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On the night of Halloween in 1981, Tom Marvolo Riddle ended a life of a child. A child who, in another timeline, caused the fall of the Lord Voldemort, the most terrifying dark wizard in living memory. All because of a hungry owl. It’s funny how something so insignificant doomed wizarding society forever.
Voldemort was annoyed. Nagini had been attacked by an owl who had been flying away with her when he noticed. He shuddered to think what would have happened to his Horcrux if not for his quick spell casting reflexes. Making sure that his familiar was unharmed had taken a couple of minutes and he had been delayed. He hated being off schedule. It was a ridiculous thing for a dark lord to worry about, but some habits are hard to shake, even after three and a half decades. Voldemort’s obsession with being on time was rooted in the time he spent in the orphanage and years upon years of Mrs. Cole’s lectures. The orphanage had been his first target after he graduated. Oh, how they had screamed. Voldemort smiled at the memory, a horrible smile that plagued the nightmares of anyone who had seen it and lived to tell the tale.
He shook himself. “Focus”. As he approached the Potter’s cottage, he drew his wand and cast a disillusionment charm upon himself. Just as he reached the gate, the front door opened. Out stepped a woman, carrying a wicker basket in one hand. She was beautiful, with a smile so divine it made you forget all your troubles. Her shiny, flowing hair was a deep red color, and in the moonlight, she looked like a goddess. “Ah, this must be Severus’s mudblood. What was her name? Evans, wasn’t it? I suppose I should reward him for informing me of this threat.” Silently, as not to alert the occupants of the house, Voldemort cast a stunning spell at Lily Potter and continued inside the house. Upon entering, he found himself in a tastefully decorated living room, full of the telltale signs of a wizard family. In a corner, what appeared to be a baby’s blanket with a broomstick, was being knitted by a pair of enchanted needles. The radio on the mantel was playing Celestina Warbeck’s ‘You Stole My Cauldron But You Can’t Have My Heart’, and attached to the fireplace was a container full of bright green floo powder. There was a door leading to a hallway which lead to a flight of stairs. Voldemort assumed that was where the boy and his blood traitor father were.
Suddenly, he heard the sound of footsteps racing down the stairs and assumed that James Potter had been looking out of the window and seen the love of his life on the ground outside, still and unresponsive. Preparing himself, he waited for the man to appear. Just as James rounded the corner, he raised his wand and cast the killing curse. A flash of green light and James Potter took his last breath at just twenty-one years old. Voldemort grinned with satisfaction. “Another blood traitor dead. Filthy muggle lover! Disgrace to his pureblood heritage!! Continuing up the stairs, Voldemort got rid of his disillusionment charm. He wanted Harry Potter, his fated foe, to look him in the eye as he died. The sound of a baby crying was heard coming from the first door on the right. The door was ajar, and positioned near the window was a crib, painted white. On the wall opposite the door was a mural. Painted in shades of blue, white, and grey. It depicted an outdoor scene, with trees, mountains, clouds, and birds. Standing in the crib was a baby boy. He had little chubby cheeks, and his striking green eyes stood out against his pale skin. His tiny hands grasped the side of the crib as he stood, staring wide-eyed, at the stranger in the doorway.
It was only as Voldemort walked in and took in his surroundings that he realized how utterly ridiculous the situation was. He was Lord Voldemort, people were too scared to even speak his name, and here he was going to all this effort to kill a baby. “He is a threat to my reign that must be eliminated”. Raising his wand, he spoke the words that would alter the fate of thousands of people. “Avada Kedavra!”. At that, Harry James Potter, the chosen one, dropped dead. Having just eliminated the only person who might ever vanquish him, The Dark Lord Voldemort threw his head back and screamed. A crazy, maniacal, scream of evil, powered by dark magic so it could be heard by all of Gordic’s Hollow. It would haunt everyone who heard it for the rest of their very short lives.
Later, when Aurors arrived on the scene, they would find that Lily Potter had hit her head when she fell and had died almost instantly. When he learned this, Severus Snape was consumed by rage, and in a foolhardy attempt to avenge her, he slipped poison into Voldemort’s evening meal. It was detected immediately and the Dark Lord knew that Snape was the only one who could brew such a substance. Suffice to say, his death was not quick and painless Assured that no one could ever defeat them, Voldemort and his Death Eaters grew in power, annihilating The Order Of The Phoenix and eradicating every blood traitor, half-blood, mudblood, and muggle in Britain. Voldemort and his supporters were all the was left. They were eventually defeated by a South Asian witch, but not before they transformed Britain into a wasteland. Over the years, Britain was slowly rebuilt and repopulated, but it was never returned to its former glory. All because of one hungry owl.