"Who is that?" Voldemort was eyeing the boy they sent out to fight him. He didn't recognize this boy. He wondered what Dumbledore was doing.
"I am Mical Potter." He proclaimed loudly and rather proudly. He was a tall slender boy who was stepping up to the front of the Light forces. He had red hair with bright blue eyes.
"Who?" Voldemort asked again, wondering who spiked their water. He wondered what was going on. He glanced around confused.
"I am the Boy-Who-Lived, the boy who survived your killing curse." Mical was famous after all, everyone knew who he was. He made sure to remind them all the time of it, just in case they did forget.
"No, you aren't." Voldemort was looking around to see if this was a joke and the real Boy-Who-Lived was sneaking up on him. He kept looking and his Death Eaters were just as confused as he was. After all, something like this never happened. Voldemort looked at his confused Death Eaters and shrugged. He had no idea what was going on.
Dumbledore stepped forth, standing next to Mical. "This is the boy who survived the night of your failed killing curse." He was sure he had picked the right twin. There was never any doubt. The boy had a scar on his cheek to show he was the one.
Voldemort let out a laugh and turned to his Death Eater "He got it wrong. The great Albus Dumbledore got it wrong. He isn't the boy who I tried to kill, he is the boy who was in the next crib. Now isn't that a title? I can see that in the papers now." He heard his followers laughed at the new title for the boy. "Wrong boy, wrong crib."
"I am telling you that it is him." Dumbledore tried again, there was no way he could have it wrong.
"You weren't there I was and that isn't him. You messed it all up." He sighed, very disappointed and slightly annoyed. "You picked the wrong twin." He let out a laugh as he realized what happened. "Now this is funny. I am wondering what else you got wrong. Should we begin with a question and answer rounds to find out just how wrong you truly are?" Voldemort laughed again as some of the Death Eaters were laughing.
"You mean to tell me it was Harry?" Dumbledore was a bit skeptical of what Voldemort was saying. It couldn't be Harry. The boy was just too ordinary.
"If he was the one with dark hair and vivid almost emerald green eyes then yes that is who I mean." Voldemort was wondering if the old goat had gone senile. Maybe those lemon drops finally rotted the man's brain.
"It can't be. In Mical's first year, you were a wraith and lost to him. He burned Quirrell's form with his hands, rending him to ashes to save the Philosopher's Stone."
Voldemort looked confused. "Who is Quirrell? He burned this man with his hands, turning him into ashes for the Philosopher's Stone. Are you having me on? Why wasn't he brought up on murder charges? I mean if it was me, you would have been all over me, going on and on about how murder is wrong. How I would need to feel remorse for my actions. You wouldn't have shut up about it. I can hear the speech in my head. I know you would have had me in front of the Wizengamot on charges."
Dumbledore wasn't about to have his views challenged. "You were here as Quirrell. You possessed the poor man, causing his death. He was destroyed by Lily's love, it wasn't murder."
"Sorry, no idea who that is" He paused, "you said it was when he was in his first year. I can tell you I was still in Russia at the time, I believe." Voldemort thought he was in Russia but he wasn't sure.
"Sorry, my Lord, but I believe you were in Albania still. You didn't get to Russia until that summer." One of the Death Eaters quietly informed him, after all, he didn't want to get cursed for not passing on the correct information.
