Consuming Shadows

Chapter 22

Looking at him now, it was a wonder he had never seen it before.

The ruffled, chaotic black hair, the facial features only generations of pureblood breeding could create. It all screamed James Potter. Exempting the slimmer, shorter build, and the electric green of his eyes, if you slipped a pair of glasses on, he was his father reborn. It was a miracle no one had made the connection yet.

It was a miracle it took him this long to make the connection.

True, he had not thought back to that night so many years ago, in almost a decade. His mind had been dulled by his continuous creation of horcruxes, and his want to eliminate any threat to his power had consumed him for the longest time, making his recollection hazy and unreliable. But if there was one thing he did remember as clear as crystal, it was James Potter and his defiant, bright eyes.

Voldemort held no high opinion of bravery. He saw it as a reckless, unsavoury thing that pushed people to take unnecessary risks. He had no time for fools that threw themselves to their deaths.

That being said, James came very close to changing his view on the matter. The young man had earned a quiet respect from him, for while his actions had been foolish, and had led to his demise, his determination to save his wife and son had given him a strength almost unmatched.

Voldemort might not entirely understand the concept of 'family', but he could certainly relate to the urge to protect what belonged to you.

James Potter had truly been a challenge to defeat. As much as it might gall him to admit it, had the man not been so preoccupied covering his family's escape, he might have had a chance of beating him.

And at the tender age of twenty-one.

Voldemort knew only a handful of witches and wizards who held that level of pure talent at that age. There was a reason James Potter was one of the highest ranking students to emerge from Hogwarts, as well as an accomplished auror and duellist.

If he had known of the potential there, he would have converted the man well before Dumbledore got his talons too deeply into him. Having someone of that strength working for him, and in such a delectable position, very well could have secured his victory over the old headmaster completely.

And while James' actions had allowed his wife and child to flee, Voldemort could hardly find it in himself to hate the man. James Potter had been an opponent that was worthy of his respect. It was the primary reason Voldemort had let the Order take the man's body from Godric's Hollow and bury it unobstructed. Any magical blood spilt was a waste, no matter how much of it stained his own hands; and despite how furious he had been back then, he knew how to honour a fallen enemy of that calibre.

James would have made a worthy follower, but now it seemed fate saw fit to give him another chance.

The last heir to the Potter House, the one prophesised to defeat him, Harry Potter. But that was not quite right.

For he was also Hadrian Evans, the Beauxbatons champion, and by far one of the most intriguing individuals he had met in years.

Once his anger had cooled, and the bitter sting of his pride at being tricked had ebbed away, he saw this for the opportunity that it was. He did not want to kill the boy, not yet at least. There was so much he could gain from this unexpected revelation, and he still had to satisfy the curiosity the child had managed to invoke in him.

Now that he knew of the threat, he could take ample measures to keep Hadrian from attempting anything.

And, when all was said and done, when he had squeezed ever last drop of usefulness out of the boy, gotten every announce of amusement he could from him then – then he would kill him.