Disclaimer: Sure, my name is J.K Rowling. I totally own this story...right... I also am Master of the Universe and my cereal every morning is filled with body parts of angsty teenagers. Yum !
AU: My 100-word one-shot. Could this be a story? More like a story up for adoption? Dunno. I don't usually write this stuff. I am more of a reader than a writer.
The red-eyed man was mad. Furious.
That child had disappeared. No traces, and his followers were incompetent. He would have found the child and killed it himself, but he was weak. Frail and old, living as a wispy entity that many would call a ghost; he floated-waiting for the moment to strike.
He had to leave the place he once called home. The home that someday would bow in front of him, and praise him as their savior. The hero, the ruler.
He couldn't yet. The plans were set in motion, and there were enough minions in his days of prime, however, it was all crushed. Sullied to ruin, and his people scattered and mocked by the followers of 'Dumbley-dore'. The culprit was a mere baby. His eyes and ears heard of the persistence of the followers of the light side. Those blood traitors and bastards! To think, that they would be superior against his army? Bah.
He would seek his revenge after that brat would win the tournament.
His name was Lord Voldemort.