AN: Welcome! This is my first real attempt to write fan fiction. If you think you like where this is heading, follow this story. If you have any thoughts, review!

This is a cross between an AU and a FWOAN fan fic. At least I think it is, it is completely possible I have the definition of these two completely wrong.

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, the series would still be going. I sadly do not. Why else would I come here?

The man suddenly appeared at the corner of the sidewalk with a small pop. It was a quiet night on the street known as...where was this again? Although he'd had this dream countless times over the past few years, the boy was never able to remember what the name of this street was. He gazed up at the street sign and mentally nodded.

Ah, yes...Godric's Hollow.

He turned, knowing the exact spot to look, but still sending his gaze over a few different houses anyway; as if I have a choice, he thought to himself sarcastically.

Every time he had this dream he was completely unable to choose where the man went, or what he did. In fact, the boy had slowly developed a feeling that this man in his dream wasn't even him (an older version or otherwise). Had he been older he may have suspected that there was something very strange about this, but he was young and could only surmise that this was the way his dream worked.

Finally the man's eyes settled upon a little...well… hovel was the best word the boy had found to describe it (Harry learned from a very young age that if you can't think of a word to describe something, look up one so that next time you can.) The man confidently began his saunter toward the house, walking with the air of a nobleman. He arrived at the front door, and rang the doorbell, preparing a wicked smile for what he knew was about to happen when the owner of the house opened the door.

It swung open, revealing a young woman, perhaps in her mid-twenties; she looked as if she was just getting ready to settle down for the night. He waved at her lightly and when she saw his face, her countenance went from silent warmth to a barrage of emotions in quick succession. He counted them off mentally: shock, anger, recognition, disbelief, terror.

She was already starting to shake violently and her mouth opened to let out a scream but her throat seemed to have closed on her and she made no sound. He took this time to walk into the house and opened his mouth to speak in a chilled whisper "Hello there, my dear. I assume you know why I am here? I'm terribly sorry to have come this late but I am a busy man you know. Now I hope you don't mind if we skip the pleasantries."

The woman seemed to snap out of her terror at this and pulled out her wand, trying not to show that her arm was still shaking...well more like trembling at this point. However he had anticipated this and moved forward with a surprising swiftness to grab the woman's wand with his one hand and to pull out a knife with the other. With one swift jerk of his arm the woman's neck was split open, blood pouring from it as her eyes quickly lost their life.

The boy remembered that the first dozen or so times he'd had this dream this very image would cause him to vomit upon waking up, and leave him dry heaving for a good fifteen minutes afterward; however by now when he saw her die he felt...nothing. Not even the smallest twinge of remorse could be gathered by the boy as the man pocketed the wand and headed for the upstairs, his shoes leaving bright red marks on the cream-colored carpet and his already dark robes now stained even darker.

There was a flicker of light coming from the second room on the right. He made no attempt at being quiet now and his footsteps almost seemed to echo across the hall despite walking on carpet. And yet the atmosphere of something being very wrong seemed to go unnoticed by the remaining occupant.

A voice came from the room and said "Who was it at the door honey? Was it another 'stay safe and hidden' message from the old coot?"

Not replying, the specter walked to the doorway and came upon a young man, also in his mid-twenties, who was lying in bed, watching something on the television. The young man took a single sideways glance at the intruder, and the next instant was on the ground firing spells rapidly at the phantom in the doorway.

"Ah I see there's a decent fighter in here. And no verbal incantations either? Not that they will work anyway..." he drawled as he lazily brought up a shield, into which the spells were harmlessly absorbed. A small pop later and he was behind the young man, his long, cold fingers wrapping themselves around his throat as he hoisted the man off of the ground. The man kicked and tried to throw off more spells while sputtering for air, but they were once again absorbed by the shield spell. The iron grip tightened more and more until the man finally gave one exhalation of breath and went limp.

He let go of the man after taking his wand and finally parted his lips, letting out a chuckle. It wasn't a warm chuckle however; it had the chill of liquid nitrogen and a hint of madness in it as well. He now walked serenely out of the room and headed for a door at the end of the hall that was all but the slightest bit closed. His heart was starting to race with exhilaration - it was finally time! He silently opened the door and walked into the tiny room, where in the middle stood a crib.

And of course, in that crib slept a tiny baby, no more than a few months old.

The man took out his wand and stared at the baby silently. All of his hard work over the past few months was finally vindicated! He let the feeling of victory soak in for a minute, not used to sparing moments for these simple delicacies of life.

But he came here to do something, and it was time that he do it.

He raised his arm slowly and majestically, and if the boy didn't know any better he would have thought that the man was about to make a bouquet appear from the end of the wand, followed by the mother and father popping into the room saying that it had all been a hoax to trick him in his dream. However, he knew what was really about to happen. The first 23 times the boy had tried everything to mentally stop the man's arm from rising to do what it was about to do. The next 17 times after that the boy had tried desperately to wake himself, to no avail. And even for the next 13 times after that, the boy had woken at the end of the night with tears in his eyes.

Even though he had gotten used to the killing of the woman and man in gruesome ways, it took him much longer to get used to seeing the murder a child.

However, now he just resignedly looked at the baby as it slept peacefully, and prepared himself as the man yelled for the first time that night, with a fury and look of loathing that was never on the man's face before, "AVADA KEDAVRA-"

There was a flash of green light, a high-pitched shrieking, and a sound resembling an explosion, and suddenly Harry Potter was sitting up in his bed sweating as if he had just run 3 miles in the blistering heat of July.

I always felt Voldemort was too tame in his killing style for being a Dark Lord (Although I do understand that Rowling's target audience was rather young compared to what I am going for). If you really want to spread fear, you don't use the Killing Curse, which is quick and painless. You use methods that cause a painful, gruesome death. I therefore stepped up his evilness to suit what I consider the methods of someone whose name is not spoken in an entire country.