Bound by Blood(wbwl)

The Boy-Who-Lived

Lord Voldemort, the Dark Lord, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, You Know Who. These were all titles he was known by to the Wizarding World. In reality, Tom Marvolo Riddle had almost nothing to do with the creation of these. The only two he answered were the first ones. And the second title was what brought him to his current mission. The murder of a young boy. Tom did not want to, yet he knew he must. Billions, or one. If he had the choice, he would have taken the boy to raise. That was not possible. Some of his Elite had gotten word of the prophecy. Tom snorted. Oh yes, the prophecy. It was entirely likely it was just a farce that Dumbledore cooked up. The man was ridiculous. Just because Tom took Divination in his third year, suddenly he's obsessed with the future. It was in the same vein as because he asked if it was possible to prolong one's life upon first learning of the Wizarding World, he employed the darkest magics known to wizarding kind not once but seven times! In fact, he bet Dumbledore was projecting his flaws onto Tom. Or making the press do so, it truly made no difference. 

Tom arrived at the Potter's two story house in Godric's Hollow. Peter Pettigrew practically bowed him in, showing him to the Potter twins' room.

"Here they are, My Lord." Pettigrew opened the door with a grand flourish, as if taking great pride in the destruction of the children. He was disgusted, but unfortunately vermin like Pettigrew were necessary if he wished to achieve his goals. At the very least, he could limit them to the Outer Circle. Tom glanced around the room, taking everything in. One side was decorated with the brightest red he had ever seen, with equally garish yellow as accents. The other was much more mellow, with a pale gold and jade green as the color scheme. Two different boys sat in the two cribs. Tom glanced at the one in the red half. He had auburn hair with hazel eyes, quite pudgy. Yellow lettering above his bed proclaimed his name to be Charles Fleamont, how surprising. The child's magic signature was extraordinarily low, barely higher than that of a squib.

The other one, Harry James, sported raven black hair with brilliant green eyes, small and lithe for one of his age. His magical signature was, to say the least, confusing. Currently it was the same as an average wizarding child, but Tom sensed the potential for him to be great. There was also the matter of the spark of intelligence in the ravenette's eyes, as if he understood that this stranger was one to be wary of. His brother, on the other hand, merely started crying as a regular child would.

Tom raised his wand, his expression filled with a sort of sadness and resignation. The younger of the two would defeat him(or so one would think). If he didn't do this, the poor boy would likely become a pawn in Dumbledore's manipulations, and he refused to have that. There was also the chance that Dumbledore would consider him another sacrifice for the "Greater Good".

"I apologize for what I'm going to put you through, little one. But you cannot be allowed to live. I promise it will just be like falling asleep. You could have been a great many things. But I cannot risk Dumbledore slaughtering thousands, with you likely included, in the name of stopping me," Tom explained, half to himself, half to the young boy in front of him. His scarlet eyes saw emerald green flash with understanding, then close.

With that, Tom raised his wand, the Killing Curse on his lips, then decided to give one final tribute to the child who accepted death. His wand created a sharp zigzag as he willed the Killing Curse to just once leave a mark. The deadly green light shot towards the boy, and a silver shield sprang into existence, deflecting the curse back to the sender. With a cry of agony, a black spirit erupted from Tom's body as it burned away, part of it breaking off and curling around the lightning bolt scar that appeared on Harry's forehead, covered gently by his bangs. The ceiling caved in, a green piece of glass fell on Charles and sliced a V shape right in his forehead. Charles Fleamont Potter began to wail, as his brother Harry James Potter passed out, scar pulsing lightly and eyes glowing an Avada Kedavra green underneath his eyelids.