Reflection
This story is heavily inspired by "Antithesis" by Oceanbreeze7 and I recommend you go check out his story. I also want to clarify that I'm writing this basically for shits and giggles and because I have wanted to write and release something but never figured out what so again, credit to Oceanbreeze7.
I don't own the Harry Potter franchise.
There was a strange serenity in the air. A sense of silence and comfort, not a sound was heard. No birds or crickets, not even the wind's gentle flow could be made out. Everything stood still. Nothing out of place. It was calm yet foreboding. Breaking the calm was the soft crunch of leaves underfoot of one who walked with purpose. And by Merlin did Lord Voldemort have a purpose this silent night. Tonight was the night he secured both his immortality and victory over those who opposed him and his reign. Tonight was a night that would go down in history as the night Lord Voldemort won.
He was gleeful as he walked towards the house. And yet he also felt nervous, his instincts warning of danger. That was to be expected though when fate itself foretold your death at the hand of the very person you were going to kill. His thoughts were discontinued though as he came upon the house. It was a cozy-looking thing, fit for a small family. Unsuspecting and innocent. His lip curled. There were no wards. The arrogance. He snarled at the insult, they truly believe that anything could stop him? They were so sure of his inability that they didn't feel the need to protect their home any more than they had to?
The insult would not stand. It was a shame the parents were out tonight, growing too confident in their security, they left for a dinner party with their precious vigilante group. It was of no importance though, they would face the consequences of their actions later. Slowly, and deliberately, he took out his yew and Pheonix feather wand. He weighed it in his hand, savoring the moment. Finally, he raised his wand, pointing it at the locked door.
"Bombarda," he whispered.
The door splintered outwards into hundreds of pieces. A shrill and terrifying shriek was heard from inside, the caretaker the Potters had hired, only just out of Hogwarts. He wondered if she had any knowledge of the danger she was put in by accepting the one-time job. He took a step through the door frame and into the house, surveying his surroundings. The house was bright red and gold, making it very clear where the owners of the house had come from. The house was otherwise rather simple. Furnished plainly with barely any decorum. It seemed the Potters had enough insight to not take valuables with them on their sabbatical from the fighting.
The thump of shoes slamming on wood stairs reached his ears. He sighed, he had hoped that this would go a bit quicker. But it seemed he would have to make do with what he was given. He started forward, gracefully climbing the set of stairs. He reached the top, coming to stop at the beginning of the hallway. He continued forward to the farthest door, seeing it was the only one with a light on. He pushed the brown door open, revealing a red-painted nursery. There were two white crips in the room with wriggling forms underneath bundles of blankets.
He heard a gasp and a sob from his left and snapped his head around, warry of a threat. Instead, he found the young caretaker he had forgotten about groveling on the floor, crying and begging. An unfortunate mistake on her part to alert him to her presence, maybe she would have been able to sneak out past him, nonetheless, it was a mistake she would pay dearly for.
"Please! Please- I'm begging you! Ple-" Her pleas fell silent as a whispered Avada Kedavra left the Dark Lord's lips and the girl dropped dead.
He turned away from the slumped body and towards the cribs once again. He glared at both, angry at not the children but his servant who had given him the information needed to get to the house. He had failed to mention there were two of the brats. A problem, because he didn't know which one it was that the prophecy spoke of. No matter though, he would kill both, and his servant would be punished accordingly. He then decided at random to kill the green-eyed one first. He raised his wand and pointed it towards the child, preparing to attain ultimate victory over Britain, and soon the world.
Perhaps, had he turned to the left, and not the right, things would be different. Perhaps the hazel-eyed one would have grown up as the green-eyed one had. Face the hardships the green-eyed one had. However, fate works in mysterious ways. Perhaps it could have been the green-eyed ones brother, but, nevertheless, Tom Marvolo Riddle whispered those dreaded words, a green spell shot out of his wand, heading towards the baby, but it instead rebounded towards the Dark Lord and struck true, leaving only a wand that a rat would quickly scamper out of a nook to grab between its teeth and dark robes lying in a tussle on the wooden floor.
It was then, that Harry James Potter's life was forever changed.
Short chapter, but the others will be longer.
Signing off for now,
Aith3r
