the blankets came loose, revealing the contents inside. As Lucius looked down, he did a double take when he saw the little dark haired face beaming up at him, its emerald green eyes full of innocence. Putting his questions aside for now, he transfigured the bed into a cot, into which he placed the baby. As its head touched the pillow, the child yawned and his heavy eyes closed, falling asleep as Lucius stood staring down at it, bewildered. Quietly tip-toeing out of the room, he made his way back to the dining room, where Voldemort sat at its head, waiting for him.
'Lucius, call them,' Voldemort simply said, not needing to elaborate as Lucius took a deep breath and nodded, pulling up his sleeve and pressing down on his dark mark as he kept his face emotionless in order to hide the pain of the action. Feeling it burning like an inferno, he knew that the message had been conveyed. Leaning slightly on the cane he carried with him as all times, he slowly made his way to the richly decorated wooden table, taking his usual seat at the on his lord's right side. They sat in silence as the other Death Eaters arrived, Bellatrix Lestrange first, swooping into the room in ebony black robes that drew particular attention to her waist without compromising her movement. Lucius pitied the poor fool who challenged her to a duel; they probably wouldn't find what left of him.
Next came Barty Crouch Jr, one of the youngest Death Eaters but one of its most dangerous, with some viewing only the Dark lord as being his better. With his eerie grin and wide brown eyes, Lucius was wary of the madman who smirked at him now, leaning back in his chair as if not aware that the most powerful dark wizard in recent history was mere seats away. Following after Crouch was Antoin Dolohov, a quiet but powerful Death Eater, who preferred fighting to talking, to Lucius's rather poignant disgust. Blond hair framed a scarred face, which only made him even more intimidating. Lucius had had the pleasure of fighting alongside him, and he knew better than most that he was not to be underestimated. After these two, a steady stream followed, bowed, and took their seats. Macnair, hefting his bloodstained axe; Avery Sr, one of the first Death Eaters; Crabbe and Goyle, walking awkwardly and causing their chairs to groan in protest as they took their seats near the end of the table; the final member, Wormtail, slithered in quietly, flinching at the looks of disgust he received from the other Death Eaters. When everyone was seated and had turned to look at him, Voldemort pushed back the hood that had previously hid his features from view.
The dark arts had been kind to the dark lord. Where they normally took away something for what they gave the user, Voldemort was seemingly immune to this. A young face, so perfect it was as if it had been carved from stone, stared out at them with crimson eyes, overshadowed by a lock of black hair that enhanced his gaze, one which could leave his enemies trembling in fear. Thin but not like a skeleton, the man once called Tom Riddle inspired both love and terror in his followers, who had the sense not to meet his gaze directly. Good. It wouldn't do for them to believe that they were his equals.
'My friends,' he began, his voice so soft that the others had to lean forward to hear what their master said. Turning his gaze to each of them in turn, something resembling a smile graced him, but the evil that laced it made it appear to be more of a leer than a grin of cheerfulness. 'The Potters have been dealt with.' At this, the room erupted with cheers and congratulations, his Death Eaters celebrating his victory, as they should; James and Lily Potter had spurned his offers and opposed him and his servants for far too long, and they had received their reward at last. Allowing the noise to continue for a few more seconds as he basked in the attention, he finally raised a hand for silence. At once, the members were struck mute, as if he had cast a spell on them. 'As you know, the war is far from over,' he continued, ignoring the murmurs of agreement. 'If we win this war, there may be nothing left.' At this, the Death Eaters muttered to themselves. Was their leader, the most powerful dark wizard of all time and the rightful ruler of magical Britain, giving up? Sending out subtle mind probes, he caught the general gist of their thoughts, and his crimson eyes narrowed at their questioning of him. 'I am not surrendering,' he hissed angrily, causing those closest to where he sat to flinch as his anger manifested itself as darkness spreading out from his person, stopping just short of Lucius and Bellatrix. 'Dumbledore and his followers are a blight on the earth, and they will be wiped out in due time. However, we shall need to bide our time. For every attack we launch, Dumbledore and those fools in the Ministry of Magic are able to turn the people against us. Right now, that old fool has complete control over Hogwarts, and winning this war will be pointless if he manages to turn the next generation against us.'
After he finished, there was a thoughtful – or fearful, Voldemort often had trouble telling the difference – silence as his minions considered what he said. Eventually, as Voldemort began to grow irritated at the prolonged silence, Bellatrix spoke up.
'My Lord, what will we do then? We can't leave this world in the hands of mudbloods and blood traitors,' she protested, spitting the words like they left a foul taste in her mouth even as her eyes gazed at him with complete adoration. Voldemort smiled slightly at the question he was waiting for.
'My dear Bellatrix, did you really believe that I would not have a plan in place?' Voldemort asked, moving on before she could reply. 'If we are to overthrow Dumbledore and those cretins in the Order of the Phoenix, we must begin by taking back Hogwarts.' Smiling darkly, he paused to prolong the reverent silence that followed his words as he considered what to tell his servants. 'I plan to insert a sleeper agent into Hogwarts. They will give us details on everything happening in the castle, and if possible they will gain Dumbledore's trust. When the time is right, we will strike and defeat Dumbledore for good.'
'My Lord, Narcissa and I have a baby boy,' Lucius spoke for the first time since the meeting began. 'We would be honoured to have him serving such a role for you.' Voldemort turned his head to gaze at Lucius with something that resembled fondness.
'Thank you my friend, but I already have a spy in mind,' he replied, Lucius' eyes widening as he realised what his master intended as the rest of the Death Eaters looked on, bemused.
'Leave us,' he commanded to the room. As everyone except for Bellatrix and Lucius bowed and left, the dark lord stood, sweeping towards the door. 'Come.' His most loyal lieutenants scrambled to their feet, struggling to keep up with his brisk pace. 'Lucius, where did you put the boy?' Voldemort slowed to allow the Death Eater to catch up.
'In here, my Lord,' he answered, pushing open a door to their left, allowing Voldemort to enter. Bellatrix looked at him furiously, to which Lucius responded with an arrogant smirk. Bellatrix had always been jealous of Lucius being their master's first choice in critical matters, while Lucius revelled in her anger. He knew that he was kicking the beehive by doing so, but her anger was so amusing to behold. Strolling leisurely into the room behind his master, he felt her magic swell up as if to attack him, but Lucius knew that she wouldn't dare. Her master tolerated their rivalry, encouraged it even, but attempting to murder each other? That would be met with vicious retribution.
As for Voldemort, he gazed at the sleeping child, looking almost angelic in his slumber. Gentle picking him up in order to avoid rousing the child, he showed him to the stunned Bellatrix and the unsurprised Lucius. 'This is the one who shall ensure our victory, my friends,' he informed them, not noticing their taken aback expressions as he stared at the child.
'My Lord, is that child yours?' Bellatrix blurted out, and Lucius rolled his eyes in exasperation. While powerful and loyal, Bellatrix had never been good at diplomacy, unlike Lucius, who was a natural. Fortunately, their master was in a good mood, so he ignored the brashness of the question.
'I'm afraid not, my dear Bellatrix,' he replied in a soft voice, still looking at the child. 'This one is the offspring of Lily and James Potter, their last useful gift to us.'
'The child of the mudblood and the blood traitor?' Bellatrix gasped, appalled at the prospect of treating a child of the enemy like one of them. At this, Voldemort's good mood evaporated. 'Yes Bellatrix,' he hissed softly, yet Bellatrix flinched as if he'd shouted at her. 'Neither of you will breathe a word of this to anyone, understood?'
'Yes master,' they replied in unison, knowing that the dark lord was at the end of his patience with their antics today.
'Good,' he replied, turning back to the child. 'Now leave, I have work to do.' At this, the two bowed and left the room. Voldemort waited for them to leave, before gently laying the boy back in the cot. Gazing at the boy one last time as he turned to leave, Voldemort smiled, his plans already taking shape.
'Sleep well, Harry Potter. For soon, we will bring Dumbledore and his pathetic order to its knees.'