What Happened That Night

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**Voldemort

Voldemort apparated himself to the gate of Godric's Hollow. He could not let that damnable prophecy come to pass, there was just so much killing to be done! So, the child had to die, and the parents too. He really must keep up appearances, and anyways, killing was ever so relaxing.

Nothing could match the feeling of satisfaction he got from seeing the light slowly drain out of a person's horror-filled eyes. Well, except for torturing them first, but he didn't see himself having the time or patience for that tonight.

Still, he couldn't help imagining the screaming they would have done for him, as he disassembled their bodies and tore into their minds as easily as cracking an egg. It truly would have been glorious. Pained sounds caused by him always sounded as sweet music to his ears, as relaxing and endorphin releasing as good sex.

Using wordless magic, he opened the deceptively delicate looking white iron gate. His magic had seamlessly and expediently unraveled all blocks barring his simply walking through them. Some incredibly nasty wards and protections had been placed on them, not what one would expect from the so-called 'light' wizards, but then again, few knew Dumblebitch's true nature. He'd likely put them up himself, the vicious power hungry old coot.

Voldemort pondered lightly how his sanity might have been retained if not for Dumb-As-A-Duck. He'd never have done anything to permanently harm another until he'd been put under the Imperius curse by that bastard. It had quite warped his mind, the things he'd been forced to do. As usual, he brushed it aside. Now was not the time for pondering old problems or plotting vengeance.

Now was a time for violence and death. A cruel, twisted smile stretched across his sculpted features, handsome and still preserved at the age of twenty years. He glided up the paved stone walkway leading towards the house, swaying lightly to the chorusing screams in his head.

Pettigrew, the useless sniveling coward who was weaker than the Malfoy's child, Draco, was it? Well, the child had yet to reach his second year. Pettigrew had not only given him the location of the Potter's residence, he'd also provided the locations of both the adult and infant Potter's bedchambers. Though Pathetigrew had not ever seen the child, he had seen the nursery and been given tours of the Hollow before.

He would not be defeated by these weakling Dumbledore worshippers, or their child. He was even more powerful than Merlin himself, and a good deal more insane. The perfect combination if one were to consult him.

His black robes fluttered around him in an unnatural breeze that had been stirred by his presence alone. His powerful aura tended the warp the world around him, and his mental state usually played a role in the outcome. He was feeling giddy at the thought of killing tonight, so there were no explosions, and the world was mostly calm about him.

The night was laced with the chill of Autumn, on the date the muggles called All Hallow's Eve or Halloween. Really, could they agree on nothing? It could be quite vexing at times to deal with their irregularities. One phrase ought to be enough. Against the stereotype, the moon was new this night, only the stars were present to light the world.

The faint illumination that did show was only enough to cast everything as vague silhouettes. He was certain that no mere glance out a window would reveal his presence to the house's inhabitants. A pity that. He did so love a struggle.

The doors to the house opened at his unspoken request, silently swinging inwards to grant him entry. His bare feet registered the shift from smooth cool paving stones to a soft light-colored carpet.

A shift in energy caught his attention. He cocked his head to the side, as if to better focus in on it, although he already knew the trace had the signature of eyes. Somebody was watching him. There were none other than him physically present in a direct line of sight to him, and he concluded it must be a metaphysically trained powerful magic user.

Being present where one did not physically manifest took a great deal of power and concentration. Very often the caster would find themselves permanently separated into body and awareness, unable to provide themselves with food or water, and would be forced to watch as their body shriveled away to nothing. Few could do it, even after years of training. At the age of eleven though, Tom Marvolo Riddle had been able produce just such a feat.

An insanely happy grin lit up his face, for now he had an audience! Maybe they too would enjoy watching him end the lives of the Potters. He didn't bother killing house elves unless they got in the way, they were rather pathetic and he did not see them as worth the energy it could take to expend them.

One might wonder why, for surely death tasted just as sweet either way? The answer to that is that the death of a servant who follows out of duty rather than loyalty is not truly satisfying. He had nothing against killing them, but he minded little that they were all in their sleeping areas.

Determining it best not to bother this night, he let his magic twine around the rooms with house elves present. Not even the combined might of their rather formidable power would be getting through by the time he had finished his buisiness here.

Kill now. It will feel so nice.

Yes, yes. Kill the traitorous filth. Potters are arrogant and useless, you have seen what they did to Severus.

Ooh, but don't let them go too quietly. Hear them scream. Hear the so-called light wizards scream as you kill them and then their child!

Why don't you do a fillirio? I'd love to hear the male scream as he is turned inside out!

No, don't do that. Too time consuming, we wouldn't have enough time to get everything done before the witchmaker's daughter suggested. We want the child dead.

Voldemort rolled his head from side to side, hissing at the voices in his head to shut up. They could be quite tiresome, it's not like he wanted their opinions in the first place.

He did wish terror in their deaths though. Agonized screams at least, even if he had not the time for drawn out torture and bloodshed.

He sent a trickle of magical unease to the adult Potter's bedchamber. It was sure to wake them up and alert them to the fact that all was not well. He felt the slight resonance of his spell making contact, and he waited five seconds with his grin widening before making his first move.

He let out his carrying, highly distinctive cackle of malicious enjoyment so that his position would be obvious. They likely weren't bright enough to discover him quickly all on their lonesome.

The stupid Potter male came running down the hall from his room to intercept him. His grin turned into a sneer as the man neared, his contempt showing clear as the nose on his face.

"Brave James Potter, a Gryffindor of great esteem, or so has been said. Noble loyal, well, you can't have everything, so it would appear your trade off was a brain, seeing your current position.

"He came running out to face the Dark Lord, brave as a lion, and stupid as a deer in headlights. He did not so much as bother grabbing his wand before setting out to face his death. Tell me Potter, how does it feel," Voldemort tilted his head and twined vines of thorny magic tight around Potter before continuing, "to be brave?"

As the invisible thorns dug into the man's flesh, he let out an ear piercing scream that reached a decibel he thought ought to be reserved for women and children.

In fascination, he first imagined the thorns each growing barbs, and then spinning themselves deeper into his flesh at the highest speed of an electric drill. The screaming continued, and Voldemort was continually entranced as the spell produced no visible marks.

The spell had been specifically cultivated to damage one's non corporeal essence, meaning that the damage could not be healed magically without the very specific counter-curse. It also meant that James Potter appeared untouched even as he writhed in agony, clenched in a tight fist of magic that was quite literally shredding him into pieces.

He frowned, remembering that he had a time contstraint and it didn't matter how much he liked watching the man suffer. Puffing out a petulant breath, he sent a seed of dark magic into the core of James Potter's heart.

That seed, tiny though it may be now, would grow larger as it fed. Insidious and out of sight, the darkness would take root, and, over the course of this next half hour, drain all life and energy from its host. At that point, Potter would be naught but a husk of flesh.

His personal favorite effect of this specific manipulation was that as it sucked away his being, he'd be put through pain beyond endurance. According to Volume III of Dark Theories and Stratagems by Durian Whitefall , the spell would force the victim to receive every pain they'd knowingly and willingly inflicted on another person.

Potter was a bully, and from what he could piece together, nearly caused the suicide of a Death Eater while he was still attending Hogwarts. One could infer that the next half hour would be very painful for one Mr. James Potter.

Voldemort smiled at the shrieking, writhing figure on the floor. He deftly un entwined the magical vines, making sure to let the barbs catch on the way out rather than simply vanish them. The man would not be capable of conscious movement this next half hour, so leaving the vines in would accomplish nothing.

Tears flowed down Potter's cheeks, and he was looking rather red in the face from all of his screaming. Voldemort was glad of them, the bitch deserved every iota of pain he was feeling.

"Silencio," he said, his voice coming out as a sibilant hiss, closer to parseltongue than English.

He did not wish the only discernible sound to be screaming.

The wail of a crying baby could be heard as the screams cut out, and his eyes flashed from blue to red. He was on the hunt.

Ah, here we have our prophesied baby Potter. I wonder, what does this child cry for? Surely he knows he is destined to defeat me?

Stepping casually over the dead man writhing, he made his way sedately up the stairs he knew lead to the nursery.

Even from down the hall he could heard someone, he could only assume it was Lily, frantically shushing the fussy child. Her efforts were useless though, if anything, the child became even louder.

Like father like son, he supposed. Well, or daughter, but he was pretty sure it sounded like a boy.

He took a left and opened the chamber door at the hall's end using wordless magic. So far as he could tell, Lily was very self-centered but not evil. As he took in the chamber, he was briefly surprised. There were two babies, not just one as he'd been expecting. One with reddish hair was cradled in her arms.

Quickly, he pierced javelin sharp through Lily's mental barriers. The children's names were easy enough to find. James Evan Potter Jr and Harry Fleamont Potter. Apparently, she liked James, who they'd taken to calling Evan, better.

Evan was a perfectly unremarkable baby, maybe a bit on the pudgy side, with curly auburn hair, dull green eyes, and a rather unfortunate nose.

Harry was still undersized, and had prematurely lost most of his baby fat, making him appear as an older child if one did not pay attention to his diminutive stature. Lily found his appearance 'odd' and disdained him for it.

This disgusted him enough that he cast a silent killing curse on the spot. Really, she should have just fed the boy more or given him growth aiding potions.

Dispassionately, he watched as her body fell to the floor.

Upsettingly enough, this motion caused the child still in her arms to start squalling louder. Why must children be so tiresome? With a slight flick of his fingers, the sound cut off. It had been most annoying.

He walked over and lifted the babe into his arms. He was snot faced and still crying, definitely two things currently getting on his nerves. With an impatient sigh, he surveyed the v-shaped cut the boy had incurred in his little tumble.

It was slowly oozing blood, red and sticky drops drops falling onto the off white jumper he wore. Could that small scratch possibly be the reason for such a nightmarishly bothersome crying jag?

Voldemort dragged his index finger over the still open cut, sealing the injury while laying a charm that prevented noisy fussing from the boy when he was in his presence. He never wished to deal with this child for even a second more.

The scar had healed over still the pink of newly healed flesh, but with a faint glow about it. That would be the charm. Scanning the fat red haired sausage named Evan, he immediately realized the creature had a magical core so low it was only one point above a squib.

Disgusted by the idea of this pathetic excuse for a wizard being the weapon of his downfall, he set the child back into the crib marked 'James'. He should take care of the real threat first.

Turning to Harry, the intelligence he saw in the toddler's eyes astounded him. The fifteen month old child before him understood everything going on around him.

"Hello Harry," he said, knowing instinctively that the baby could understand him.

~Hello. You are the Dark one. Strange, you would appear to be in pieces, yet you are called a one.~

To say he was shocked was an understatement. Voldemort couldn't believe that the child was a parselmouth! Due to his lack of baby fat, Harry looked like a shrunken five year old, with his dull green eyes and messy black hair.

The child, it was obvious to see, was very powerful. He was likely a natural legilimens, empath and reader, for he saw beyond the visual to mental, aural, and natural soulways.

Had the infant truly seen his shattered soul? Did he know about the pieces gone missing into horcruxes?

~Ha! Dark one, you know not what to think! All up there's twisted with horcruxes and madness, you ought to be more careful where you tread. The driver of the imprisoned fire bird moves against you even now.

~I give you warning though, take from me what has not been freely given this night, and you shall be banished. What fears you have may be muddled to my sight, with madness clouding understanding, but know this, I have been set to a higher purpose than you have yet to comprehend.~

~Child, how do you know this?~

Voldemort truly looked at the child now. It appeared he was wreathed in glamours and magic. How his eyes perceived the child before him was wrong. The magic was altering his appearance. What did little Harry Potter look like?

~I do not believe you know what you ask. Must I repeat, Dark one, that you will not remain as you are if you take from me?~

Yet again, he found himself more confused. Take something from him? And why did the child speak in riddles? In his experience, toddlers his age tended to speak more simply or not at all. Maybe being able to use parseltongue improved vocabulary from what a person could pronounce to what they could understand?

This conversation had definitely gotten his curiosity peaked though. How had Lily not known how truly incredible her child was?

~Ah, you wonder of my mother. She had no knowledge of my power nor my intelligence. Her mind would have rejected it, so I have let no one see. That is, excepting you and my brother. He is still too young to understand or remember what he has been witness too.~

~Do you change their minds?~ Voldemort asked, amazed. The child truly was amazingly gifted. Most certainly a natural legilimens, and perhaps even better at it than he himself was to have kept such a secret.

~Altered them? Of course. Just as I have done before and will do again. People do not, in the general course of things, accept what they do not understand.~

~How do you know so much?~

~While in my mother's womb, I was unaware of what I did. I had accidentally read her mind, along with the immediate thoughts of those around me. From what I can piece together, this started around five and a half months into the pregnancy.~

Being in possession of a somewhat dirty mind(understatement), he immediately wondered if this meant little Harry already knew what went down between a man and a woman. The answer hit him full in the face as a yes, and he quickly moved past it. There are certain things that children should not know.

To say his mind was blown about Harry using accidental legilimency before he was even born was accurate. The baby was wonderfully powerful and smart. How could he have remained a secret?

Dumbledore surely had met the boy, and even Voldemort couldn't get through that old coot's occlumency shields. If little Harry was discovered, he would blow the wizarding world away, he could likely do it literally if he so chose. So how was he still a secret?

~I pretend to be normal. Neither the world nor I is ready for me. I still have much to learn.~

Now unable to help himself, he reached out with his magic in an attempt to read Harry's magic level and remove his glamour.

An immense shock of magic was rebounded into him, causing his body to curl up in agony. What was happening? Why was he in so much pain?

"FOOL!" a voice thundered in his mind. "I WARNED YOU! FOR THIS, YOUR MEMORIES SHALL BE ALTERED TO LEAVE ME OUT!"

He watched as his body caught fire, his vision going black. He screamed. Because of his horcruxes, instead of dying, his immortal essence flowed out of his body and into the air. All he was now was an awareness.

The ashes of his body vanished with no fanfare, not even a faint popping sound. The last thought left in his mind was the memory of standing over a dead Lily Potter with a fussy baby in her arms. The green eyes were meeting his, dull and red-rimmed, with a V carved into his cheek still leaking blood.

What happened? Had the prophecy come true? Had baby Evan Potter really defeated him?

NO!

He refused to believe that! He would return to his followers. Return, get a new body, and kill the dull-eyed red-haired whelp who'd caused this. Yes, that's what he'd do.

Then, after he danced on the boy's grave, he would take over the world.

Voldemort's essence flowed through the window pane of the Godric's Hollow nursery at 11:57 October 31st 1981, with no notion of the true Harry Potter.