Chapter Text
A new Beginning
The night was still and dark in Godric’s Hollow. The quaint village, usually so serene and picturesque, seemed to hold its breath. Inside a modest, cozy house, Lily and James Potter were putting their infant son, Harry, to bed. They had no idea that the peace of their home was about to be shattered.
Lily gently took Harry in her arms, brushing a soft kiss on his forehead. “Sleep tight, my little love,” she whispered, her voice filled with tenderness.
James stood nearby, his wand always within reach. The war with Voldemort had made him vigilant, but he could never have anticipated what was coming.
Suddenly, the front door exploded inward, wood splintering and hinges screaming. Voldemort stepped through the wreckage, his serpentine features twisted in a cruel smile. He moved with deadly grace, his wand already raised.
James reacted instantly, pushing Lily toward the stairs. “Lily, take Harry and run! I’ll hold him off!”
With a flash of green light, Voldemort struck James down before he could cast a single spell. James’s lifeless body crumpled to the floor, his glasses askew.
Lily’s scream echoed through the house as she fled up the stairs, clutching Harry to her chest. She barricaded herself in the nursery, her heart pounding. She knew there was no escape, but she would not go down without a fight.
The door burst open, and Voldemort entered, his red eyes gleaming with malice. “Stand aside, girl,” he hissed. “Stand aside, and I shall spare you.”
“No!” Lily cried, placing herself between Voldemort and Harry. “Not Harry! Please, not my baby!”
Voldemort’s face twisted with impatience. “Stand aside,” he repeated, his voice a deadly whisper.
Lily’s eyes filled with tears, but she stood her ground. “Take me instead. Kill me, but spare him!”
Voldemort’s lip curled in contempt. “So be it,” he said, raising his wand. “Avada Kedavra!”
The green light filled the room, and Lily’s body fell to the floor, lifeless. Harry, now alone in his crib, stared up at Voldemort with wide, innocent eyes.
Voldemort pointed his wand at the child, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “Avada Kedavra,” he intoned once more.
The curse hit Harry, but instead of killing him, it rebounded. Voldemort felt an indescribable pain as the spell backfired, his body being wracked with unimaginable agony. He staggered, barely able to remain upright, his physical form weakened and damaged.
In the moments that followed, Voldemort's mind raced. He knew that others would come for Harry soon. His followers were scattered, and he could not risk being discovered in this weakened state. He had to act quickly.
He moved to Harry’s crib, his hands trembling but determined. “You are stronger than I imagined, Harry Potter,” he whispered, a twisted sense of triumph mingling with his pain. “And I shall make you stronger still.”
With a final, pained glance at the bodies of James and Lily, Voldemort picked up the infant. He Disapparated from the ruins of the house, taking Harry away from the life he was meant to have just as distant sounds of arrival could be heard.
---
Voldemort's hideout was located in a secluded part of the Black Forest in Germany, far away from the prying eyes of the wizarding world. The home was a large, ancient manor, concealed by powerful enchantments and surrounded by dense woods. Despite its ominous exterior, inside, it was warm and filled with an unexpected sense of comfort and security.
From the moment Harry arrived, Voldemort treated him with an unusual gentleness. The Dark Lord, who was feared by many, showed a side of himself that no one else had ever seen. He was attentive, carefully nurturing Harry’s abilities and encouraging his growth.
“Harry, you are destined for greatness,” Voldemort would often tell him. “You possess a power that no one else has. Together, we will unlock your true potential.”
---
Harry's first instance of accidental magic occurred when he was three. Frustrated by a book on a high shelf he couldn't reach, Harry's intense focus caused the tome to float down. Voldemort, observing from the doorway, noted the occurrence with approval.
"You've demonstrated your potential, Harry," Voldemort stated, his voice carrying a hint of satisfaction. "We will begin harnessing your abilities immediately."
Harry nodded, his green eyes already showing a hint of steel. "Yes, Father. I want to learn everything."
"Your eagerness is commendable," Voldemort replied, his tone neutral but not unkind. "It will serve you well in your training."
True to his word, Voldemort commenced Harry's magical education without delay. Their lessons took place in a specially prepared room, its walls lined with arcane objects and ancient tomes. Voldemort proved to be a demanding teacher, accepting nothing less than excellence.
When Harry was seven, Voldemort decided it was time for his first intentional spell. "Today, you will learn to control your magic at will," Voldemort explained, his red eyes gleaming. He placed a feather on the table. "We'll start with a levitation charm. The incantation is 'Wingardium Leviosa'."
Harry's face remained neutral as he repeated the words, his small hand gripping his wand firmly.
"Now, remember the wand movement. Swish and flick. Focus your intent on making the feather float," Voldemort instructed.
Harry took a measured breath, his emerald eyes fixed on the feather. "Wingardium Leviosa," he said clearly, performing the wand movement.
The feather twitched but remained on the table. Harry's jaw clenched in frustration.
"Again," Voldemort commanded, his tone brooking no argument.
After several more attempts, the feather finally rose steadily into the air. Harry's face showed a flicker of satisfaction before returning to its usual composed expression.
"I've done it," he stated simply, looking to Voldemort for assessment.
Voldemort gave a curt nod. "Well executed, Harry. Your persistence is paying off. We will continue until you can perform it flawlessly."
Harry straightened at the rare praise, his determination visibly strengthening. "Yes, Father. I won't disappoint you."
Harry’s days were filled with rigorous training sessions, where he learned everything from basic spells to languages. Voldemort was a strict but fair teacher, ensuring Harry mastered every skill. He taught Harry the importance of strategy, discipline, and resilience.
Despite the intensity of his training, Voldemort made sure Harry had a well-rounded upbringing. The manor was filled with books on various subjects, and Voldemort encouraged Harry to read and explore different fields of knowledge. They would often spend evenings in the grand library, discussing everything from history to philosophy—although, just the right side of history.
---
One evening, as they sat by the fireplace, Voldemort turned to Harry with a serious expression. “Harry, the world is vast, and there are many things you have yet to experience. Soon, you will need to step out and discover these for yourself.
Some might tell you stories where they lie to make themselves feel better. But remember, no matter where you go or what you do, I will always be here for you.”
Harry looked at him, feeling a mixture of excitement and apprehension. “I understand, Father. I’m ready to face whatever comes my way.”
Their evenings were often spent in the manor's vast library, where Voldemort would impart knowledge of ancient magic and wizarding history. After a particularly grueling lesson on complex transfiguration, Voldemort noted Harry's unwavering focus.
"Your dedication to mastering difficult spells is impressive, Harry," Voldemort said, his tone measured but approving. "It's a quality that will set you apart from lesser wizards."
Harry's posture straightened imperceptibly at the words. "Thank you, Father. I aim to be worthy of your teachings."
One night, as they sat in contemplative silence by the fire, Harry's curiosity surfaced. "Father," he began, his tone measured, "why do we never leave the manor? Are there other wizards beyond these walls?"
Voldemort's expression remained unchanged. "The world outside is filled with those who would oppose us, Harry. Many wizards exist, but they are weak, corrupted by foolish ideals."
Harry's brow furrowed slightly. "They're our enemies, then?"
"They would be, if they knew of our existence," Voldemort explained coldly. "We possess power they can't comprehend. Their fear and ignorance make them dangerous. That's why I've kept us hidden – to prepare you for the challenges ahead."
Despite the emotionless delivery, there was a note of purpose in Voldemort's voice that Harry had learned to recognize. "I understand, Father. I won't disappoint you when the time comes."
"Your understanding of our position is commendable, Harry," Voldemort replied, his tone carrying a hint of approval. "It's crucial for what lies ahead."
Beyond their secluded home, the wizarding world remained in flux. Voldemort's disappearance had left a power vacuum, with various factions vying for control. The Ministry of Magic maintained a fragile peace, while Albus Dumbledore and his supporters continued their search for both Voldemort and the missing Harry Potter.
Voldemort monitored these developments through his network of loyal followers. Lucius Malfoy, one of his most trusted associates, made infrequent visits to the manor under heavy enchantments.
During one such visit, as Harry practiced advanced defensive spells in his room, Lucius updated Voldemort on the latest news.
"My Lord," Lucius reported, "Dumbledore grows increasingly determined in his search for the boy. He remains convinced that Harry Potter lives."
Voldemort's eyes narrowed slightly. "Dumbledore's persistence is... noteworthy. We must remain vigilant, Lucius. The time is not yet right for Harry to be revealed to the world."
Lucius nodded, a hint of curiosity in his grey eyes. "If I may inquire, My Lord, what are your plans for the boy?"
Voldemort paused, considering his words carefully. "Harry is... unique, Lucius. His potential exceeds anything I've encountered before. When the time comes, he will play a crucial role in shaping the future of our world."
"And the boy's training? Is it progressing as you hoped?" Lucius asked, his tone respectful but intrigued.
"Harry's progress is... satisfactory," Voldemort replied, a hint of something almost like pride in his voice. "He has much yet to learn, but his dedication is unwavering."
As Lucius departed, Voldemort stood by the window, his gaze fixed on the dark forest beyond. He had not anticipated the complexity of raising and mentoring Harry, nor the unfamiliar sentiments it occasionally stirred within him. These were thoughts he kept carefully guarded, even from himself.
In his room, Harry finished his practice session, his magical aura pulsing with controlled power. His dreams, when he allowed himself to sleep, were filled with visions of the future Voldemort had alluded to – a world where he would play a pivotal role. In his heart, a determination grew – to prove himself worthy of the path Voldemort was preparing him for, driven by a desire to fulfill the potential his mentor saw in him.