Logical disclaimer: I do not own anything from the Magical World/HP universe. Everything belongs to J.K Rowling.


Chapter One: Two owls with one spell

31st of October 1985 - Godric's Hollow.

Almost like a ghost, Lord Voldemort was walking toward his goal: a simple house, located in a nice neighborhood. One would say that he seemed oblivious to his surroundings: the truth was he simply didn't feel the need to be careful. Afterall, most of the few passersby he encountered were Muggles. Instead of running away in fear, they paid no attention to him and simply went about their business, unaware that they walked on the same path as the most feared wizard in Europe. Unaware that the said wizard could put them out their misery at any moment with a simple movement of his wand.

No. As alluring as it seemed, he shouldn't think about this. No, tonight, Lord Voldemort had more important things to do than kill a bunch of Muggles.

The Dark Lord was moving fast: he knew didn't have any time to waste. As he walked briskly, he finally decided to look around him. On this Hallowing night, he looked at the decorations on the houses: stupid ghosts populated the Muggle streets of Godric's Hollow, among fake witches and sordid goblins.

A wave of contempt rose inside him. Contempt for those stupid Muggles, that once per year, ridiculed a world infinitely more complex than their own. Contempt for the numerous blood-traitors that one by one, were dying to protect these pathetic Muggles. But most of all, contempt for the Potter family that made the fatal mistake of trusting someone out of friendship.

"Nice costume, mister!"

A small boy, not older than five, disguised as a pumpkin took him out of his thoughts as he was smiling at him. Meanwhile a tall, fair-haired man -probably his father- was walking, only ten feet away. Lord Voldemort grinned. A grin that became a laugh when he saw the small boy's smile falter as he ran near enough to see beneath the hood of the cloak. The boy turned and fled toward his father: however, he was too slow. One simple movement of the wand, the boy fell on the ground before ever reaching his "Daddy!". Another movement and Daddy joined him in death.

Voldemort chided himself: while he enjoyed the instant-gratification, the gesture wasn't necessary. Now, he had two Muggle-bodies that he should dispose of quickly. With a flicker of the wand, he made them levitate. Then, the dark mage hid them in a large garbage dumpster -which was their righteous place, in his opinion.

And now, as he marched toward a new and darker street, he smiled. Then less than a second later, he was gliding along, with a familiar sense of purpose, power and rightness rising in him, as usual during these special occasions. No, he didn't feel any anger: that was for weaker souls than He. But he felt triumph, yes. He had waited for this, he hoped for it…

One year and a half ago, one of his most loyals Death Eater made a very daunting discovery: a prophecy which stated that his ultimate enemy was "born three years ago to those who have thrice defied him, born three years ago as the seventh month died", which meant in the end of July 1980. If the prophecy was correct, then there were only two convincing candidates: the pureblood Neville Longbottom and the half-blood Harry Potter.

Any feeling of rightness or power left as soon as Lord Voldemort recalled why he decided to attack the young half-blood. It was only replaced by a certain anger toward his very own genealogy.

Even though he prided himself as one of the greatest wizards of all times, he had to admit that these years, his Empire wasn't as thriving as before. The combination of Bartemius Crouch Sr's ruthlessness and Millicent Bagnold's leadership was slowly but undeniably perilous for the Death Eaters. The credulous ones ignored the facts, the stupid ones deserted him (and were lethally punished for it) but the lucid ones doubted their future with the Death Eaters. Voldemort was perfectly conscious that he needed to find a way to even the odds: he needed to find the perfect opportunity to reverse the trend. Maybe lay low for a while and give the wizarding world a false sense of peace and tranquility before striking again would be a good idea…

But as his destination was in sight -at last! –, he stopped thinking about these issues. He was cunning enough to find this opportunity sometime else: for now, he had business to do. The Fidelius Charm was broken but the little family did not know it yet… And himself made less noise than the dead leaves slithering along the pavement, as he drew level with the dark hedge, and steered over it…

The Potter had not drawn the curtains; Voldemort almost laughed as he saw three of them very clearly in their living room. The tall black-haired man in his glasses was making puffs of colored smoke erupt from his wand for the amusement of his two boys: one black-haired five-year-old who was beaming at his father with admiration and a little brown-haired (almost redhead) three-year-old, who was yawning, as if he wanted to sleep.

The door opened and the mother entered, saying words Voldemort could not hear (and wasn't interested in anyways), her long dark-red hair falling over her face. Now, the father smiled, as the sons started talking to the mother. James Potter was probably saying something before stretching and then throwing his wand down upon the sofa, as he seemed tired…

Now or never.

The gate creaked a little as he pushed it open, but James Potter did not hear. The front door of the little house was locked, but Lord Voldemort did not care. His white hand pulled out the wand beneath his cloak and pointed it at the door, which violently burst open…

He was over the threshold as James came sprinting into the hall. It was easy, too easy: the stupid Gryffindor had not even picked up his wand…

"Lily, it's him! Take Harry and Benjy and go! I'll hold him off!" screamed James Potter, clearly panicked.

"Hold me off, Potter?" laughed Lord Voldemort. "But with what? Hiding made you softer, or simply stupider… Even with a wand, you're no match for me. So, without one?"

With a flicker of a hand, Voldemort smiled before casting the curse:

"Crucio!"

James Potter fell on the ground, convulsing, screaming. Voldemort knew that he should've just kill him quick, just like he did to the two random Muggles before… But then again, he liked playing with his prey.

"What a waste… You would have made a fine Death Eater, my dear boy. You're a pureblood, aren't you? Your dear friend Wormtail told me how talented you are… But unfortunately, you decided to defy me by becoming a blood-traitor when you married a Mudblood. Forgive my eagerness to punish you."

"G-Go… Go rot in hell, you m-monster…" a convulsing James Potter whispered weakly as drops of blood started to mix with the saliva that pooled at the corners of his mouth.

"Oh, but this is precisely where I take you, my friend. Avada Kedavra!"

The green light filled the cramped hallway, it illuminated the family photos on the wall, it made the banisters glow like lightning rods as James Potter fell like a puppet whose strings have been cut.

"…"

Not even looking at James' expressionless corpse, Voldemort turned his attention to the noises that came from upstairs. It sounded like someone was pushing heavy objects across the floor. Voldemort rolled his eyes when he realized what was happening. Was the Mudblood this stupid? Did she really think that barricading herself in one of the rooms was the right solution?

Voldemort smiled towards James' corpse.

"Well… I guess your dear wife is the next one on my list."

Voldemort climbed the stairs, silently. He ascended in a few seconds the steps, as he was closer and closer to Lily and her two boys. He could hear through the door the poor girl who was pushing with all the force she was capable of the objects allowing to block the entrance door.

"Well, well, well… I take it that just like your husband, you're wandless, my dear Lily?"

"Please, leave us!"

"Just help yourself and open this damn door… I'm here only for one of your sons."

"Please, have mercy! Leave us, I'll do anything!"

Voldemort sighed. The hopelessness of the young lady was quickly going from "mildly amusing" to "frankly irritating".

"Silly girl… You better open the door right now or I'll blow it up! What if the rubbles of your pitiful barricades hurt one of your poor sons?"

But Lily didn't answer. As he sighed, Voldemort could hear her whispering comfort words to her sons, who were both crying. As soon as he heard them, something snapped in the dark wizard. He hated listening kids cry; he had never been really able to stomach the small ones whining in the orphanage…

Suddenly, Voldemort didn't feel any amusement anymore. Only a violent fury, of something he repressed for far too long.

"You asked for it! Confringo!"

Less than a second later, the door shattered, as did all the objects blocking it. The shockwave created a large screen of dust, that obscured his view: it was so thick, he could choke on it. While the smoke started to dissipate, Voldemort decided to stay away, while he tried to contain his emotions after his violent outburst. He needed to stay calm. Leave behind the anger that made him want to destroy any unlucky soul that was in front of him.

Voldemort didn't move, but he could feel something burning white-hot inside him. It wasn't anger. Only the stupid Muggles that managed his old orphanage would describe it as something so trivial. It felt like molten lava flowing through his veins. It felt like venom. Unable to control himself, he stayed away, knowing that he would be unable to keep the emotion out of his eyes.

And a thing that Voldemort loathed more than anything was being unable to contain his emotions.

As soon as he felt less restless, Voldemort entered the room. And couldn't help but smile when he saw the carnage in front of him. The windows were closed -but he'd never know it, with the stiff breeze blowing through the hole in the opposed wall. The shockwave violently hit Lily, who was laying on the floor, with a pool of blood around her. Did the shockwave kill her? With a glance at the young lady who was weakly breathing, Voldemort knew it didn't.

"Your stupid wish is granted, Severus…" muttered the Dark Lord.

The youngest boy -Benjamin- was unconscious too. Some of the rubbles scratched his forehead, forming an ugly-looking scar on his babyface. Voldemort pulled out his wand, ready to put this little half-blood out of his misery, when a rock hit him in the face.

When the Dark Lord turned toward the direction this rock came from, he was surprised to see Harry. The boy clearly wasn't spared by the explosion: his little clothes were ripped; his face was covered of dust and his left arm was twisted in a very alarming way.

But his green eyes were shining with determination. Fearlessness. And with something else that Voldemort was very much familiar with.

Anger.

"Y-You!" screamed Harry. "Y-You hurt Mum and Dad! I w-wont let you hurt Ben!"

"Oh, really?" grinned Voldemort. "And how are you going to do that, little half-blood?"

But suddenly, Voldemort felt very uneasy when he saw the emerald eyes of the boy. The same color of his signature curse. Something that Voldemort didn't feel for a long time but felt like fear was starting to overcome him.

Voldemort pointed the wand very carefully into the boy's face: he wanted to see it happen, the destruction of this one, inexplicable danger. Harry growled in a curious mix of fear and fury. The Dark Lord knew the words. But he didn't say them as he realized something.

Here's my opportunity.

"Stupefy!"

The stunning spell violently hit the boy, who was thrown backwards upon the impact. As he rolled on the ground, Voldemort smiled. A new plan came to his mind. But first…

The wizard apparated out of the house. He was looking for a certain dumpster, where he left two corpses: a grown man and a small boy. As soon as he found it, he smiled: his plan was set in motions. Satisfied, he apparated back with the corpses in the Potter residence.

Now, he had to work fast. Even though the attack lasted less than five minutes, Voldemort knew that enemies may be on their way. Of course, he knew he could easily end them. But it would greatly impact his new scheme.

With a flicker of his wand, he changed the appearance of the corpses. The man's face became pale and snake-like, as his blue eyes now had a permanently bloody look and the rest of his body slowly morphed into a perfect copy of Voldemort's.

Meanwhile, the boy's fair-hair grew darker: his lifeless blue eyes became green, and his face slowly became littler, younger... Barely seconds later, a perfect -deceased- copy of Harry was born. And for once since a long time… Voldemort genuinely smiled.

Because he killed two owls with one spell.

With a flicker of the wand, Voldemort moved the deceased copy of Harry in front of Benjamin's unconscious body, as if the oldest Potter was killed, protecting his little brother. Then, he set fire on the corpse of his own copy, as if it was destroyed. The Dark Lord took the time to look at what he has just done.

The body of Harry's copy was slumped protectively in front of his little brother. Right in front of them was apparently the charred body of the deceased Lord Voldemort. And little Benjamin had a bloody scar on his forehead. It was perfect.

"Here's their Boy-Who-Lived… And here's my Boy-Who'll-Ruin."

With a new smile, Voldemort apparated out of the house, holding firmly the body of the real Harry.