10 years earlier
Adrenaline pulsed through Voldemort as he pointed his wand at the green-eyed child. The boy did not cry out, not when his father had been killed, nor his mother, not even now when he was so close to death. A cool draft made its way up the Dark Lord's back and he shivered. The night was filled with the promise of great things to come. In front of him sat his natural born enemy, a creature who would have the power to destroy him, but for now it was merely a babe in swaddling clothes.
He opened his mouth to whisper the killing curse, but the chiming of the hall clock stilled his tongue. Voldemort's brow furrowed as he looked critically at the child with messy black hair. Something seemed wrong, something was off here. Slowly he lowered his wand and nervously tapped it on the side of his leg.
An unseen force was pushing him toward an uncertain end. Whether it was destiny, fate or merely some ploy of Dumbledore's, the Dark Lord didn't like it one bit. He'd always followed his own way, made his own path, taking care not to let anyone or anything influence or sway him from his goals. Was killing this child truly his goal? No, lordship over the wizarding world was his ultimate goal. He growled in frustration and stared into the child's eyes.
There was something behind those innocent bright green orbs, something lurking under the surface. This child, the one who would be his equal, did it really need to be destroyed or was there another option open to him, something that still needed to be worked out? When he'd come to the Potter's home he had been hurried and frantic, acting completely out of character. Lord Voldemort would never act without thinking, without planning, so why had he come?
Cool, calculating crimson eyes looked down upon the child. The Dark Lord would not bow to prophecy. He lifted the green-eyed babe and apparated away. Destiny was shattered, fate was altered, and the future changed.
Miss Fallow, his most trusted servant, met him at the door to his castle. Her hands were shaky and her expression tense. She'd seen the look on the Dark Lord's face when he'd left and his change in personality had frightened her greatly. Voldemort had lived so long and done so much due to his great intelligence and penchant for excessive planning. It was not like him to rush into a situation he knew nothing about.
"I was worried that something had happened to you," she admitted gravely. "When you stormed out of here…" Her voice trailed off and he felt a small pang of guilt at his actions.
"Everything went fine," he stated assuredly, stepping into the entryway and lifting one edge of his long, black cloak. Miss Fallow let out a loud gasp as she noticed the small bundle in his arms. Voldemort chuckled softly at the bright twinkle in her eyes. "I thought you might be getting lonely here in this old, dusty castle with only house elves for company."
She shook her head disbelievingly. "I live to serve you My Lord, but this," she gestured at the baby, "You did not truly take this baby for me did you, My Lord?"
Voldemort shook his head. "No," he confirmed, "I'm not quite sure why I took him. His parents are dead and will bother me no more. Perhaps I should have killed him and taken care of any future danger, but something about that doesn't seem right." She gave him a questioning look. The Dark Lord had killed children before; she wondered what had stilled his wand this time.
"Either way, the matter has been decided, if he becomes a problem later then I will take care of him then." He held the boy out to the kind looking woman. "For now, I leave him in your capable hands. I must go and I don't know when I'll be able to return. The events of tonight have landed a firm blow to Dumbledore's forces and I must take advantage of it while I can. If I was to return here, I could be followed and no one must find the child. The Light could destroy me if they were to get their hands on him."
"But what should I do with the boy?" Miss Fallow questioned, staring at the baby with a confused expression. "How shall I raise him?"
Voldemort shrugged uncaringly. "Raise him in any way you wish. I trust you will educate him to the best of your ability." His eyes hardened. "The only thing I truly require is that he is loyal to me, if I do not have that loyalty then he will have to be destroyed."
"When he's old enough to understand, should I tell him the fate of his parents? He will be curious."
The Dark Lord thought on the question for a bit, before nodding his head. "Tell him the truth, when he's old enough of course. There's no need to lie to the boy. I don't intend to lock him away forever and eventually he would find out."
Miss Fallow nodded subserviently and looked down at the sleeping babe. "May I ask his name, My Lord?"
"Harry Potter."
Just then the sleeping child opened his eyes and Miss Fallow's breath caught in her throat. The boy's eyes were a color green as she'd never seen before, like two emeralds staring up from beneath a mass of messy black hair. "Such a beautiful babe," she commented, turning toward the Dark Lord, but the man had disappeared into the night.
One Year Later
The Dark Lord stood in the Great Hall, surrounded by a quarter of his followers. The rest were off fighting in the castle. It was no matter. Voldemort didn't need a large force to accomplish this final goal. He took a moment to look up at the dark, star-filled ceiling. It was a beautiful night for an end to this constant battle and how fitting that it should all come to a close at Hogwarts, the place where his life had truly begun.
His eyes shifted, finding Dumbledore standing at the other end of the room. Those blue-eyes had lost their twinkle long ago, that night when the Light's last hope was seemingly destroyed. So unfortunate that Dumbledore had never learned the truth, now it would be the final blow Voldemort would use to destroy the only wizard with the power to stand against him.
"Beautiful evening, isn't it?" Voldemort asked in a jovial tone as he glided across the floor, coming to stop a few feet away from his nemesis. "And a fitting place to end this war."
"So sure of yourself Tom?"
The Dark Lord didn't allow himself to be baited by the old man's use of his original name. "Call me what you will Headmaster, it truly doesn't matter anymore. We both know that you cannot defeat me and I will not let you run, so you only have one option left, to die."
Dumbledore snarled in a way that caused even Voldemort's most powerful followers to flinch slightly. "You destroyed a child to ensure your future, is that your definition of power Tom? It sounds more like fear and weakness."
Voldemort's lips stretched into a Cheshire cat like grin, causing Dumbledore's hardened expression to fall into one of confusion. "You have always underestimated me old man, when I was a child and even today when I stand before you the most powerful wizard of our age. I've always held all the cards…even if I never chose to play them." The old wizard's brow furrowed as he attempted to deduce the Dark Lord's cryptic message.
"Perhaps I should show you exactly what I mean." With a flick of his wrist, a photograph appeared in his hand. A little black-haired boy waved happily at the person holding the camera, green eyes bright and cheerful. The Dark Lord threw the photograph and Dumbledore snatched it from the air.
It was sweet the way the expression on the old man's face mutated from one of confusion, to vague recollection, to downright shock. The blue-eyes that looked up at Voldemort were full of despair and sadness. Dumbledore knew all was lost, the Dark Lord held the only chess piece that could win the game.
Voldemort returned the photo to his hand with a snap of his fingers. "Take heart in the knowledge that Harry Potter lives and is happy. I can tell he's going to be quite the wizard someday and he will serve me well."
"Avada Kedavra," he hissed dramatically and Dumbledore didn't move an inch. Instead he accepted his fate, knowing that once he was dead, his forces would stop fighting. Voldemort sneered at the old man's weakness. A real wizard fights to the end, no matter what the end shall bring.
A cheer went up among his followers in the Great Hall, while Dumbledore's forces stared in horror at what was left of their leader. There was no doubt that the war was truly over. No other wizard could hold their own against the Dark Lord; none would even dare to try. Now it was time to assure loyalties, rebuild and carve the wizarding world into the image that he had always known it should be.
He peered down at the photograph still in his hand. The little boy continued to wave at him and he allowed his usually hard and cold visage to soften slightly. He'd made the right choice, he decided, the right choice indeed.