//------------------------------//
// Chapter 1:  Lord Voldemort RW 
// Story: The Girl who Didn't Just Live 
// by computerneek 
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“Avada Kedavra.”
Lord Voldemort’s life flashed before his eyes as the bolt of green light leaped from his wand, heading for the head of the tiny child in the crib before him.
He’d heard the prophecy, given to him by Severus Snape.  He only knew a part of it; unfortunately, Snape had only heard part of it.
But he’d heard enough.  With some deep thought, and observation that Professor Dumbledore seemed to be taking hope from that prophecy…  the prophecy must be telling of his demise.
So he had picked a target.
That had been a month ago.  Now, on Halloween night, he had invaded the Potters’ home…  then fought, and killed, both parents.  He wished he didn’t have to, but they had forced his hand.
In all likelihood, his curse was going to rebound off of this three-month-old boy, leaving a scar, and hit him instead, bringing his evil campaign to an end.  If he hadn’t killed the mother, that simply wouldn’t have been true.
He’d then have to reincarnate himself as something different, and start cleaning up the Death Eaters as someone ‘unrelated’.
It was impossible that he would truly die, of course.  He’d taken too many steps, gone to too many lengths, to keep that from happening…  before he had realized how big of a mistake the Dark Lord Voldemort really was.
His curse struck the tiny infant…  and, true to his expectation, rebounded, leaving only a cut shaped like a lightning bolt.
He closed his eyes, waiting patiently for the bolt to strike him and making no attempt to dodge it.  That cut was going to become an everlasting scar, and probably torture the poor boy from time to time as well…  but there wasn’t anything he could do about it, yet at any rate.
The boy’s name was Harry Potter.
Once he reincarnated, acquired a wand, and met Harry Potter, he would be able to purge the dark magic from the scar and even heal it completely- but that would take quite a while.
It would be something that even the renowned Albus Dumbledore couldn’t do, though.  The man lacked the necessary understanding of the magic involved.
And of course, he would only be able to do it if the boy survived that long.  That was the big question; there was no question of if he would be able to reincarnate and get a wand, only of how long it would take him.
He had made sure to inform the double-agent Severus Snape where he was going and what he was doing before he left.  The man was a great occlumens, but he was also Lily Potter’s childhood friend, so he’d seen the flash of fear and- far more importantly- determination.
Dumbledore was going to find out very fast indeed, and he shouldn’t need to worry too much about Harry’s survival.
He let out a sigh as he felt the energy of his curse start penetrating his clothing.  He knew the sigh was going to end a good long time after his body died- it was really only penetrating his clothing for an instant.
It really was amusing just how much faster the mind operated in its final moments.
Lord Voldemort was dead.  Only one of his anti-death steps would protect him from getting erased by this curse, and that was his horcruxes.
They also didn’t protect his body- only his soul.  He would become a phantom after death, necessitating reincarnation.  Even after reincarnation, all his immortality work would carry over- his new body would be just as invulnerable as his current one, such that the Killing Curse would be the only thing that could kill him.
He wasn’t sure how much of his mind would stay with him as a phantom, or in his new body when he reincarnated; reincarnation…  had never been tried before.  As a matter of fact, he had invented the magic in question!
He would want to reincarnate quickly, though, so he could end the boy’s suffering before it dragged on for too long.  At Hogwarts, ideally- during his own first year, preferably early.
The curse struck him…  and for as long as it had taken to penetrate his clothes and the various protective spells placed upon them, its work was instant- even painless.  He didn’t notice any damage to his mind- it did seem he was keeping his entire mind as a phantom.  That would be useful.
There was, however, the sting of fragmenting his soul yet again.  This was expected; it was hard not to fragment the soul on the receiving end of that curse, even though he wasn’t due for one as the killer.
He watched the tiny fragment, less than a millionth of his soul and about the same as the fragments used in each of his horcruxes, dive towards the boy.  It was going to make him into yet another horcrux…  and the destruction of that horcrux would be necessary to heal the scar.
Since he was intimately familiar with horcrux magic, and it wouldn’t be a true horcrux, only a pseudo horcrux, it wouldn’t be all that hard to do without endangering the boy’s life…  but he would need a wand.
Quite suddenly, the fragment bounced off of the infant, and vanished into the distance.
He did the phantom equivalent of staring, despite having no eyes to stare with.  It had…  bounced off?  Was a mother’s love powerful enough to deflect it?  How on earth did it move quite that fast after the bounce?
He didn’t feel the crushing pain of its destruction, though, so it was evidently still out there.  Had it bound itself to someone else?  Would he have to purge it from an unknown person?
Would he have to track it down and bind it to something?  Would he have to destroy it himself, rather than simply unbinding it from the boy and re-binding it to some object or another?
He hoped he wouldn’t have to.  The fragment had already traveled too far for him to have a hope of tracing it, either now or later, so he would have to locate it later.
He heaved a lungless phantom equivalent of a sigh and settled down to wait.
His first order of business was going to be to find out what was going to happen to the boy.  He was going to want to meet him with a wand anyways, to ensure that the soul fragment hadn’t left any dark magic on the boy in the bounce.  It very easily could have.





It was as Voldemort had worried.  It took a small eternity for people to realize what was going on; the first sign of life arrived nearly two hours after the infant woke up and began crying for its mother.  A massive man Voldemort recognized immediately as Rubeus Hagrid- the man he’d gotten accused of his own first murder- burst in, collected the baby, and left the building, while only sparing Voldemort’s dead body a quick glance.
The next sign arrived as Hagrid was leaving:  Sirius Black, James’ best friend according to the rat, fell out of the sky on a giant motorcycle.  After a brief conversation that Voldemort didn’t overhear for fear of being detected by Black, Black gave Hagrid his bike and headed into the house.  Hagrid accepted the bike, kicked it to life, and took off.
Voldemort followed him.  He didn’t know what Sirius was going to do in the house- but it was probably unimportant.  When compared to following Hagrid, of course- he needed to know where the boy was going.  Which was probably Hogwarts…  at least for a time.
Sure enough, Hagrid led him all the way to Hogwarts.
There, Voldemort was forced to play a constant game of hide-and-seek with all the staff and students that even might be able to perceive his presence- even Peeves and the ghosts.  He did not want to be detected; if he was, Dumbledore might guess his plans or even be able to start tracing him.  It was possible to do that…  and without a wand, he couldn’t effectively block it.  Thus, if he allowed that to happen…  Dumbledore would know who he reincarnated as.
Too bad he hadn’t been able to put a tracer on the escaped soul fragment.  That would have been handy.
At the school, the boy was passed directly to Madam Pomfrey to take care of.  Unfortunately, Madam Pomfrey’s magical signature was surprisingly strong- which suggested she could pick him up from a few rooms away, so he didn’t dare go anywhere near the Hospital Wing…  and had to focus more on watching the entrances and listening to rumors shared between the weaker students that wouldn’t have a hope of detecting him.





“Good morning, Hagrid,” Professor Dumbledore greeted, looking up from his desk with bags under his eyes.  He’d had a long night already; he had received the news of Voldemort’s attack on Lily and James shortly before bedtime, so he’d never actually gone to bed.  Professor Snape’s ‘not-coffee’ (that’s what Severus called it) was tasty and very effective, but it felt like it was about time for him to take some more.  It was three or four hours past midnight, and he still had work to do.  “How did it go?”
“Morning, Dumbledore,” Hagrid bowed.  “Not well.  Lily and James…  and You Know Who, all lying dead on the floor.  And Harry, crying in the crib.  I, er, took him to Madam Pomfrey.”
“Good, good,” Dumbledore muttered.  “I wish we could have protected Lily and James, but…”  He sighed.  “Lord Voldemort has just unwittingly given us a way to beat him.”  He paused for a second.  “Thank you, Hagrid.  I will probably have you carry him to his new home tonight, so get some rest.”
“Yes professor,” Hagrid bowed, and left.
Dumbledore sighed.  “Fawkes?”
Fawkes, his pet phoenix, took off from his perch, flying up to his desk with an inquisitive look.
He reached forward to stroke Fawkes’ scarlet and gold plumage.  “Could you inform Severus I would like another mug of that not-coffee, and Minerva that I would appreciate her presence here?”
Fawkes bowed his head, took flight, and vanished in a burst of flames.





“Good morning,” Professor McGonagall greeted stiffly, upon entering Dumbledore’s office, her nostrils flaring slightly.  Dumbledore’s message seemed to have awoken her a couple hours earlier than usual- and she was quite snippy when awoken without good reason.
“Lily and James have been killed,” Dumbledore answered, by way of a morning greeting.  “Harry survived, though, and has been taken to Madam Pomfrey.”
Her disgruntled expression vanished in an instant.  “They’re…  dead?” she asked.  “Lily and James?”
He nodded.  “Voldemort attacked their home.  Fought, presumably at least, and killed both parents, then tried to kill Harry…  but I guess it backfired.”
“...  Ahh,” Minerva muttered.  “So why did you call me?”
“I wanted to sound you out about it,” he informed her.  “To discuss Harry’s future, and what will be best for him.”
“Sirius was his godfather,” Minerva observed immediately.
Dumbledore nodded.  “Yes, he was.  However…  Sirius has yet to settle down, and he will undoubtedly want to avenge Lily and James’ deaths, so I’m not sure that’s wise.”  He sighed.  “Then there’s the problem of his mother’s love- and her final act which saved him.”
She nodded.  “Yes, that.  It’ll last a year and a half, as I recall.”
He nodded again.  “Yes.  Fortunately, though, it can be restored to original strength…  by living in the home of his mother’s sibling for a week or two.”
“She was a muggleborn,” she observed calmly.  “You would have him live with muggles?”
“She was,” Dumbledore agreed, and sighed.  “I don’t like it, but it’s probably the best thing for him.  To maintain that protection, should Voldemort or one of the Death Eaters come after him again- and he’ll be harder to find in a muggle neighborhood to begin with.”  He smiled.  “I believe I know just the charms to…  enhance that.”
“I don’t recall Lily ever talking about any siblings.”
“She has a sister,” Dumbledore informed her.  “Petunia.  I met her back when I did Lily’s muggleborn introduction.”
“So this…  Petunia Evans?” Minerva asked.  “But we don’t know where she is now, do we?”
“That’s what I’ve been looking into while I waited for you,” Dumbledore informed her.  “And it turns out…  we do.  Number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.  Apparently, she’s also found a husband and started a family as Petunia Dursley.”  He sighed.  “I actually surprised myself when I dug that up.  That said, there was apparently a jealousy problem between her and her sister.  I hope she will be willing to take in her sister’s child.”
“Hmm, yes,” Minerva muttered, rubbing her chin.  “That could be a problem.”  She paused, then looked down at the documents Dumbledore had pulled out to double-check Petunia’s address… and found it right next to the not-coffee mug Dumbledore was using as a paperweight.  “Well…  my tolerance for sleep deprivation is rather higher than yours, so why don’t I go scope them out for the day and meet you there?”
Dumbledore rubbed his chin.  “Hmm…  Yes, why not?  I’ll write a letter for them, then we’ll meet just past midnight?”





Madam Pomfrey wasn’t sure exactly what to think as she hummed the baby to sleep.
Some hours before, Hagrid had delivered Harry Potter to her…  and she’d promptly recognized the child’s magical signature.  It was quite like her own- only, better disguised in the physical plane.
And sure enough, when she changed the baby’s diaper by magic, she was able to verify that it was not a boy at all, but a girl…  and judging by her magic signature, she had been all along.  She’d immediately fed her, and put her to sleep; now, she’d woken up hungry again, so she had fed her again, and was putting her back to bed.  Undoubtedly, the girl had had a very long night as well- far too long for a three-month-old child.
Even if that child was definitely far, far more than ordinary.  Most wizards would likely call her a Royal- but unless Madam Pomfrey was much mistaken, it would be very bad for people to find out about her until much later in her life.
So she set to work, using the day in which she had custody of the baby to place a number of spells to help her stay out of the public eye.
The whole male-female thing- everybody thought she was a boy- was probably going to help.  She wasn’t going to tell anyone about that- not even Dumbledore!





Vernon Dursley, a large, beefy man with a neatly-groomed head of black hair and hardly any neck, had a good morning.  It went as usual, really- and before he left for work, he kissed his wife, Petunia, while she fed Dudley.  As thin as he was beefy, as blonde as he was black, and with a neck as long as his was short, she was the angel of his life.  She wasn’t very pretty- even he had to admit she looked a bit like a horse- but he didn’t care, he liked what he saw in her, not on her.
He, on the other hand…  He often wondered exactly what Petunia saw in him.  Big, fat, and very tough on his subordinates at work, he didn’t even look that nice.  Sure, he could put on a suit and tie, and he could groom his huge beard as much as he liked…  but no matter what he did, when he looked at himself in the mirror, he couldn’t see what had attracted Petunia to him.
It made sense, though.  He had never figured out exactly what had drawn his attention to Petunia in the first place- but they were meant to be.
He paused on his way to the car, attention drawn by something moving- but it was only a tabby cat, looking up at him from where it had been grooming itself on the garden wall.  It had interesting, square markings around its eyes, almost like someone had dyed the shape of glasses onto it.
He ignored it, got into his car, and backed out of the driveway to head for work.  He was the director and owner of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills.  Thanks to his efforts, the company was growing very rapidly and was known amongst its customers for the top-quality drills it produced.
Admittedly, though, he didn’t get very far before his day went south.  Almost as soon as the usual morning traffic jam appeared, so also did many groups of people wearing oddly-colored cloaks.  They seemed to be gathered about, huddled together in various groups.
He braked firmly to avoid hitting one such cloaked figure that crossed the street without looking, and snarled at them through the windshield.  Those idiots were going to cause an accident and get hurt!  And now that he was thinking about it, he’d run into the traffic jam earlier than expected- probably because of idiots like that one.  He hoped there was no accident up ahead, those always took forever to get past.
When the car next to him sounded his horn at the next such idiot about a minute later, the cloaked figure turned to look, incidentally revealing himself to be an old man wearing an emerald green cloak.
Was this some sort of event?  Were they collecting for something?  Eventgoers always did seem to have a weird sense of invulnerability.





Fortunately, there was no accident- well, except the one he watched happen in his rear-view mirror, where a man in a blue cloak very nearly got hit by a car that was promptly struck from behind by a driver that wasn’t paying as much attention.  Not too long after that, he’d noticed the police out in force, trying to control the rampant street-crossings.
But eventually, he got to work forty-five minutes late, despite not being slowed down by an accident.  As only a few people had managed to arrive on time, he told the human resources manager to strike out late penalties for the day- the unexpected traffic was at fault, not the employees- and sat down in his office to work.
About two hours later, he turned his chair around to look out the window while he thought; he always sat with his back to it.
He was very quickly distracted by two separate owls flying past in different directions.
He rose from his seat, and walked up to the massive, floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out.  From his office on the ninth floor, he could see over the rooftops of several of the smaller buildings around- and he could see that there were indeed several owls, flying every which way…  That one had an envelope clamped in his beak!
He froze, then blinked.
That explained it.  But why were wizards all up and down the street in broad daylight?  Didn’t they have some sort of law- Statute of Secrecy, was it?- to ban that?  Or had it been repealed?
He rubbed his chin, gazing down at the street.  No, no.  That looked like a celebration of some sort.  But why?  What was so worth celebrating that an entire civilization would violate an international law like that?
He himself only knew about wizards because Petunia’s sister was a witch…  and had married a wizard.  Last time they had visited, some two or three years before, there had been a big argument- he couldn’t remember the specifics- and the magical couple had left.  Petunia was still irritated by her sister…  but he could tell that she missed her.  Her sister, Lily, was a cheerful young redhead that was as beautiful as Petunia was ugly…  but even after seeing her, Vernon was glad he’d picked Petunia.  Lily was a great woman…  but not for him.
James, on the other hand, looked upon him and Petunia with scorn, and called them ‘muggles’.  He’d actually gotten himself slapped by his wife a number of times in the few times they’d seen him; she had very little tolerance for his abuse of her sister’s family.  That said, aside from one side of his face often being a fair amount redder than the other, he was a tall, handsome man with messy black hair- Vernon could definitely see what Lily had seen in him.  He was, after all, as handsome as Vernon wasn’t, and could easily be described as a ‘textbook bachelor’.
He knew Petunia was jealous of her sister, despite still loving her very much- and that both women expected him to be jealous of James, but in the end, he actually felt like he’d gotten the better deal- and felt nothing but scorn for the scornful wizard.
Just a few months before, while he and Petunia were just about to head upstairs for bed, an owl had visited, knocking on the kitchen window to deliver a letter from them; apparently, wizards simply didn’t get ‘muggle mail’.  It was the most recent communication from them- and had informed them that they’d had a son, which they’d named Harry.  He didn’t know much-
A sudden chime came from his computer, and he turned sharply back towards it, marching over to read the message from his secretary.  His eleven o’clock appointment, an interview for the position of sales manager, had arrived.
He swiftly sat down again, then checked around the office- and the applicant’s file, which revealed it to be an internal application from one of the old sales manager’s subordinates- and finally informed his secretary that he was ready.





Vernon wasn’t in the habit of bringing lunch from home.  He might’ve spent a little less on food if he was, but if he was entirely honest, there was really no need for him to save money like that.  So, as he walked downstairs at the start of his lunch break, he figured he would walk across the street for a bun from the bakery.
This plan went well, overall; yes, he walked past a few huddles of wizards in the street, and strained his ears to hear what it was all about, but he reached the bakery without incident.
It was on his way back, clutching a large donut in a bag, that he actually stopped to speak to them, his curiosity getting the better of him.
He cleared his throat loudly.  “Excuse me,” he asked, “but what’s all this about?”
The violet cloak in front of him turned around, revealing a tiny young man.  “Rejoice!” the man cried.  “Rejoice, for You Know Who is gone at last!  Even muggles like yourself should be celebrating this happy, happy day!”
“I don’t know who,” he answered flatly.
The man didn’t pay him any more attention, though, and when he tried to ask for details, they were summarily refused to him.  So he recrossed the street, and deliberately paused near another huddle to listen in.  These wizards didn’t think much of ‘muggles’ like him- even the ones that didn’t scorn him.
Unfortunately, he didn’t catch much of what they were whispering- but he did catch a few words.
“The potters?”
“Yes, that’s what I heard.  Their son, Harry-!”
The excitement of the others got too loud for him to hear the rest.
He scowled.  Had something happened to Petunia’s sister?  He continued back to his office to eat and get back to work.  He’d have to talk to Petunia about it later; he doubted it was so important that she’d want him to call her about it right away.





At least the drive home was uneventful.  The police had managed to get the wizards under control, so there was no more than the usual traffic jam.
Then of course, when he pulled back onto the driveway, the first thing he saw…  was the tabby cat from that morning, chasing butterflies in the garden.  It only looked when he closed the car door, before getting right back to the chase.
He chuckled softly as he headed inside.
It wasn’t much later that Dudley had been put to bed, and he turned on the TV during the evening news.  They were doing a split-screen with a news anchor in the station, and a reporter out in the field…  who was wearing a black cloak, and holding a microphone.
“Ah yes,” the reporter told the camera.  “I’m wearing this because earlier, when I was asking the cloak-wearers what was going on, they kept telling me ‘You Know Who’ was gone at last, and calling me a ‘muggle’.  Still not sure what that is.  But after I got this, they’re suddenly perfectly willing to tell me about it.  Apparently, someone so evil everyone is afraid to name him attacked and killed Lily and James Potter…  but was unable to kill their son, a newborn by the name of Harry.”
“What is this evil man called?” the anchor asked.
“They kept calling him ‘You Know Who’ or ‘He Who Must Not Be Named’,” she informed the camera.  “However, I was able to find one that was willing to write it down; they are referring to, ahh…”  She paused, looking down at a notepad in her other hand.  “The Dark Lord Voldemort.”
“Well I’ve never heard of that,” the anchor mused.
“Me neither, but whenever I ask, I get called a muggle again.  That said, apparently this Voldemort not only couldn’t kill Harry…  but his weapon backfired or something when he tried, killing him instead- and that’s what they’re celebrating.”
“Or something?” the anchor asked.
“I haven’t been able to get the details, but that’s what it sounds like.  Some people seemed convinced the weapon had bounced off the boy and rebounded upon Voldemort.”  She shrugged.  “I also haven’t been able to gather exactly what kind of weapon he was using.”
“What.” Petunia asked suddenly.
Vernon looked up.  She was standing in the doorway, a tray of tea in her hands and her face as white as chalk.  “Ahh,” he began.  “How about you sit down?”
She did.  “Did-  Did-!”
“Yes,” he answered.  “She just said Lily was killed, and Harry survived.”  He sighed.  “They’re definitely wizards, the lot of them.”  He put a comforting arm around her shoulder- then glanced sideways to see that the tabby cat was sitting on the windowsill, watching them as they watched the news.
“But-!” Petunia began.  “That’s not true, is it?”
“It seems so,” he muttered.  “When I passed them in the street, they were talking about Potters.  And their son, Harry.  Er, that was his name, right?”
She nodded vaguely.  “Yes.”
“I didn’t hear anything about them being killed, though,” he scowled, rubbing his chin.
“Vernon…”  She muttered.  “I…  I never apologized.”  She looked at the screen.  “Where do you think her grave will be?”
He shook his head.  “I don’t know.”





The clock had just barely chimed midnight when a tall, silver-haired man wearing a purple cloak appeared out of thin air on the corner of Privet Drive.  He glanced around, his waist-length beard waving gently in the breeze, then reached into a pocket of his cloak to pull out a silver lighter.  He flicked it open, held it up high, and clicked it.
The nearest street lamp went out.
He clicked it again, and again, and again, a single street lamp going out each time, until Privet Drive was bathed in nothing but darkness.  There was even no moon in the sky- but that had already been true.
Finally, he flicked it closed, returned it to his pocket, and set off down the street.  He didn’t have far to walk; at only the second house in the row, number four, he stopped and sat on the garden wall.
The tabby cat Vernon Dursley had been looking at jumped up onto the wall next to him.
“So how did it go, Minerva?”
The cat transformed seamlessly into a severe-looking woman with square spectacles- Professor McGonagall.  “Better than expected, Albus,” she informed him.  “They might actually accept Harry without a fuss.”
“Good, good,” the man, Professor Dumbledore, nodded.  “That’s always good to hear.”
“On the other paw, the muggle-!”
“Paw?” Dumbledore asked.
“Yes,” she answered flatly.  “That’s what cats have instead of hands.  Anyways, the muggle-!”
“But why paw?”
“Because I was a cat when I learned of this,” she hissed.  “Their news-!”
“Ah, yes, I keep forgetting about that,” Dumbledore mused.
“Do you want me to hurt you with my claws?”
“Hmm?  Oh, no, thank you.”
“Then stop interrupting!”  She took a breath.  “Their news said something about hundreds of cloaked people out on the streets in broad daylight.  And owls swooping everywhere.  And-!”  She cut herself off this time, and sighed.  “A fine thing it would be if, the night You Know Who is defeated, the muggles find out about us all?”
Dumbledore nodded.  “You can’t blame them,” he muttered.  “They’ve had precious little to celebrate for eleven years.  But yes, it’s been a nightmare.  The Ministry of Magic is working overtime, and the muggle ministry had to order several news stations not to tell the world the ‘cloak-wearers’ were magical!”  He sighed.  “We weren’t able to figure out how they found out- we didn’t tell anyone, did we?”
“I certainly didn’t,” Professor McGonagall informed him.
“I wonder who did,” Dumbledore muttered, then sighed.  “In any case, Hagrid will be here in a couple minutes.  I didn’t think it wise to carry Harry by side-along apparition.”
She paused.  “True enough,” she muttered.
“Lemon drop?”
“What?”
“It’s a kind of muggle sweet I’m rather fond of.”
“Ahh.  No thank you.”





Voldemort took off after Hagrid again as he left Hogwarts.  It was really too bad Harry wouldn’t be growing up at Hogwarts; that probably would have been the best thing for him.  The Castle would have offered unparalleled safety, a thorough magic education, early friends, and a very strong support structure all throughout his childhood- nevermind that it would also make it easy to find him once he got a wand.
At least Harry wasn’t crying this time- rather, he fell asleep along the journey.
Hagrid led him way out into the countryside, and eventually flew down and landed in the middle of a darkened muggle neighborhood.  Interestingly, several streets around were also darkened- it looked like the work of a Put-Outer.
He kept his distance from the landing location.  Professor McGonagall also had an extremely powerful magic signature, though it was far less surprising than Madam Pomfrey…  and Professor Dumbledore was also there.
Ugh.  Professor Dumbledore, who had first demonstrated magic to him by destroying the gifts given to him by the other kids at that orphanage- the gifts he’d received for protecting them from bullies or harmful adoptive parents- and accusing him of theft.
Sure, he never did fit in at that orphanage…  but that didn’t make him evil.  The other kids had understood- once Dumbledore had left, because he wanted to ‘think about’ whether he wanted to go to Hogwarts or not, they had come together to support him.  Not out of fear, but out of goodwill.
He chuckled to himself.  When he thought about it, that was when the seeds of evil had been planted in his heart- the seeds that had grown into a massive tree that he was now burning down.
He watched from a safe distance as Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Hagrid talked.  Unfortunately, the only sounds he heard from them were Hagrid’s wails of grief.
Finally, they left.  He waited until they had all apparated- or flown- back to Hogwarts, then flew in himself to check on the boy.
Harry had been thoroughly wrapped in blankets and protected adequately; Voldemort could sense the spells Dumbledore had set around the boy to protect him from the wind, snatchers, or whatever else before the residents came out to get him.
So he settled down to wait for morning.





Petunia Dursley froze when she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles…  then, slowly, bent down to look more closely.
There was an infant lying on the doorstep.  It was wrapped tightly in blue blankets and sleeping soundly- and there was a parchment envelope tucked into the blankets with it.
Wizards, probably; nobody else used parchment anymore.
She sighed, set out the milk bottles, and finally picked the baby up to carry it inside.
She set it on the kitchen table…  then pulled the envelope out of the blankets, broke the wax seal- which was stamped with what she recognized as the Hogwarts crest- and pulled out the message inside.





“What’s…  that?” Vernon asked, upon entering the kitchen.
Petunia looked up from the letter in her hands with tears in her eyes.  “They were right,” she cried.  “Lily is dead.”
He crossed to hug her.  “Who is this?”  He looked at the baby on the table.
“That’s our nephew,” she answered.  “Harry.”  She dropped the letter on the table and leaned into him.  “Lily…”  She broke down crying again.
Vernon patted her gently, retrieving the dropped letter with his other hand to read it as well.  Finally, he scowled up at the baby.  “Well…  we should be able to take him in, though it’d be a lot of work and we’d need more supplies.”  He rubbed his chin.  “The legal side of things could be…  tricky, though.”
Voldemort also tried to pat her shoulder, but as a phantom, she had no way of knowing he was doing that.  As a matter of fact, neither Dursley would have any way of realizing he was there.
“I-!”  Lily paused.  “I don’t know,” she muttered.  “Their son…  He’ll probably be a reminder of James.  And he…”  She scowled.  “I don’t…  Don’t…?”  She trailed off, staring at the child.
Vernon followed her gaze first, then Voldemort did, both staring as well.
A brilliant blue glow was rising from the baby.  It floated to the side, then took on a shape, appearance…  a form.
It was Lily Potter, the boy’s mother.  She was floating a foot off the floor next to the table, semitransparent, and glowing blue, facing directly towards Petunia.
Petunia put her hands over her mouth.
“Petunia,” Lily said, sadly.  “If you’re hearing this message, I’m already dead.”
“I’m sorry,” Petunia whispered faintly.
She sighed.  “I’m sorry to leave you a message this way, but it’s the only way.  We’ve recently become certain that Lord Voldemort will be coming for us soon.  We’ve taken steps to stop him, but with his cunning, I doubt it will do anything but slow him down, buy us time to lay these magics.”  She sighed again.  “Even as I’m making this recording, James is casting the requisite magic to ensure Hailey makes it into your hands when we die.”
Petunia blinked.  “H-Hailey?” she asked.
Vernon didn’t move, too stunned to react.  Voldemort glanced at the baby, then back up at Lily.
Lily paused for a second, and smiled.  “Yes, Hailey.  We saw something like this coming, so we told everyone she was a boy, but she’s not.”  Her smile faded, and she sighed.  “I know I have no right to ask this of you, given…”  Her expression darkened.  “Given the past,” she mumbled, and sighed.  “But may I ask that you raise our daughter like one of your own?”
There were a few seconds of silence.
Lily sighed again, and looked down.  “I…  I have no way of receiving your answer,” she told them sorrowfully.  “But she…”  She paused.  “She is what wizardkind calls a Royal.”
Voldemort stared at her.  A Royal?  Really?
Lily sighed.  “Every two and a half years, on average, a portal to another dimension opens somewhere.  It’s only ever open for three days at most…  but if a child is born within a half a mile of that open gateway, they gain otherworldly powers that…”  She sighed again.  “That’s what makes them wizarding royalty.  The powers, that is; we never found the gate, but we could tell she had those powers the moment she was born.”  She chuckled.  “It’s kinda hard to miss when your newborn teleports into your arms.”  She sighed, smile fading again.  “We’ve been able to confirm that she has otherworldly power, not just crazy luck with Accidental Magic, and that she’s almost ridiculously powerful.  We haven’t been able to determine her aspect, though, so we don’t know what her powers might be…  aside from an almost ridiculous amount of authority in the wizarding government.
“Even so, that doesn’t change the fact that wizardkind insists upon hounding those of their royalty with questions and whatever, forcing them to exercise their authority from basically the moment they are revealed.”  She brought her hands together in front of her.  “Given how powerful she is, she could destroy the world if that is allowed to happen to her- not just upset the entire wizarding world with a childish tantrum.  She needs to grow up away from wizardkind…  then attend Hogwarts without that attention, including just from the Hogwarts staff, if at all possible.  As she grows…”  She sighed, and lowered her hands.  “Me and James have already anchored our souls in her.  We’re going to be her guardian angels- but as she grows stronger, magically stronger, there is a possibility she will be able to bring us back to the land of the living, even without her Royal powers.
“So…  I’m begging you.”  She brought her clasped hands back up, and went down on one knee.  “Please take care of her.  Help her grow up to be a well-adjusted young woman…  so that she can learn to control her powers safely, and either use them to protect the world…  or refrain from using them at all.”  She closed her eyes, and hung her head.  “When…  When the time comes for her to go to Hogwarts…  make absolutely certain she’s able to read that first letter.  If she’s not, I’m sure Hogwarts staff will get involved to force her hand.  Then…”  She sighed, and looked up.  “Whatever her decision is, please honor it.  The post office in Diagon Alley will suffice to send a reply to the letter- and if she wants to go, she should be able to reclaim our Vault at Gringotts Bank and pay for her own education with the fortune we are leaving her.
“If…  If you’ve forgotten how to get into Diagon Alley, or the station to Hogwarts, Platform Nine and Three Quarters…”  She sighed.  “She will be able to see the Leaky Cauldron on Charing Cross Road- and you will too, so long as you are touching her.  For Platform Nine and Three Quarters, just walk through the barrier between platforms nine and ten.  You will be able to pass through with her…  if you are touching her.”  She bowed her head.  “Please, and thank you.”
She dissolved into a faint blue mist that faded into nothingness.
The room was silent for a very long time, except for Petunia’s tears.





About a week later, Lord Voldemort spread the energy of his being, sensing around for reincarnation options.  Vernon had stayed home from work that day, and helped his wife to come to grips with Lily’s death- but had returned to work the next day, determined to provide for his wife and now two children.  He wasn’t sure how happy Hailey’s childhood was going to be, but he couldn’t think of a reason that it might not be sufficient- even if she really was a royal, a concept that didn’t exist beyond those extremely rare few that had been granted ridiculous powers by that strange portal.
It was strange.  For as frequently as the portal appeared, a Royal would emerge every few hundred years- and usually, nobody realized they were a royal until they discovered their otherworldly power, often somewhere in the middle of Hogwarts age.  There were very few cases in which it had been figured out earlier, thanks to a more readily detectable powerset or the discovery of the portal, and later correlation to find out they had been in range- the second event of which was why wizardkind knew so much about them.
But for the child to use those powers immediately after birth…  That was so rare he was pretty sure it had never happened before.
But aside from that, to reincarnate himself, he needed a baby that had only just been conceived and hadn’t yet started constructing a soul.  With that, he could install himself as its soul; any later, and he would merely be possessing another being, which would likely result in an early death…  and not be the reincarnation he was looking for.
He also wanted to avoid Dumbledore’s scrutiny; the reincarnation process was far from foolproof.  For the first eleven years after his rebirth, his soul would still be detectable separately, as if he were still a phantom floating around the child- and even after that, he wasn’t sure if Dumbledore would recognize his soul in a new body.  He’d only be able to instantly remove himself from the new body, allowing it to drop dead while he fled, for the first ten years- creating a full year of vulnerability.  And that wasn’t even counting his vast knowledge of magic- if he dared to be born to muggles, that would be a dead giveaway!
So he needed to be born to a wizarding family that wouldn’t be able to detect his presence and that wouldn’t have high-level mages like Dumbledore visiting.  He was also rather tired of being evil, so he wanted to avoid the Death Eater or pureblood supremacist families as well…  which massively cut down on his options, as most the rest were perfect candidates for Dumbledore to visit.  Perhaps a family with one muggle parent, or one muggleborn parent?  He’d have to be sure the family wouldn’t break up like his first one did, so he wouldn’t find himself in an orphanage again.
Then…  he spotted a candidate.  He was actually surprised by his good luck in finding one so quickly…  then looked into its circumstances.
He had about three hours to pick this one, if he wanted to.  If he did, he would be born to a witch and wizard that were firmly on the side of the Light.  What’s more, Dumbledore would have basically no reason to visit them…  No, he would need to ensure that.  But he could…  Yes.  A few quick spells, of the sort he could cast as a phantom, would set up a cascade of events sure to keep Dumbledore from visiting for a decade or two.
That left only one problem:  Someone, long ago, had cursed the family name to never be able to have a female child, and to have a tendency of dying young.
He wasn’t too worried about the first part- he was male, after all- but he did not want him, his new brothers, his eventual children, or any of his new family to die young.
Fortunately, though, he had certain powers, as a phantom, that he would never have- and never had- in a body…  Which included the abilities to see those curses and, conveniently, to destroy them.
So after doing exactly that, he swooped in to gently inhabit their new, just-barely-conceived child.  He knew his hair was likely to be red, thanks to the particulars of the reincarnation magic, but had no idea what he was going to look like beyond that- even which sex it would be, since he would need a wand to control for that- but he really didn’t care, either.  If he didn’t like his post-reincarnation sex or appearance, he knew how to change it.  All he would need would be a wand…  before he turned ten.