Little Boy Found

The little boy lost in the lonely fen

Lord Voldemort steadied himself and gripped his wand- his beloved elder wand that he had gone such lengths to retrieve- that had killed and tortured many by the thousands. With a grim look on his face, he recounted the first time he had met with the nuisance that dared to breathe in front of him. He had attacked Godrics Hollow purely with the intention of eradicating the danger of the child killing him before Harry James Potter could even walk. But, as much as it pained him to say it, he was wrong. The spell had backfired and destroyed him in the process. But now, there would be no more. He was facing off the bane of his life, the Boy Who Lived, for the final time in the rubble that had once been Hogwarts. The rain that had befallen on Hogwarts only hours ago turned the battle field into a bog. Raising the wand of Elder Wood that had soaked in the blood of millions, Voldemort- or Tom Marvolo Riddle- said the two words that had been intended to cause the last Potter heir's downfall- but had instead resulted in his own.

" Avada Kedavra!"

The boy raised his own wand and countered the spell with a mere shout of a disarming spell. Whilst the spell was incredibly useful, the Dark Lord started to doubt the boy's sanity.

What use was a shout of 'Expelliamus' against the intoxicating power of the Killing Curse?

The very same curse, might he add, that caused his own Filthy Mudblood father- Tom Riddle Senior- to die?

Led by the wand'ring light

Their spells clashed with a mixture of acid green and electric red. Voldemort gritted his teeth and gave off a shrill, cold, high laugh that usually caused many of his followers to shiver in fear and admiration of their Lord. This boy, Harry Potter, never did. He never so much as flinched. Voldemort forced his magic to go further, the intense light dazzling him. But his power was beginning to weaken, and Lord Voldemort- for the first time in what seemed like forever- felt genuine, true fear.

No! He was Lord Voldemort! He would never die!

The mere thought of his body going cold, his lungs failing in functioning and eventually dying unnerved him. Then he'd be boxed up in a coffin and led to a graveyard where he'd be lowered and eventually buried...

Voldemort suppressed a shudder. But as much as he hated the thought, it wasn't death that he was afraid of.

It was being forgotten.

After being raised to be ignored in an orphanage where everyone cared about themselves, Voldemort had learnt to make himself noticeable.

But it hadn't worked.

The staff never noticed him unless he did something unexplainable.

They forgot about him.

His father forgot about him.

He began to tremble as the spell neared him. It was going to backfire, he knew it. His fear, however, only weakened his resolve and Harry Potter's spell was beginning to overcome his own. The spell that he had trusted- become dependent on- had failed him for the second time.

Voldemort was swallowed by green light just as Neville Longbottom severed the head of Nagini.

Began to cry; but God, ever nigh

Tom Marvolo Riddle rippled into existence. He glanced around himself. The area around him looked like a clean train station- Kings Cross to be precise. The whole place was glowing with ethereal white light. Tom frowned, looking around. Either the place was taller than he remembered...