Voldemort and his fifty Death Eaters ravaged Great Britain like a plague. Diagon Alley was all but abandoned, with the few brave (or stupid) enough to roam the streets looting and stealing any items of interest. The Ministry of Magic was in chaos. Hogwarts was quiet, with many families either destroyed or moved to other nations, like France or Germany.

The Order of the Phoenix was preparing to abandon Britain and prepare for the eventual invasion of the rest of Europe.

Others left the Order completely, daring to fade into the shadows and perhaps live out a simple life under another name in some faraway country.

Among these were the Potters, who planned for France. They hadn't left yet, though- still there were things to arrange, such as emptying the vaults into Gringotts France. One Halloween night, after a week of preparations, they had just finished that colossal task. That night was the night that Voldemort stuck.

Whatever preparations they had arranged were worth nothing at that point. Voldemort was strong and they were but human.

()()()

Voldemort was the closest thing to happy he could be at this point. Satisfied. Victorious. Successful. Immortal.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...

born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ...

and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ...

and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ...

the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ..."

The prophecy Severus had given him echoed around his head. This was it. Sirius had given him the location of the Potter residence, which he saw as he rounded the corner. Using his magesight, he immediately recognised a detection ward and an anti-apparation ward. Both were tied to a wardstone inside the house.

Tom considered bringing the wards down, but decided against it. The only person who had ever really stood a chance against him was Albus, and he had no reason to believe they were in danger. Walking forward, he triggered the detection ward but paid no interest towards it.

He reached the front door quickly, and unlocked it noiselessly with a spell from his yew wand. Immediately he raised a shield to block two cutting curses and returned with a killing curse. James, for that was the child's father's name, dodged, but entered the path of the second killing curse that Voldemort had sent in the process.

The man fell to the floor with a dull thump. He was not prepared, the Dark Lord concluded. Casting a human detection spell revealed two people upstairs and to the right.

Anticipation was reaching a climax by the time he opened the door. There, next to a crib, was a woman holding a child with both hands. She was crying.

"Step aside, woman. I will spare your life if you give me the child," he said, not really expecting her to move. Severus had begged him to spare her.

"No, please take me! Not Harry, please," she begged.

Oh well, Voldemort thought. "As you wish. Avada Kedavra!"

She ended up just like her husband. Worthless.

With a flick of his wand her body went flying across the room to end up against the wall. Picking up the child, he moved him to the middle of the room and began to draw the circle necessary for the coming ritual. Drawing the runes around it, the circle began to glow white. Now, the final 7th, anticipated Voldemort. He drew the target rune on the baby's skull, a lightning bolt shape.

Voldemort stood back to examine his handiwork, making sure of no mistakes. There were none, as he expected. He raised his wand. The plan was perfect. Make the child's skull a horcrux, kill the same child. Nobody would dare destroy the body of one of their saviors if this somehow went to shit.

Avada Kedavra

The spell hit the kid, accompanied by the standard ripping feeling he associated with creating a horcrux. But something was wrong. He felt his own body slipping away. The horcrux was a success, but at a price.

Voldemort's body was destroyed, he was left a weak soul. He quickly fled the house blindly, before Dumbledore inevitable arrival.

Things had gone badly for Voldemort, but not all was over.

()()()

AN: If it wasn't clear, Voldemort was going to make Harry's dead body a horcrux. He succeeded in putting a horcrux in, but it wasn't in his dead body. The explanation JK gave us never satisfied me. No slash in this story, not an evil Harry. Sort of making it up as I go along, though I do have an overall plan for what the story will be about. Time travel is possible, but if people don't want it I won't add it. It's my first story, so be nice and please give me feedback.