What if the soul fragment of Voldemort expanded its reach, absorbing young Harrys own into its essence and reviving the blackest of black magic rituals? The Boy-who-lived would never be the prophec...
It is a dark and stormy night around Number 4 Private Drive, Surrey, England. The occasional lightning bolt and clap of thunder break the otherwise silent torrent of freezing rain.
For the most part, the locals are inside sleeping soundly. But thats only the muggles.
The lone Wizard in the area is wide awake, watching the storm around his "home" with little emotion showing on his face.
In the far distance he can make out a white and silver eagle owl flapping its way toward Number 4, and yes, he knows for certain that the owl was coming for him and no one else.
Only another Wizard would send a letter by way of owl, and even at this distance, he can pick out the tiny white envelope strapped to its left leg.
"Hogwarts." he states in a soft tone. "Looks like I'll be getting my second chance after all."
Nine months ago, October 31st 1990.
Harry James Potter shivers violently in his cupboard under the stairs, spine arching as terrible pain wracks his body and mind.
He has never felt such agony before in all his life, not even from the occasional back-hand or kick when his uncle was particularly angry and a bone would break.
His eyes are clenched shut tightly as he begins to thrash about, scar bleeding rapidly down the side of his face.
It feels like every inch of flesh was being flayed off slowly, then lit on fire. His bones ached as though they were being crushed beneath a thousand pounds of weight.
And this was not far off, because the raw magic rolling off of the child was literally trying to tear him apart as Voldemorts fragment of soul from that night years and years ago spread its influence, awakening memories and terrible rituals performed that now took a hold of its current body, like a parasite eating away at its host.
Of course, Lilys blood sacrifice was doing its best to fight it off, and the wards surrounding number 4 were helping... but Harry had never truly been able to call this place home. He was unwelcome and hated. And in some cases... hate is far stronger than love could ever hope to be.
Harrys throat is numb from screaming, and his mind... his mind is scattered to the four corners. 'You are mine now, boy...' a cold, high-pitched voice whispers inside of his head, and with a sizzle and crackling like electricity snapping off from his magic, a solid black aura solidified and wrapped around the body of the child.
Harry James Potter ceased to exist as Voldemort fully absorbed his essence into the others soul, overpowering it and taking control, nullifying the power Lily gave Harry when she died.
Tom Marvolo Riddle was reborn in his place... with every bit of magic available to him now as it was before that fateful night... and no unsightly costs to the current body as had been done to his original.
Present night, 1991.
The eagle owl glided in through an open window with a shiver, water dripping off its wings. In an instant it has transformed into the form of Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
His deep purple robes swish around him and his black boots click slightly on the tiled floor of the kitchen as he makes his way through into the hallway.
He can feel the remnants of a magic signature inside the cupboard under the stairs, and for a few moments, feels regret and sadness for what he is sure has been a harsh life.
"It was for the greater good.. he would have been raised with fear of Voldemort.. fear that could be used against him, when the prophecy says they will fight. For this, m'boy, I must allow you no comfort in living like a prince among our kind..." Dumbledore mutters softly, leaning down and easily shifting the lock aside.
The door swings open easily enough but he recoils from the smell within, suppressing a strong gag reflex. "Lumos!" Dumbledore orders as he draws his wand out, ducking down again to take a good look at the inside of that cupboard.
He briefly wishes he hadn't.
The rotten skeleton of a slightly young child stares back at him, tattered cloths torn and bloody. A note hangs from the neck and looks to have been written with the childs blood: 'Too late to stop things, Dumbledore. He will return.' it reads.
Turning away Dumbledore conjures a bucket just in time to fill it to the brim with his dinner, shuddering violently.
'No.. No, it can not be... his servants scattered far, but most were captured.. who would do such a thing?' he thought numbly. 'Few... few and far between know who lives--lived.. lived here...' after finishing, he banishs the bucket to the sink and quickly shuts the door, unable to look at the remnants of the Boy-who-lived.
Rising to his feet quickly enough, Dumbledore heads up to the upper floor, seeing blood lining the stairs that only makes him hurry faster.
The stench of death is strong here as well. He knows the moment he arrived before the door, that all inhabitants of Number 4 are long dead. But he must be absolutely sure, he has to see it for himself, and with a resigned sigh pushes the door open.
Petunia and Vernon Dursley are only so much smears on the walls, floor, ceiling, and everything else in the room.
'Their child... the stains on the stairs...' dry heaving Dumbledore backs away, taking in the slight flesh colored smears along certain steps to be Dudley Dursley.
The Dark Magic that killed them all is so strong, he wonders how he missed it when he first arrived, so preoccupied with making sure Harry is okay after the last sixteen letters failed to be answered.
Never would he have suspected this to be the case, however. Unwilling to step through Dudley again, Dumbledore returns to his animagus form and glides down to the hallway again, then right back into the kitchen and out the window.
He only gets as far as the now worthless wards before he collapses to the ground, returning to his Wizard form, and apparates directly into the Ministry of Magic. Somehow he avoids splinching.
Before a tree nearby, Tom Riddle cancels the wandless disillusion charm over his body, a maniacal grin stretching his lips in a terrifying fashion. "Now I can operate without fear of being reported to the Ministry. A few illusions to my form and not even Dumbledore would suspect me to be an eleven year old boy." he says after a few moments.
He apparates away just as another boom of thunder passes overhead, looking into his plans for the revenge.
even the best laid of plans can go awry.
Mrs. Figg quietly watchs as the dark haired youth vanishs with a crack of apparation, alerted already from Dumbledores own vanishing act.
Tom arrived before Borgin and Burkes with a crack, pulling his hood up over his face. The nearby shops are closed, but he knows where to go to get a wand at two in the morning.
Crossing the threshold of Olivanders Wandshop alerts the sleeping Wandmaker to his late night visitor. Glancing blearily at the clock beside his arms he pushs himself away from the desk and draws his own from a holster on his arm.
"I know you are down there, and you know I closed an hour ago." Olivander calls ahead as he walks around to the steps leading down to the main floor.
He hears the sound of the doorbell jingling and sees the door itself slam shut a moment later, and though he can't see anyone outside, he doesn't see anyone inside either. "Hmph." with a grunt Olivander stows his wand away again and checks the door.
The handles been melted by intense heat. Or perhaps... venom? A sound behind him announces the falling of another disillusion charm.
"You know, Olivander, this wand may not have chosen me but I've already overloaded its natural resistance. Two words and I can end your life. But why should I deprive all of Wizarding Britain of its only Wandmaker? I know you have far better and stronger wands somewhere in here, hidden beyond the common pieces." Tom says.
"It would be in your best interest to lead me to them. If you refuse... I have means at my disposal to ensure you obey me." he adds. Olivander, having frozen at the first words, slowly swivels around. "The Imperius?" he questions. "Or would you prefer Crucio, old man?" Tom responds.
"Step out of the shadows and show me who I'm dealing with. I don't recognize your voice so you must be either a new student or seeking a replacement from one of my rival wandmakers." Olivander ordered. The Aurors should be here in a few more minutes, so its only a matter of stalling long enough...
"Aurors? Come now, Olivander. I've been eluding and killing Aurors for decades." reading Olivanders minds easily enough, "Imperio!" Tom hissed. The spell struck the elder man and he instantly walked past Tom and up to the steps again, heading into his own room in the back and pulling a key from around his neck that had previously been disillusioned.
Stepping up to his desk Olivander pulled out his own wand and tapped the third from the bottom shelf. It expanded rapidly, pushing the rest of the desk out of its way, until a tiny keyhole that had previously beem the size of a pin-prick formed.
With the key slotted in and turned counter-clockwise three times, a click, and a thunk, a hidden compartment slid open and four wands rolled out. Olivander promptly picked them up and placed them onto the desk before Tom.
"Tell me." he ordered. Olivander touched the first wand. "Redwood, 9 ¼ inchs, Cerberus hair core. Very complex rituals and transfiguration." he touched the next wand with a hint of resistance. "Sequoia, 12 inchs, Veela hair core. Charms." he touched the next even slower. "Holly, 11 ½, Phoenix feather core. General spellwork." he paused before the last wand entirely, his struggle quite evident now.
"Tell me. What is so special about the last wand?" Tom demanded, pushing more willpower into it. Veins bulging, Olivander touched it and began.
"Elder, 15 ⅛.. inchs.." he seemed to be struggling against the curse with all he had, extermely reluctant to give up the information. Toms eyebrows met and he pushed again. Olivanders nose began to bleed.
"Thestral... tail.. core..." For a moment Tom lessened the Imperius curse as his curiosity peaked, something in the back of his mind whispered to him, far away and yet so close at the same time. Olivanders lips were tightly shut and turning white from his effort to contain all further information. Tom pushed again.
"The.. Death.. stick." Toms eyes widened a fraction of an inch before his hand snatched the wand off the desk, feeling its magic surge into him and enforce the imperius so strongly Olivander began gushing with infomation.
Tom heard of how he received the wand in a dual with Fillius Flitwick, who earned it from Albus Dumbledore, who took it from Gellert Grindewald, who killed a german wandmaker for it.
He heard of the tale behind the Elder wand and what it supposedly could do, and of the other hallows, before Olivander collapsed into unconsciousness, blood having gushed from his nose down his front as he spoke.
Tom silently fingered the Elder wand, looking at the others. "Master of death... so it looks like my Horcruxes might be negated if someone were to unite the Deathly Hallows against me." looking down to the other wands, Tom reached down on an impulse and touched the Phoenix feather core wand. Sparks shot out from the end of it sharply and he picked it up as well.
"The Elder wand, and perhaps the brother wand to my original." he murmured softly, eyes alight with a deeply disturbing glee.
He looked around the back room for any other item that might prove useful and quickly selected two holsters for each wand, strapping them to his inner arms. With that he set Olivanders body on fire and the desk as well, knowing the flames would spread.
With a full body bind curse to keep him still and a silencing spell just to be sure he remains quiet, Tom departed from the wandshop. In minutes his fiendfyre had destroyed the entire shop and worked its way to the next nearest two as well.
Tom watched it all from his position down the street, cloths transfigured into something more worthy of a Wizard of Toms stature. His face was already hidden behind a number of glamours and charms.
Tom waited until the next morning before leaving the quiet inn he had stayed at within Knockturn Alley. No one remembered him, and he did not pay.
To his surprise he found Lucius Malfoy escorting his wife Narcissa and what he assumed to be their son towards Gringotts. With a slight frown Tom began following, curious as to how one of his more loyal Death Eaters remained alive and in public.
No one in Knockturn Alley held any trustworthy infomation on the last ten years.
Just before the trio were about to enter Tom cast a swift Imperio, watching as the man stopped and turned in mid-stride to descend back down the steps. "Follow me." he ordered his wife and son.
With curious and confused looks the Malfoys were led around to the same inn Tom had stayed at for the night.
They entered and ascended the stairs to the top floor, entering the second door from the right at the end of the hall.
A locking and silencing spell was cast after the trio entered. "Well, well. Lucius, I can't help but wonder whats going on." Tom called over to them, stepping out of the shadows and sitting down at a table. The imperius was lifted and Lucius drew his wand in one swift motion.
"Who do you think you are, boy?" Malfoy senior snarled, hesitating to kill the other Wizard before his son, but more than willing to seriously maim him.
"Put you wand away, Lucius, or I shall do it for you." Tom ordered softly. With a flash and a bang a green spell shot from Lucius wand and was deflected by a deeper green curse that the older man had the good sense to duck.
Draco was thrown out of the way by his mother, but Narcissa was hit. With a look of fear on her face she collapsed to the ground, unconscious and paling.
"Perhaps you should have listened to your master, Lucius. I have waited ten years and now I find myself lacking of information and loyal servants." Tom drawled, standing up. With a hiss in parseltongue, the Dark Mark burned lightly, forcing Lucius to cringe and clutch at his arm sharply, looking between this boy and his wife.
Draco shook his mother lightly, worried about her and what was going on. "Start talking, Lucius Malfoy, or I shall end both her life and your sons. Or do you want further proof I am Lord Voldemort incarnate?" Tom questioned, looking the older man in the eyes and battering aside his Occlumency shields with ease.
With a cry of agony Lucius dropped to his hands and knees, and crawled forward, kissing the hem of Toms robes. "F-Forgive me, master.." he begged, tears trailing down his cheeks rapidly.
Draco watched the exchange with fear and surprise, but also a bit of outrage. Where was the great Malfoy pride now? Why was his father bowing down to and begging this child his age or less?
Tom picked up on the thoughts and smirked. "Your son does not take to your current actions well, Lucius. He will make a fine Death Eater some day, provided he lives that long." he stated.
Lucius momentarily froze. "Oh, do not fear, Lucius, I will not be punishing you or your family for remaining free of Azkaban. You did what you deemed necessary." he paused, noting the senior Malfoys look of relief.
"No, I will be punishing you for never trying to find me before this. No doubt my original is still out in Albania, withering away and cursing each and everyone of you Death Eaters for your failure to find him and do your duty. Crucio!" he growled, aiming the Elder wand at Draco and Narcissa.
Draco crumpled to the ground and began screaming in agony, body twisting sharply and trying to break free of the curse. Narcissa, even unconscious, mimicked her son.
Lucius knew better than to interfere with his masters lessons, but he was hard pressed to sit by and do nothing as his own family was tortured. "Please, my lord, I beg you stop this!" he groveled pleadingly. "Another minute, Lucius. One minute more for each word you say after this." Tom responded coldly, a grin of demented pleasure stretching his face.
Lucius barely contained his response but made the mistake of thinking it instead. Tom caught it and redirected his ministrations onto the elder Wizard.
The screams that escaped him lasted far longer than his son and wifes.
After enduring this for another two minutes Lucius was allowed sanity again. He barely managed to crawl over to his wife and son.
"Enough. Get up, or I put you though another two minutes." Tom ordered harshly, disgusted by the show of love the Malfoys were showing by clinging together so tightly. "You have ten seconds, Lucius, before I begin. Nine. Eight. Seven." Tom began.
At one Lucius flung himself away from his family and forced himself up to his hands and knees. "Close.. but not enough. You will be going into the Ministry today and confessing to a joint-effort attack on Number 4 Private Drive three days ago, Lucius, confirming you tortured and killed Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley Dursley with a number of dark spells I taught you fifteen years ago." Tom ordered.
Lucius could only nod his head a few inchs. "You will also confess to taking Harry James Potter from his home at Number 4 and, after attempting to turn him to your side, imperiused him into accompanying you in the attack on Olivanders this morning, where you forced him to find a wand that fit him before burning the shop to the ground. You will tell the Ministry this because you will be under the Imperius yourself, ensuring you do not betray me."
Tom continued. "You will tell them where to find Malfoy Manor and warn them that Harry Potter will die in twenty minutes. When they ask you why you have confessed all of this, you will tell them you were acting on the orders of another Death Eater currently un-named that forced you to, but that you willingly committed the crimes ten years ago of your own accord."
Lucius silently bobbed his head again. "And now it is time to set things up for the Boy-who-lived to rejoin the Wizarding World publicly. I have quite a few things to discuss with my Potions Master."