Chapter Text
The Dark Lord studied the first house before him, the first victim of the night. Rain lashed against the grounds, wind whipped around the eaves, and yet Voldemort felt a strange warmth in his chest.
In a matter of days, the British wizarding population would be his, and the illusion of resistance would finally die. It was amusing really, that they thought they were actually fighting against him, making a difference. When the war had been prolonged for his sole amusement. But first. First..
The children of prophecies needed to be dealt with. Those mere, mewling babies who had cast such a shadow on his ranks despite their loyalty. Neville Longbottom, son of Frank Longbottom and Alice Longbottom and Harry Potter, of Lily and James Potter.
Born to those who have thrice defied him.
Voldemort's lip curled in mild amusement. As if anyone were on par with him to be able to defy him. No, they had merely rejected his ideology, clung to childish ideas, planted no doubt by the Leader of Light and held on to the foolish hope of seeing him vanquished. By whom, children?
They were evidently more foolish than he had given them credit for and the Wizarding World would be all the better for their loss. Still, it was a shame. Lily Potter, mud blood, that she was, had been reported as exceptionally gifted in the arts, sharp and instinctive with her magic.
James Potter and Sirius Black. Voldemort felt a sharp curl of interest in his stomach. He'd coveted the wizards. Had wanted them badly. Albus Dumbledore had gotten there first, stolen three who'd have been exquisite, bent to his ideology.
His mouth twitched in irritation. A lovely fantasy and it would remain just that. Fantasy.
"My Lord," came a calm voice at his shoulder. "Shall we?"
Voldemort tilted his head, eyes resting on him. Rodolphus Lestrange stood relaxed, wand twirling idly between his fingertips. He felt a surge of familiar satisfaction settle in. In many ways Rodolphus was the ideal general, strong in both magic and body, disciplined and unafraid. He'd led the war, or rather Voldemort's pastime for amusement with a sharp, level headedness and brute force sharpened to perfection.
The Ministry, the Aurors, Dumbledore’s order were all rightly terrified of him, realised their own inadequacy in the face of his brilliance. As they should be.
Rodolphus handled recruits, potential allies and foes with the same careful diligence, applying pressure until they bent or broke. Voldemort valued that consistency.
His gaze drifted past him to the woman beside him, dark curls bouncing. Bellatrix. Ah. Now there was one of his finest creations. Where Rodulphus was sharpened iron, Bellatrix was fire. All that raw power and passion in her moulded into something beautifully destructive, burning for his purpose. The Lestranges were remarkable.
He turned back to the house, and lifted a finger. "Come."
With footsteps that could have been likened to ghosts, they stepped in. Longbottom manor was warm, lights flickering softly in the porches. Stepping past them, he entered the room. A woman - Alice Longbottom -- clearly, was sat cradling a boy in her lap, singing softly to him. The boy. Her husband was asleep on a couch beside them.
How reckless. The Longbottom woman froze, finally sensing the presence of strangers in her house. She looked up, and Voldemort watched in detached pleasure how her face drained of colour and her scream cut through the air.
"Good evening, Lady Longbottom." he said softly, a perfectly pleasant smile on his face.
Frank Longbottom woke, startled, eyes widening as he took in the intruders. To his credit, he immediately flung himself in front of his wife and child, wand forgotten on the couch. His face remained steady, but the telltale trembling of his hands gave him away.
"Lestrange. Voldemort." he spat, voice tight with fear and defiance..
Bella stepped forward, eyes alight with wicked satisfaction and Rodolphus fell back beside him. "Oh, don't worry, ickle Frank," she crooned, a cruel smile twisting her lips. "It won't hurt too much."
She slashed her wand upwards, and the screams began. Voldemort allowed it to continue for several minutes before raising his hand. Bella stopped immediately. The Longbottoms lay long past consciousness on the floors.
Bella's green eyes glinted with vengeance. "My Lord, may I? They and their filthy order and aurors killed my cousin! Aunt Theodosia's youngest son." Her voice trembled with fury, "Let me kill them now. Avenge my family."
Blacks and blood. That was one reason he'd brought her along, a small motivation for her, and she had performed gloriously as always. But no. He would not allow her to interfere with his plans for them.
His lips curled at the sides. "You will do as I instructed, darling."
For a heartbeat Bella held his gaze, defiance burning bright, then nodded, curtsying low. "Of course, forgive me."
She lifted her wand again and a murmured "Obliviate" exhaled past her lips. Rodolphus watched the whole affair impassively, expression unreadable. She turned towards the child. The boy was screeching, small hands reaching towards his unconscious parents.
For a long moment, Bella stood frozen. Then she knelt, slowly, with all the hesitation a Black could kneel with, and dipped her head slightly before him. "My Lord, please, let me keep this child, raise him for our cause. He is already brimming with potential... and --"
"And you desire a child." Voldemort finished smoothly.
"Yes. Let me keep him. He would be perfectly moulded to our ideals. And if he ever seeks to betray you, then I will kill him myself."
Oh, yes. He knew this already. Bella would rather die than raise a traitor. And that had always been the plan. The heir to house Longbottom and possibly Lestrange in his ranks. Taken, moulded, raised by one of his followers. He'd known Bella would not be able to resist, and she'd danced perfectly to his tune.
And Bellatrix would never allow weakness in something she claimed as hers. A smirk tugged at his lips. He could imagine Dumbledore’s reaction when he found out. And this would be Bella's reward in exchange for her cousin. Keep her grateful.
He nodded once. "His loyalty will be your responsibility, Bella. You won't fail me, no?"
She shook her head immediately, straightening under his attention, eyes shining in adoration. "No. No my Lord. I promise you. I won’t let him stray."
Voldemort smiled, a cruel thing, albeit fond. "See that you do not. You may return to your home." he gestured to his general. "Rodolphus, come."
Bella kissed her husband, Rodolphus squeezing her shoulder in a fleeting display of affection. But, Bella had always been his weakness.
"My Lord. Rod." With a rapturous smile on her face, Bella gathered the child in her arms and apparated away.
The Potters residence was more difficult to find. He'd expected nothing less. It was a short affair when he found them. The Fidelius shattered around them, but the protective wards slowed him only. He was over the threshold when James Potter came sprinting towards him.
"Lily, it's him! Take Harry and go! Run! I'll hold him off!"
Rodolphus laughed at that, low, deep and amused. Voldemort felt a brief curl of amusement. Hold him off. He gave Potter a headstart, let him delude himself with escape.
When Potter had nearly reached his wand, spinning on them to cast, he signalled. Rodolphus flicked his wand. "Avada Kedavra." The green light filled the hallway and James Potter collapsed, dead. Voldemort sidestepped the body casually, Rodolphus mirroring him.
From upstairs, a scream tore through the house. Voldemort climbed the stairs slowly, each step measured, savoring the sharp taste of distress. His mind traced back to James Potter—effortless, bold and foolish—embroiled in that botched, amateur raid that had claimed one of his own, Felix Rosier. Potter had vanished into hiding afterward.
Such insolence might have warranted the same fate as the Longbottoms, but Voldemort did not forgive so easily. Every slight, every act of defiance, all of it, would be accounted for.
The hallway stretched before him, flickering with the pale light from the broken sconces. At the end, the door to the nursery loomed. Through it, he could hear Lily Potter, unyielding and protective, warding the crib.
Voldemort stilled for a moment, observing. Such raw defiance in a mother, such instinctive courage in the face of inevitable defeat—It was… almost admirable.
Almost.
He slipped past the door layered with protective spells, "Wait here." he murmured. Rodolphus nodded once.
Lily Potter stood in front of the warded child's crib, shielding it with her body. She did not hesitate a second, lifting her wand, a spell already tumbling out of her mouth, racing for him.
A blood boiling curse.
Voldemort parried it with barely a flick of his wand, eyes gleaming with cold amusement as he considered her. She was a formidable witch, and for a while he imagined her beside Bellatrix, both women unleashed upon a raid or executing his orders. Glorious.
She continued casting, spell after spell, each darker and more vicious than the last. Salazar, it was a thing of beauty. She should have been under his command, where she would have been made to flourish. The pretentious old man would never have approved of her style, would never have allowed such potential to thrive. A shame indeed.
With a flick of his wand, Lily Potter fell, dead, landing beside his foot. He advanced at last to the crib.
The child, Harry Potter stared up at him, with wide, Avada eyes. There was an air of something deliciously dark around him. Unlike the other boy, the Potter boy was perfectly still. No screams. No cries. Just watching. Voldemort paused, not out of mercy. Never that. But because it was highly unusual.
Then he lifted his wand again. The boy was a nuisance.
"Avada K --."
Green light flared, and broke apart.
The Killing Curse twisted violently, shredding against unseen resistance. The backlash struck like a physical blow, driving Voldemort backward as the room convulsed under the weight of uncontrolled magic.
He froze.
Impossible.
The child's presence pressed against the air, dense and volatile, before collapsing inward. A second blast tore through the chamber. Smoke burst outward, choking and hot, reducing the room to shadows.
When the smoke cleared, the crib stood empty.
The child was seated behind him on the floor.
What in Salazar's name was this?
The room was destroyed, plaster crumbling, the crib falling to the ground. Remnants of wild magic still swirling. Voldemort stared. The child had just prevented the killing curse.
Power.
"My Lord!" Rodolphus entered at once, wand raised, then stopped.
Voldemort did not look away. His mouth curved, slowly, into a smile almost twisted with hunger.
Because this, this was no ordinary child. And Voldemort wanted him for himself.
He lifted a hand and the child rose from the floor, suspended in the air between them. Without ceremony, he guided the boy into Rodolphus’s arms.
Rodolphus caught him easily, one dark brow lifted in question.
"Keep him. Raise him. He's yours now."
If Rodolphus felt confused, it did not reflect. He stared down at the child for a long moment, expression unreadable. Then he cast his gaze back at Voldemort. "Mine." he repeated, jaw tensing around the word.
A mocking smile curved on his lips as he turned towards the door. "Yours, Rodolphus. Surely you understand what owning a child entails."
Rodolphus did not rise to it, still holding Voldemort's gaze, hard and unflinching. Voldemort let out a soft laugh.
Rodolphus was no coward; not before the Ministry, not before the Wizengamot, and certainly not before him. It was one of the many things Voldemort enjoyed him for.
"You will bring him up as a Lestrange. The two boys. Train them for our cause."
Voldemort's eyes fell again on the child. The boy who'd just thwarted the killing curse before it was cast.
"Especially him."
Then he flicked a dismissive hand. "Handle things here."
The sharp crack of apparition split the air.
And the Dark Lord vanished.