Chapter Text
Cold. Dark. Empty.
That is exactly what this night felt like, the night of October 31st, 1981. It was truly a mystery as to what occurred, it was no secret that the married couple that was Lily and James Potter were deceased. But their son? He was missing. There was no trace as to where Harry Potter disappeared off to, as an infant couldn’t just randomly disappear, right?
What did happen after Lily Potter died? With no witnesses, there was no one to recount the following event:
A flash of green, and the mother collapsed. As cold, crimson eyes settled on the baby in the crib, the air in the room shifted. It was colder, more tense, more.. deliberate. Calculations constantly ran through Voldemort’s mind; There was not a single moment where he was not planning, considering, and evaluating. A curse of genius, perhaps. But on this night, Voldemort had a small shift in thought, a test in fate: What if he raised the boy in isolation instead?
Voldemort weighed his options. On one hand, Harry would know nothing but Voldemort. On the other hand, Harry could become dependent. Voldemort despised dependency, as he did not need it. Emotion was a weakness in Voldemort’s eyes. To him, it was nothing more than a tool to twist, manipulate, and break.
Voldemort was conflicted. He could raise and shape Harry. But, he could also kill Harry right here and now. Voldemort felt a strange pull toward Harry, it was a feeling he often experienced when in close range to his horcruxes. The realization soon hit Voldemort… Harry was now a horcrux. His soul had split once more when he killed Lily, and now Harry held a portion of Voldemort inside of him. That made him more important, it gave Voldemort more of a reason to keep Harry closer, to separate him, and ensure he knows nothing of the world beyond them.
A scowl formed on Voldemort’s lips, as he stared at the one year old. This was supposed to be simple, just a quick plan to eliminate the child who is destined to kill him, and now, Voldemort is facing an accidental horcrux. Voldemort clenched his fist at his side and closed his eyes for half a second, before they snapped back open. This was something he now had to protect, he couldn’t risk losing a horcrux, even if it’s one he didn’t want.
Voldemort stepped closer to the crib, glaring down at the infant. He picked Harry up, adjusting his grip on the boy. Without second thought, he apparated back to his current residence.
Now, here Voldemort was, standing in his dimly lit office, holding the infant he swore to destroy in his arms, as if the boy were his own child. What a foolish thought, this boy was a child, yes, but he would never be Voldemort’s in a parental sense. For now, Harry was just another tool of potential to shape, to mold, to bend to the will of the Dark Lord.
With a flick of his wand, a crib manifested near the fireplace. Voldemort set Harry down. He gazed at the child for a second longer, distaste crossing his features, as he sharply turned around and swiftly moved to his desk. If this child was destined to kill Lord Voldemort, then the Dark Lord will make it known that he does not bend to fate. If his demise is written in the stars, then those stars will be rewritten or destroyed.
Silence always lingered in Voldemort’s office, it was one of the few things he enjoyed. Between the constant neediness from Death Eaters, and the cold, desolate silence that was the space of the Dark Lord, Voldemort rarely found himself in moments of peace. Now, with the presence of his fated murderer, Voldemort found himself deeply tense. “No,” Voldemort thought. “This child will not be an obstacle in my path. I am eternal. I am inevitable. If any dares to challenge me, then they will be eliminated.”
Voldemort picked up his quill, and dipped it in ink. For tonight, he will focus on diplomatic matters, while subtly keeping an eye on Harry Potter. “The child is strangely quiet.” That was a thought that ran through Voldemort’s mind. “Children are noisy, annoying, disruptive. And yet, here he is, sitting there calmly as if this were normal. I can sense his potential, and it will be utilized to my benefit.”
Voldemort put his quill down and folded his hands on his desk. His gaze flickered to the fireplace, watching as the flames danced and crackled. After moments of consideration, Voldemort settled on one thought:
“The child will be shaped.”