Tom, My Riddle

Harry Potter And The Prologue ✓

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* Part of the prophecy is taken from the book.

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"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will hold power the Dark Lord can never combat... And there will only be one left to reign over all, as he causes the other's fall." *

Raucous laughter erupted from the Dark Lord, causing him to double over and clap his hands together. He reeked of insanity as red eyes glittered with madness while the burst of uncontrollable laugh continued, echoing in the large auditorium, bouncing up the vaulted ceiling in an unnerving way.

Some of the Death Eaters joined with nervous chuckles, while others didn't even dare to smile, too aware that his temperament could change in an instance; mirth turning into rage. At this point it was just as dangerous to laugh as it was to not. Who knew what would tick him off?

Then, as if the laughter never happened, the mouth was set in a firm line and eyes became listless, giving his followers goosebumps under their clothed arms.

"You think I would believe such ridiculous lies? That a pathetic newborn child is destined to destroy me?" The Dark Lord prompted in a low whisper, tone icy and disgusted.

"NO MY LORD!" The seer screamed in horror as she sunk down on her knees, pleading. "I- I- I would never dare to lie. Please believe me! The prophecy is-"

The yew wand trembled in his hand, a sign of dangerous anger, before it was directed at the woman, stopping her mid-sentence.

"Crucio!"

She began screeching in pain, body convulsing as it morphed into a shaking mess on the floor. Some of the younger Death Eaters looked away uncomfortably, while the older ones wore expressionless masks that gave nothing away.

The Dark Lord grinned maliciously at the woman's torment. Finding no remorse in her wails of agony. Someone had to pay for what had been said, and the messenger was the most obvious target for that rage. These were the moments when his blood thirst was obvious to everyone. Where his insanity raised fear and submission.

Minutes passed until the excruciating torture stopped.

The Dark Lord then turned around as if nothing had occurred, strolling up to his throne without sparing another glance towards the seer.

Her breast heaved in panic, while snot was dripping from her pointy nose, mixing with tears as she bawled. She drew in long, ragged breaths while trembling like a leaf. A few whimpers left her mouth as she laid sprawled out, appearing on the verge of unconsciousness, but she was clever enough to quickly shut up so she wouldn't draw the angry man's attention again.

She would likely die if she did.

Slowly, the Dark Lord peered out at his marionettes. He whispered in a cruel, mocking voice. "There seems like we have a problem to kill." His chilling eyes trailed over every single witch and wizard in the room, taking his time before he continued. "Find out which child the prophecy speaks off."

One year later he stood hoovering over the cot where a small baby lied. Green eyes meeting dark ones. Reluctantly the man lowered the wand that was supposed to cast the killing curse, while a small remorseful sigh left his tight-lipped mouth.

He couldn't do it.

With uncertain hands he picked up the tiny child, calling out "Morsmordre" to make it seem like the baby had died, before setting the house on fire and leaving Godric's Hollow behind. The next day everyone knew how He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had done yet another atrocity; murdering a helpless infant.

It would take a little less than two decades before the wizardry world would figure out that Harry Potter was alive all along.

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Words: 642