5: Lord Voldemort.

Dark Lord, a title claimed by the most powerful dark wizards in their local magical community, was neither very rare nor very common. From time to time, a self-proclaimed Dark Lord would emerge in one region of the world, and few could go beyond that. 

Recent examples include Gellert Grindelwald, who terrorized Europe and North America with relative ease, to the point that he came close to burning down Paris. There were others like him, for example, Genghis Khan was one, perhaps the most catastrophic of his time. 

Though he was not known as a Dark Lord, more as a sort of Magical King, for there were many people who willingly joined his house, more than Voldemort would ever expect. 

Voldemort hadn't told anyone, but he wanted to emulate the terror the Great Khan had caused in the old world, and not only that, he wanted to go further, much further. But now he was just a local Dark Lord, and though he was powerful, he knew there were stronger ones out there. 

As much as he prided himself on his supposed purity of blood, he wasn't so deluded as to think that he alone was the pinnacle of magic, though he would like to be, but compared to Morgana Le Fay, he was nothing.

Oh, the terrible things Morgana did before Merlin stopped her were terrible, but the fact that she was one of the few people in the history of the magical world to have an Animagus transformation based on a magical creature only served to show how incredibly powerful she was. 

Voldemort had also tried to retrace the steps of Morgana, who may not have disappeared entirely until he stumbled upon the fact that everyone knew about the woman except for her true end. What happened to Morgana? And more importantly, what happened to Merlin?

As much as he prided himself on being a descendant of Slytherin, he knew that if there was anyone out there who was related to Merlin, he would be lost; not for nothing was the man known as one of the few legendary wizards. 

As our local dark lord rested on his throne, one of his followers approached. He didn't bother to find out who it was, why would he put a messenger in his mind? It didn't help that he was a half-blood, half-bloods were repulsive to him, even if there was some irony in that belief. 

"L-Lord Voldemort, I have news. I have received a list of all wizards born in July, our contact at the Ministry of Magic just sent it over," the man knelt before the Dark Lord and handed him a rolled-up parchment with a wax seal engraved on it. 

In a demonstration of his ability to use magic without a wand, he made the parchment float in his hand. It was a skill he hadn't stopped practicing since he knew how problematic wands were, useful but too standard, nothing made by him for him.

To emulate these great wizards, he already had plans to make his magical focus, like the Diadem of Ravenclaw, the Sword of Gryffindor, or the Ring of Merlin, among other relics of important wizards in history. 

When he began to read, he first ruled out Muggleborns, the wizarding government had a record of every child capable of using magic, even if they didn't pay due attention to Muggleborns, they were registered just in case. On the other hand, those born in the magical world were taken into account. 

Half-breeds, pure-blood wizards, and the pure-blood wizards, the nobility, so to speak. We all know the former and the latter, but not the pure wizards. Pure-blooded wizards are those citizens of the magical world whose ancestors were wizards three or more generations ago. They were not nobles like the pure-blood wizards, but they held an important place in society. 

Astreo Sinistra, a filthy half-blood in Voldemort's eyes, was discarded. Although the Sinistra family was known for producing excellent astronomers and astrologers, they were not special, and this child was born on July 6th, and his father, a vile filth-blood, was killed by Bellatrix Lestrange, not the one in the prophecy, as he did not meet the requirements. 

He read on until he found what he was looking for, two children from important families, even though one was a filthy half-blood, his lineage was special enough to ignore that. Hadrian James Potter and Neville Frank Longbottom. 

One of them was the one, since it would be impossible for both of them to be, and although the Longbottom family was known not only for their martial skills but also for herbalism, he doubted that they had any unknown powers to counter it, so that left the Potter boy. 

The Potter family was rare, marrying Muggles and living in other magical communities such as North America and even France and Germany. 

It was even said that they seemed to have some connection to the extinct Peverell family, whether that was true or not, it meant one thing: the Potter library might have some artifact, potion recipe, spell, or ritual that he didn't know about that could harm him, someone who had reached Eternity. 

But it was not the time to make a move against the Potter boy, even he, in all his glory and malevolence, knew one thing: Newborns could not be attacked. 

Even if he had committed sacrileges against humanity by tearing their souls apart several times, or sinned against life itself by creating necromantic abominations, he knew one thing: children were untouchable.

Until those children were a year old, he could do nothing against them for one simple reason: magic itself. Magic was alive, and it may not have had a clear conscience, but it was active and extremely protective of children, giving its blessing when a magical child was born. 

That was why Squibs were so despised in the wizarding world, even more so than Muggles, because at least Muggles could have a soul blessed by magic, but Squibs were a different matter. 

Muggles weren't blessed by magic, and that was fine, there wasn't much of a problem with that, it was like complaining about a cat having four legs instead of five, but a squib was someone rejected by magic, and hence the contempt. 

Even Voldemort, in all his arrogance, would never dare to violate such an inviolable principle; there are stories of wizards attacking newborn magical babies, literally ripping the magic from their souls, making them suffer through the whole process, and then leaving them an empty shell.

Magic was very zealous in protecting them, so Voldemort knew he had to wait a while, and in the meantime, he could concentrate on some projects of his own, such as breaking into Santa's workshop and getting even with him for bringing him coal since he was 7 years old. 

What the hell was Santa Claus? Nobody knows, he just showed up one day to give presents to children he thought were good, whether they were magical or not. The ICW had long wanted to catch him somehow because his actions violated the International Statute of Secrecy. 

Not that they ever succeeded, and then the people responsible started getting coal every Christmas without exception. Voldemort tried once, only to receive a scolding from this being for his attempts.

But returning to the reality of his thoughts, he waved his hand, dismissed his servant, and stood alone on his throne. 

Looks like I haven't moved in a while, let's go cause some more terror,' he thought, a mischievous grin creeping across his once handsome face, which was now just a shadow, all for the sake of power. 

Though he had none of his Death Eaters nearby, he could easily summon them, and so he did. Soon hundreds of people were kneeling before him, none of them wearing masks as they were not necessary in his presence. 

"My loyal subjects," Voldemort would never admit that he could never give a speech as good as the mythical one Gellert had given in France, but he had his charm. 

"Today I felt the need to sow chaos in the weak minds of wizards. So let us go forth and bring death and terror to those filthy Muggles, those blood traitors, and those rats who have not bowed to us, though they fear us," with a single wave of his hand, they all rose, propelled by the Dark Lord's wandless magic. 

Bellatrix Lestrange, in all her beautiful madness, came to her left, as much for symbolism as for responsibility. Not even her husband could cause 1% of the joy that was plastered on that woman's face, just by being so close to her master. 

At her right hand was Barty Crouch Jr, an outstanding young man with much talent and skill, who had become Voldemort's right hand after much effort. 

Dumbledore was in his office enjoying his usual sweets when he was interrupted by a duck-shaped Patronus who began to speak to him.

"Headmaster Dumbledore! It's You-Know-How and his followers, they're attacking a Muggle village and attracting a lot of attention, the Queen is very upset with the Ministry, but neither the Aurors nor the hit wizards will be deployed without you," the Patronus soon melted into silver smoke, plunging the Headmaster's office into an embracing silence. 

The news was terrible for the old man, who wasted no time in summoning his Patronus, he had to gather the Order of the Phoenix, at least those who could join the fight. He then approached his familiar, and the phoenix seemed to understand his intentions, for it soon flew over his head. 

He had to get to the Ministry soon; Voldemort was crossing a dangerous line with his attack; the International Statute of Secrecy could not be broken by his civil war alone.

This battle was the first in which Ministry forces were allowed to use dangerous spells and curses, including the Killing Curse. According to The Daily Prophet, there were casualties on both sides and nearly a thousand Muggles died, which was covered up as an attack or something; the paper didn't give much importance to the loss of people who didn't matter in today's magical society.

 Astreo found out what happened by eavesdropping on the conversations of adults who spoke to their babies without protection or filters. The description of Voldemort's monstrous ability, and how he still wasn't a worthy match for Dumbledore, gave him several glimpses into the true abilities of these two men. 

'Looks like the aging body isn't a problem for Dumbles, luckily he doesn't seem to be a guy with evil in him, otherwise he would be desperate by now,' Astreo thought after assessing Dumbledore's abilities, although he couldn't quite confirm it. 

'It seems I'll have to work much harder than I thought in the future, and not only that... I have to use the talent of humanity, the groups. I only regret that the only thing I can share from my past life is this physical exercise, though I still wonder how all the magical knowledge disappeared, a mystery I couldn't solve,' mused our baby protagonist as he was patted on the back for burping. 

In his past life, the only magic there was his own, so it was very difficult to get stronger, but he'd found a kind of exercise in some ruins that gave people better balance, flexibility, and reflexes. It didn't make you physically stronger, but it made your way of moving harmonious, almost perfect.

That's why in his old age he was able to dodge a few bullets, even though he was mortally wounded, it allowed him to launch Pluto at the last moment, and it also helped him with the delicate work that was his daughter Persephone. 

At the thought of his last and best creation, sadness flooded him and he began to cry, babies cry for everything, but he needed this cry to let go of his pain, because at least he had another life, and this was another chance to create it again. 

'Wait till I grow up... Persephone'