Author's Note: I posted this story a few years ago under my old pen name, but later deleted it. Now I'm posting it again.
It was a delicate balancing act. Scanning the bus terminal for his intended victims, while at the same time avoiding anyone who might question what a six year-old was doing here alone so early in the morning. As much as Voldemort wanted to use his magic, he could not afford another painful episode like the one he had in Potter's attic. If he was taken to a hospital there was no way he could avoid the notice of the muggle government.
Voldemort had briefly considered turning himself in to the proper authorities, since it was the easiest way he could think of to establish an new identity for this new body. However that option would rob him of his freedom for an unknown amount of time. Besides, he had taken a personal oath never to return to an orphanage, or whatever the muggles called its modern equivalent.
There was his first victim. Voldemort recognized that look from long experience: the man was definately a pedophile. As a beautiful child who roamed the worst streets in London, he had often attracted the attention of such men. He had even been caught a few times before he learned how to control his wandless magic. Individuals like this were so easy to manipulate, and best of all he wouldn't even have to spend any of his own money.
"Sir, could I have a minute of your time? My mum is sick today, but I have to buy a bus ticket to York. Could you please help me?"
These beautiful gray eyes are going to be very useful, Voldemort thought as his victim quickly agreed to cooperate.
After the pedophile bought a ticket for him, Voldemort gentle lead him over to the waiting bus. Once they were close enough to the door he turned to his second victim, a very large and angry-looking skinhead whose neck was covered with several tattoos.
"Excuse me Sir. This man wants me to put my hand down his trousers, but I don't want to do that. Could you please help me?"
As expected the enraged skinhead then began thrashing the pedophile. Everyone was busy watching the fight, so Voldemort boarded the bus without the driver noticing a thing. He found an empty seat far in the back, and sat down with a smile on his face. The long ride north would give him plenty of time to experiment with his wandless magic.
"Thank you for the ride Mrs Fisher. My father's house is right over that hill," Voldemort told the kind old lady who had given him a ride from the bus terminal. For once in his life he was actually telling a muggle the truth.
Little Hangleton was about an hour outside of York, but it was too insignificant for daily travel service to the rest of the United Kingdom. Finding the right person to act as his temporary chauffeur had taken him two hours, but Mrs Fisher also bought him a hot dinner, so he wasn't too annoyed.
What did annoy him was the pitiful state of his magic. As a boy he had endlessly tested his special gift to discover what he was capable of, and even at six he had been able to perform several different bits of magic. He also had decades of experiences to call upon now. Given these factors he should have been able to cast a wide variety of wandless spells, even at this age. Instead he was little better than a squib.
So far he had been able to come up with two possible explanations for his drastic reduction in magical strength. One theory was that this new body was somehow defective, and if what was the case there really wasn't much he could do about it right now. The second theory had to do with his Horcruxes, which is why he had decided to come back to his parent's home village. Voldemort wanted all of his magical strength back, and that meant he had to conduct a dangerous experiment. Of course he had to get his little hands on a wand first.
After Voldemort murdered his father's family, it had amused him to secretly acquire their ancestral estate. The caretaker Frank Bryce was already in bed for the night, so no one saw him enter the dilapidated house. After a bit of exploring in the dusty basement he found a broken shard of glass to cut his hand. The small amount of blood allowed him to open the hidden passageway to his supply depot.
Inside the small underground cave was a chest containing several items in magical stasis. One pouch held five thousand pounds—the paper currency was old, but it was still in excellent condition. Voldemort also took the Mokeskin pouch holding five hundred galleons. There were a number of robes, but they were all sized for an adult wizard. It was a good thing he had learned how to mend his own clothes while living at the orphanage. It was one of the few practical skills the muggles ever taught him.
But the real prize in the chest was the collection of ten wands, all of which similar to his original phoenix-feather and yew wand. Five had phoenix-feather cores, while the other five were made of yew wood. Voldemort gathered what little magic he had, and grabbed the first one. Nothing. It was only the ninth wand—yew wood with a dragon-heart core—which gave him any results at all. Even with this wand he was still weak, but hopefully it would be enough.
The Gaunt shack was just as he had remembered it. To Voldemort this pathetic hovel was both a symbol of his Slytherin heritage and of his own towering brilliance. Even though the Gaunt family had been reduced to living in squalor, he had still risen to become the greatest wizard in the world. He truly had no equal.
All of the magical wards around the Gaunt Ring were still intact, so he drew his new wand to disable the first one. It was only then that he realized just how far he had fallen. The shack held over two dozen separate wards, but removing only the first one had left him exhausted. This was going to take far longer than he had originally planned.
Night after night Voldemort returned to his mother's home, and slowly worked his way towards the Ring Horcrux. After he had exhausted himself each night he walked to the nearby village and stole some food. Then return to his basement storage depot to sleep during the day. He didn't have a comfortable bed, but after five years as a spirit he welcomed the aches and pains that greet him each evening after sleeping all day on the hard floor.
Voldemort took great care to avoid being seen, since he didn't want anyone to connect this new childish body with his previous life as Tom Riddle. This cycle repeated itself for three weeks till he removed the final flesh-withering curse from the Ring itself.
In all his extensive studies, Voldemort had only found a few scraps of information about Horcruxes. Every bit of that limited information agreed that regaining your body after it was destroyed was not a spontaneous process. Yet that is exactly what had happened to him. Instead of having to perform a complex dark ritual, those mysterious blood wards had provide him with this defective little body.
The original ritual he had pieced together from the historical records would have returned all of his magic to him at once. That had not happen in this case. Instead Voldemort theorized that the scattered pieces of his soul also held the scattered pieces of his magic. If he wanted to recover all that magic, he would have to reassemble his very soul. Piece by piece.
To that end Voldemort placed the Gaunt Ring on his right hand and spoke an ancient incantation. The reintegration of his torn soul was an excruciating painful process, especially for the body of a six year-old. Luckily he had the foresight to perform the ritual in the basement. Despite all the screaming Frank Bryce never noticed his presence.
Once Voldemort regained his composure he started to methodically test his magic. He wasn't sure if he should feel relieved or angry. The ritual had worked just as planned. His magic had improved, but the was still no stronger than your average first-year Hufflepuff.
For a man whose magic had previously made him into a god-like figure this was intolerable. What was the point of immorality without his great magical strength? Better to died than accept such a fate. No, he would gather and then destroy his own Horcruxes. If this new body proved to be stable, he would have a hundred years to find new method to cheat death. A method without these negative side-effects.
But how to go about reaching the Horcruxes in his current condition? Bellatrix kept the Hufflepuff Cup in her Gringotts Vault, and she was still locked-up in Azkaban. Even at full strength Voldemort would have been reluctant to attack the island prison without the aid of his Death Eaters.
His Diary was being held by Lucius Malfoy, and that fact presented him with a dangerous problem. With Dumbledore's great age and Fudge's great stupidity, it was only a matter of time until Lucius was the most powerful wizard in the United Kingdom. Given his weakened state Voldemort knew the pureblood aristocrat would do one of two things: he would either take his former master as a prisoner, or he would just eliminate the competition and proclaim himself the new Dark Lord. Neither option appealed to Voldemort, so the Diary was off limits for now.
Despite the Dumbledore's great age, attempting to enter Hogwarts to recover the Ravenclaw Diadem would be suicidal while he was trapped in the body of a child. That left the Locket which he had placed in the sea-side cave; a cave which happened to be at the other end of the country. No matter. With his current level of magical strength traveling would be far less difficult. After he had absorbed a second Horcrux he would again measure his strength. Only then would he consider his future options.
As Voldemort gather all his valuables he decided to find a muggle woman, who he would place under the Imperius Curse. Traveling as a mother and son duo would help him avoid the wrong kind of attention. With the money he had found here in Little Hangleton the trip south would take only a few hours.
One of the more rewarding aspects of being a Dark Lord was when you felt like torturing or killing someone, you just went out and did it. At the moment Voldemort wanted nothing more than to cause as much pain as he possibly could. It was a pity he had already killed that traitor Regulus Black, but torturing his hag Dolores Umbridge offered him some consolation.
After he discovered the false Locket, Voldemort had killed the muggle women he was traveling with by feeding her to the Inferi. It wasn't enough to cool his rage, so he came to London with every intention of killing Cornelius Fudge. If the current Minister of Magic was replaced by someone like Amelia Bones, it would cause Lucius no end of political problems. Maybe the worm would even end up in Azkaban where he belonged.
However as he kept watch over Fudge's house his mind began to clear. Oh, he still wanted to hurt someone, but only if it helped him achieve his long-term goals. With the rest of his Horcruxes out of reach for the time being, Voldemort turned to his other major problem: this bloody body. He was almost certain that he was now genetically related to Harry Potter, but that wasn't the same as being absolutely certain.
The Ministry of Magic had extensive blood records of all pureblood families in United Kingdom for the last eight-hundred years, and he needed to gain access to those records to prove his new identity. That was how a young Tom Riddle had managed to confirm his status as the Heir of Slytherin back during the thirties. If he was going to risk visiting the Ministry of Magic he might as well steal the Prophecy Orb while he was there. It might prove to be useful in the future.
That was why he was now torturing Dolores Umbridge. By chance he had seen her coming out of Fudge's house last night, and he remembered watching the hag duel once. Her magical skills were pitiful, and she proved to be no match for him, even in his weakened state. Voldemort had decided that Dolores was going to take her new cousin (who would magically share his Aunt's hideous looks) on a private tour of the Ministry of Magic.
This tour would conveniently include the room where they kept the blood records, as well as the Hall of Prophecy. Once Voldemort was done with Umbridge he would obviate her memories of the last few days, but first he wanted to soften her up a bit. He would be holding her under the Imperius Curse for several hours tomorrow, and with his current level of magical strength he wouldn't afford any unnecessary complications.
Two days later Voldemort was riding a swing at the Little Whinging playground while his new muggle mother waited nearby. He was watching Harry Potter's fat cousin Dudley terrorized the other children. It turned out that his new family wasn't much better than his old one. That is what his trip to the Ministry of Magic had officially confirmed: he was indeed a member of the Potter family.
When Voldemort had placed a sample of his new blood into the magical artifact which held the blood records the results had come back as Potter/unknown. Years before when Tom Riddle had tested his blood in the same room, and the results had come back as unknown/Gaunt. Thanks to the Wizengamot his new blood status had the full weight of the law behind it. He was legally a member of the Potter family, and no one—not even Albus Dumbledore himself—could change that fact.
As a bonus it also meant that the blood wards protecting Harry Potter no longer had any power over him. He passed right through them despite the fact he has coming to Little Whinging to kill his new brother. Why finish the job now? Well, Voldemort had also been able to steal the Prophecy Orb during his tour, and the idea of this Power the boy was suppose to have frightened him. What could it possible be? It was Lily Potter who had defeated him that night, and her infant son had nothing to do with it.
What if he attacked the boy now in his current weakened state, and this mysterious Power was somehow able to defeat him? Perhaps he should analyze his little brother before he did anything rash. And while Voldemort was tying to pinpoint this Power, he would also be placing himself behind the blood wards which would protect him from the Death Eaters. Once the public learned about the existence of a second Potter, they would be eager for revenge by proxy.
Little Whinging would also serve as an excellent home base while he waited for his Hogwarts acceptance letter. Voldemort had been considering several ways to break into his old school and retrieve the Ravenclaw Diadem, but if he was a new first-year student no such illegal action would be required. After all, the easiest way to rob a bank is to walk through the front door.
This new plan would take several years, but he had always believed that patience was a virtue. During those years he would strengthen this new body and conduct a few more experiments—both on himself and on Harry Potter. Hopefully he would discover that this unknown Power really was, and find a way to safely defeat it.
But before he could become part of new and improved Potter family he have to take care of several problems first. Voldemort jumped off the swing and walked over to meet his cousin Dudley. His Legilimency was weak, but breaking into the mind of a child didn't take much effort. He quickly found what he was looking for. Yes, that would do nicely.
That weekend Vernon Dursley took his son to see a cricket match, while Harry was left at home to help his Aunt with the housework. During the match a fire broke-out under the old wooden bleachers, and over fifty spectators were killed in a matter of minutes. Among the victims were the Vernon and Dudley Dursley. Voldemort was quite pleased with his handiwork. It looked like a tragic accident, so Albus Dumbledore would have no reason to suspect foul play.