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Harry Potter: A Flaw in Fate
Prologue
I. The First of Flaws
A light rain splattered across the cobblestoned paths of Godric's Hollow, drowning out the quiet snores of those who dwelled within the charming village. Even tonight, on the evening of Halloween, 1981, the people of the town slept peacefully. There were not many children amongst their numbers, after all, and very few of the elders cared for such trivial matters as Halloween.
Perhaps that had something to do with the village in question. Godric's Hollow was almost entirely occupied by wizards, and very few witches and wizards would claim to care much for a mere Muggle holiday, if any at all.
Either way, the streets of the small village in West Country, England were almost entirely empty. A few stragglers loitered around the local pub, and an elderly couple was indeed making their way back home after a rather lovely evening outing - but that was it. Aside from them, only the moon and the countless clouds remained to keep the night company.
Crack.
Two individuals - women, unless the robes they adorned were deceiving - suddenly added to their number, swirling into existence in the blink of an eye. The pair carefully observed their surroundings before setting off, moving through the foreign village with purpose.
"My lady, are you certain this is for the best?" the shorter of the two inquired, her voice laced with worry.
The taller woman paused in her stride, blending into the darkness of the alley that surrounded them. Had it been anyone else, she would have severely punished them for questioning her - but this was not just anyone, and, although the woman would loathe to admit it, she did not find the idea of torturing her most loyal servant particularly appealing.
The closest thing to a friend . . .
"I am certain, Bellatrix." the woman replied, her voice angelic, "It must be done. It would be best to do so sooner rather than later."
The woman surged forward, her servant hastily following in her wake.
"But you can't possibly believe it's that easy!" whispered Bellatrix, "Prophecies are never that simple, and they definitely aren't made about things that aren't at least possible."
The other, taller woman closed her eyes, her head tilted slightly to the side.
"I don't believe I have ever heard you so worried." she noted dismissively, ducking into a nearby pathway, "It's more likely you're someone else - under a Polyjuice Potion, perhaps. The real Bellatrix is far closer to insanity than you seem to be."
"No one could use a Polyjuice Potion without you knowing." whispered Bellatrix, her tone a blend of caution, worry, and awe, "You're Voldemort. The Dark Lady. Nothing gets past you."
The taller woman - Voldemort - smiled softly from beneath her hood.
"But that isn't the point." continued Bellatrix, "This is a prophecy we're talking about - one that perfectly matches the warning Grindelwald gave you all those years ago."
Voldemort's lips thinned beneath her hood.
Sybill Trelawney's prophecy . . . a faultless match for Grindelwald's warning.
Soft, pale pink lips curved upwards from beneath hooded robes.
How the noble art of Divination has fallen.
"I know she's a fool." muttered Bellatrix, her dark eyes latched upon the ghost of Voldemort's smile, "But I was there. I showed you the memory just after it happened last August. Even if she is a joke - that wasn't. "
"I'm aware." said Voldemort coolly, "If I wasn't, I wouldn't be here."
The Dark Lady gently ran a long, thin twig against the side of a building. A gentle tapping noise pressed uncomfortably against Bellatrix's ears. Her eyes latched onto the stick - sparks flew from its end as it rapped against the wall.
"It's been nearly a year, Bella." Voldemort whispered, pocketing the thin piece of wood, "And now, finally, I know where he is. Finally."
"Yes, my lady, but it's still a prophecy." pleaded Bellatrix, shivering, "A prophecy -"
"Enough." Bellatrix hesitantly ducked her head, falling silent, "We have work to do."
The pair quietly walked past a number of buildings, slowly approaching their final destination. They continued onwards for some time until they stopped at last, both of their eyes upon a rather picturesque cottage at the end of the road.
"It seems as though Wormtail was correct." whispered Voldemort, "The Potters are indeed hiding in Godric's Hollow."
"It may be a trap." said Bellatrix, pulling out a thin wooden stick of her own - a wand - from within her robes. She waved it gracefully for a few moments before pocketing it once more.
"There are barely any wards, aside from the Fidelius Charm." whispered Bellatrix.
"I gathered." replied Voldemort smoothly.
Bellatrix hastily lowered her hood, running her fingers through her curly black hair. She was undoubtedly beautiful; her cheekbones were high, her eyes dark, her features noble - nothing less than what was expected of a daughter from the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.
"What is he playing at?" questioned Bellatrix uncertainly, the curiosity in her quiet voice barely audible over the falling rain, "Dumbledore knows the prophecy - the first half of it, at least. Why aren't they protected?"
"They are." remarked Voldemort, a hint of amusement within her voice, "According to him, at the very least. You see, Bella, the Potters are protected by love."
Voldemort slowly lowered her hood, revealing a face of unfathomable beauty. Her skin was pale, her features angelic, her hair somewhere between black and brown. She was - and would likely remain - the most beautiful being one might ever see.
Only her eyes could not be described as ethereal. Once hazel in colour, they were now a deathly scarlet, glowing with otherworldly power.
In a rather twisted way, it made sense. The eyes, after all, were the windows to the soul.
And Voldemort's soul, it seemed, was far from ethereal.
The Dark Lady gently removed a wand of ash from within her robes, holding it carefully within her right palm.
"It's almost poetic." noted Voldemort indifferently, "Their deaths will be born from the love they so generously gifted to the wrong person. A shame."
"Will I be the one to kill him?" questioned Bellatrix, "Pettigrew, I mean."
Voldemort nodded.
"Tonight. I will not have a known traitor within our midst."
Bellatrix nodded, turning her gaze to the cottage that lay at the end of the path.
"He's in there, isn't he?" whispered Bellatrix, "Him."
Voldemort's lips tightened ever so slightly, as did her grasp upon her ashen wand.
"Yes." replied Voldemort, "The boy is inside."
"Are you certain this is the best move?" asked Bellatrix uncertainly, "If Grindelwald's warning is even remotely true, then I'm not sure this is for the best -"
"His warning is true." snapped Voldemort impatiently, "Dear Sybill's prophecy is evidence enough of that."
"And now what?" whispered Bellatrix frantically, "You're going to kill him? Because he might be your equal? Because he might -"
"Quiet." whispered Voldemort dangerously, her wand pointed at her servant as her eyes glowed dangerously, "I let you get away with far more than most, Bella, but do not forget your place."
Bellatrix quieted instantly, her head ducked as her master lowered her wand.
"Now come." said Voldemort, "There is much to be done before the sun rises."
Bellatrix quietly followed her master as the two made their way down the crooked stone path.
"Once you have disposed of Wormtail, you are to head to the Longbottom Manor." instructed Voldemort as the two approached the cottage, "Take your foolish husband and his brother with you as well."
"The Longbottoms?" questioned Bellatrix quietly, "My lady, if I may ask, why the Longbottom boy? He is not the boy, we know that -"
" - but Dumbledore does not." snapped Voldemort, "He knows nothing of what Grindelwald said. They have not seen each other for nearly half a century."
Bellatrix traced the end of her wand with her fingers, staring up at the cottage that slowly loomed closer.
"Am I to kill the boy as well?"
"Whether you do or don't matters little." Voldemort answered, seemingly unconcerned, "But it must be convincing. I will not allow Dumbledore to question why I left one boy alone and killed the other. If it makes it more convincing, dispose of him."
Bellatrix nodded slowly.
The pair stopped as they arrived at Potter cottage. Voldemort silently waved her wand before stepping off the stone path and onto the grass, nodding her head slightly when nothing happened.
"Go." she commanded Bellatrix, "Wormtail, the Longbottoms, then return here. I shall see you in the morning."
Bellatrix nodded before disapparating with a soft crack.
Voldemort gently fingered her wand, allowing her gaze to fall upon the cottage that stood before her. The building was charming in a rather unconventional way. It was far from perfect; the windows were slightly lopsided, the garden unkempt and a few bricks sticking slightly out from the wall. Regardless, it was lovely in its own unorthodox way. Voldemort could almost understand why the Potters decided to stay here rather than their ancestral home.
Almost being the operative word.
With a casual flick of her wand, the front door of the Potter cottage swung open. The interior certainly matched the outside; colourful toys littered the floors, neat curtains obscured the windows, and a lovely fireplace blazed merrily. It was the spitting image of a family home, as far as Voldemort knew.
Homenum Revelio.
The tip of her wand suddenly glowed a soft orange, having responded to her thoughts. The wand itself spun in her hand, pointing upwards thrice before the glow vanished. Voldemort carefully made her way towards the stairs, silencing any noise she might have made with a subtle wave of her hand.
Interesting.
The stairs were covered with a ward, one which Voldemort herself often employed. It was an alarm - one that was rather nicely done; the only way to break the ward would be to set it off.
So long as only the Potter family was within the house, that would not be a problem. James and Lily Potter were well known for their power and skill, it was true - but they still paled in comparison to her.
And, as fate would have it, only the Potter family was within the house.
Without the slightest hesitation, Voldemort stepped through the ward and onto the staircase.
A loud shrieking noise pierced through the house. Voldemort could hear the Potters arise from their beds as she made her way up the staircase and onto the second floor landing. She slowly made her way down the hallway, her eyes raking over the rooms as she passed -
Bathroom, another bathroom, closet -
One of the closed doors sprung open, a dishevelled-looking man appearing from within. He was adorned in sleeping clothes, his glasses slightly askew. He paled at the sight of her, instantly pulling out his wand and sending a curse her way.
"Lily, take Harry and go! It's her! Go! Run! I'll hold her off -"
A young redheaded woman ran towards a room on the far side of the cottage, ducking to avoid a curse sent her way. Voldemort vaguely registered the colourful toys littered upon the floor of the room in question.
The nursery.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Thump.
The body of James Potter fell lifelessly to the floor, his glasses falling from his face. Voldemort continued onwards, making her way down to the nursery with her wand held aloft.
Alohomora.
The nursery door sprung open, allowing Voldemort entrance. The nursery was a pale blue in colour, a myriad of peculiar toys and similar objects littering the floor. A framed photo of a toddler sat upon a wooden dresser, the boy within it giggling happily as he rode a miniature broomstick.
In the center of the room stood a beautiful redheaded woman, her crimson hair cascading downwards in waves. Her body did little to obscure the crib from Voldemort's view, though she could not see the baby boy she knew to be within it.
"Not Harry, not Harry . . . take me, please . . . not Harry!"
"Stand aside," said Voldemort quietly, "You need not die. Stand aside . . ."
Yet the woman merely sank to her knees, tears streaking down her face.
"Not Harry! Please . . . have mercy . . . have mercy . . ."
"Avada Kedavra."
The woman fell lifelessly to the floor, just as her husband had moments ago. Voldemort moved her aside with a flick of her wrist. She turned her gaze to the boy who sat within the crib, crying as he looked around the broken nursery.
The boy was around a year old, his hair jet black as his father's had been. His eyes, like his mother's, were emerald in colour. They were watering now, his hand wrapped around the bars of his crib as he looked up at her.
This is the boy. My equal, at long last.
But he wouldn't be. Perhaps it was possible - she would be a fool to argue otherwise - but it would not happen. She would make sure of it. She was making sure of it.
Voldemort stiffened slightly, gently raising her wand arm. She gazed upon the boy as he lay in his tiny crib, tears streaking down his cheeks.
An old man's warning rang in her ears. Cold, icy orbs appeared before the eye of her mind -
"Avada Kedavra!"
Pain far greater than anything she had ever felt before shot through her as bright green light flooded her vision.