Chapter Text
It was late one Saturday night that a man dressed in black made his way down the long, winding driveway of the house known to the residents of Little Hangleton as Riddle Manor.
To anyone watching, the man would have seemed unsightly. His skin, stretched thin over his face and arms was a white that almost glowed in the dark. He had no nose, but instead two slits to serve as nostrils, and his eyes were blood red, flashing through the darkness, in a way that many would describe as ‘demonic’.
And indeed, he was known to the residents of the village as ‘The Demon of Riddle Manor’, who came to haunt it after the previous owners, the Riddle family, were murdered unexpectedly. The parents would tell stories to their children of how the Demon never left the Manor and feasted on the blood of naughty children — that he would come to take the children if they misbehaved.
Those stories served a great purpose, and visitors to the village of Little Hangleton, many of whom were simply passing through, often remarked that they found the children exceptionally polite and well-behaved. It was a point of pride for the small community, even as they feared what the man living in the Manor could do. Rumor among the older generation of the village said that he was a magical wizard trained in black magic, and a vampire, and he killed the Riddle family himself to satisfy an old grudge.
However, that Saturday night was Halloween. The children, dressed as ghosts in bedsheets, or skeletons with bones painted on black shirts, were running between the houses with gleeful shouts, collecting sweets and chocolate, their parents following along behind. And so, no one turned their eyes to the old Manor on the hill, or saw the man, the Demon himself, as he reached the end of the driveway and disappeared into thin air with a small ‘crack’ that was lost to the wind.
The same man appeared on the street of Godric’s Hollow slightly after eleven o’clock. The street was mostly dark — the only light came from the streetlamp at the end of the road and the lights inside a few of the houses — and, unlike Little Hangleton, silent. No children ran along Godric’s Hollow, knocking on doors for sweets long past their bedtime; mostly out of respect for the older residents who lived there, and would very likely be asleep at this time of night.
The man, who was now known to a select few living persons as Tom Riddle, and to the rest of the world by the name he had fashioned for himself: Lord Voldemort, took his time wandering along the street he had seen many, many times before.
But this time would be different; for a house on that street that had not existed before was now very visible.
Lord Voldemort smiled to himself as he walked. His spy had earlier that week finally disclosed the location of the family he had been hunting, and it was time for him to eliminate the threat to his success, as was foretold in the prophecy reported by another spy for the Dark Lord, Severus Snape.
The prophecy, which had come from the mouth of a woman descended from a line of reputable seers, had described a child born at the end of July that would have the power to defeat Lord Voldemort, and he simply could not stand by and allow that prophecy to be fulfilled.
No, he would kill that child, who had to be either the Longbottom boy, or one of the Potter twins. And, judging by the fact the Potters had gone into hiding by the time Lord Voldemort heard the prophecy, it was to be the latter.
For the sake of continuity, as Voldemort told himself, both of the Potter twins would end up dead, and his most loyal follower, Bellatrix Black, would take care of the Longbottom boy with a team of her own choosing. She had declared it would be done tonight; Voldemort would visit Longbottom Manor after his own little mission was over just to make sure things had gone to plan.
And once the threats were nonexistent, he would overthrow the ministry, and take control of Wizarding Britain, followed shortly by the rest of the world.
But for now, he swung open the gate to the Potter house on Godric’s Hollow with a wave of his hand, and continued up the garden path.
With a bang , the front door flew open, his wand slipping into his hand. A shout and the sound of footsteps rang through the house, and then James Potter ran into the hallway, facing Lord Voldemort with a glare and no wand at all.
What a waste of time.
The man was out cold in a second, the red blast of a silent stunning spell having hit him in the chest. The body hit the floor.
Lord Voldemort stepped over Potter’s limp form, and began to climb the stairs, his snakeskin boots sinking into the dark carpet that he couldn’t quite tell the color of, as the hallway lights were off. The hall upstairs held a cabinet at the end, and a few landscape paintings on the walls, and was otherwise bare. There were four doors, all closed, but a small wave of his wand revealed, as he walked past them, that the first three were not the room he was looking for.
The final room was at first glance very obviously a nursery. The walls were painted a light colour and there were little handprint paintings all over the walls. On the far side of the room were two cots, and in front of them stood Lily Potter. She turned around when he entered the room and raised the wand in her hand to point it at his face, fury blazing in her bright green eyes.
At least she was smart enough to face an intruder with her wand in hand , unlike her husband.
But he had no time to deal with over-protective mothers, and stunned her before she could react.
As soon as the body hit the floor, the baby in the left cot began to wail loudly. Her sister sat in silence, regarding Voldemort with a cold stare that seemed unnatural for a child of her age. The first child kept on wailing, but a short look from Voldemort passed her off as an ordinary child; brown hair, brown eyes, obnoxiously loud and annoying. That brat’s cot read ‘Rose Anne Potter’ on the headboard, and the other cot read ‘Ivy Elena Potter’.
Ivy, the quiet child, was quiet for a long moment. She looked down at her unconscious mother once, then back up at Voldemort, before she started giggling.
Was she laughing… at him ?
That was no normal child, Lord Voldemort decided, and raised his wand, preparing for the easiest victory of his life.
The words of the killing curse were whispered, a green light hit Ivy Potter, and then, before he could move, it rebounded to cover the caster in bright, magical energy that burst outwards, shattering the windows in a large gust of wind.
A shard of glass hit Rose on the face, carving a ‘V’ below her eye, just seconds after a curse scar in the shape of a lightning bolt appeared on Ivy’s forehead, where the green light had hit her.
Voldemort screamed in rage and burning pain as he fled Godric’s Hollow.
Minutes later, the leader of the Light, Albus Dumbledore, ran into the room with more energy that most would expect of someone of his apparent age. He was followed shortly behind by James Potter, who frantically ran over to the body of his wife to revive her.
Albus had felt a disturbance in the Fidelius wards around the Potter home a short while earlier, as he was the secret keeper. The instruments that monitored the house in question had begun to ring out and make noise almost immediately, cementing his belief in the fact that the house had been attacked, and the wards breached.
As he could not apparate within the school, and had no time to reach the Wardstone to change that, he ran from his office, summoning a broom from his storage cabinet on the way out. He raced through the castle, startling McGonagall and Flitwick greatly, who were patrolling together, and hopped onto the broom as soon as he left through the front doors. From there, he flew quickly down the driveway to the gates at the border of the wards. Dropping his broom to the side in his haste, he apparated to Godric’s Hollow.
The windows had all been shattered, and the street was silent as he ran up the garden and into the house. James was lying at the foot of the stairs. Albus, despite his desperation to see whether the children were alive, woke the man with a spell, informed him of what he knew, and they hurried up to the nursery.
It was in utter disarray. Lily was lying before the cots, which thankfully held two living children.
As James ran to help his wife, Albus stepped up to the cots to examine the twins. Rose caught his eye immediately.
When he leant forward to wipe away the blood dribbling slowly down her face, the cut at once became clear, and he lifted the child into his arms. A cut in the shape of a ‘V’. Surely…
Lily sat up then with a loud gasp, and scrambled to her feet. “What…”
Albus chuckled. “Relax, my dear girl. Rose and Ivy are alright. In fact…”
He passed the child into her arms so she could see for herself. For a long moment, she simply stared, unmoving, before she said quietly, “Are you sure, Professor?”
“Now, now, I’m no longer your professor. ‘Albus’ is perfectly fine, my dear. And yes, I believe Rose has survived the killing curse, defeating Lord Voldemort!”
James breathed out a sigh of relief. “So, he’s really dead?”
“Ah,” Albus paused. “Not quite, I’m afraid.” He took their silence as a sign to continue, saying, “If he is indeed dead, there would be a body on the floor, or at least some remains. No, I believe he has fled, very, very weak. He will return someday.”
Their faces fell together. Lily began to cry silently, leaning into James, who wrapped his arms around her.
“He’ll come back for Rose, then,” said James after a minute. Albus nodded grimly.
“I’m afraid so. Rose must be ready to defeat him, as according to the prophecy, she has been marked as his equal, and she alone holds the power to defeat him. She must be trained and prepared for the day he does return to kill her.”
Lily began to sob harder. James took Rose from her arms as she started to shake slightly. His face was set in a frown.
“And should we also train Ivy? They are sisters, after all. Perhaps they would enjoy lessons together, and help improve each other’s weak points?”
Albus didn’t reply at first.
How to break the news?
“I think,” he said slowly, clasping his hands behind his back, and looking older than the Potters had ever seen him. “I think that… perhaps… Ivy should live with another family.” James made a noise of outrage, but Albus cut him off before he could start a fully fledged argument. “Ivy should grow up in a family where she doesn’t have to spend her entire childhood training for an event that will more so affect her sister. Rose will be known as the saviour of the world. Ivy will be the saviour's sister. I have seen jealousy do terrible things to the best of families, the best of people. She’ll feel left out and useless.
“Don’t you think she should grow up in a family where she can be a child. Her sister doesn’t have that choice, but she does. She can return before her eleventh birthday, before she starts Hogwarts. It is best for Ivy….”
As he spoke, James calmed, and his frown changed to a heartbroken look as he held his wife and the girl who would be a legend. Lily saw his face, and grasped his shoulders tightly, tears pouring down her cheeks.
“No! No, you can’t!” she shouted. “I know that look, James. Don’t you dare . Ivy is our daughter too, and she’ll be just as loved and cherished as Rose. We can’t- can’t send her away…”
James gently pried her hands off his shoulders with one hand, the other still holding a calm Rose. “I know how you feel, Lilyflower… but don’t you think she deserves a calm, loving family where she can act her age, instead of spending her life studying? Dumbledore’s right. It’s for the best… for Ivy. We’ll see her again.”
Lily said nothing for a long moment, and then whispered, “Okay.”
James nodded to Albus, eyes watery, and Albus nodded back.
“I’ll take care of everything, please don’t worry. You ought to say goodbye now.”
Albus Dumbledore never saw the scar on Ivy’s forehead.
Albus took one last look at the sleeping child on the doorstep.
He had placed a letter of explanation in the blankets in the hope that Petunia Dursley would understand.
He nodded to himself before walking down to the end of the street and into the shadow of a large tree, where he promptly disapparated in a swirl of his colourful robes.
The stars were still twinkling in the night sky half an hour later when another figure appeared on Privet Drive. However, this man didn’t apparate; he had come from the past.