In the split second before the green light hit him, the only word that shot through the Dark Lord's mind was the one he had sworn to never use again: "Fuck!" After all, it was nothing but vulgar.

Once the spell hit him, the only thing the Dark Lord felt was pain – nothing but pain as his soul was ripped from his body. Never in his wildest and darkest dreams had he ever anticipated something like this happening to him. He was the Dark Lord after all. He had been proven wrong on this very night of Samhain 1981 and now had to watch his body deteriorating before his very incorporeal eyes. Panic replaced pain. In this moment, the urge to flee became almost unbearable, to just leave the scene of his defeat, hide and lick his wounds. But he hadn't earned the title of the Dark Lord and the most OWLs in history for nothing. He wasn't an amateur. Neither was he a coward who ran at the first signs of danger with his tail between his legs. No, he was the Dark Lord Voldemort. He needed to assess the situation.

He had gone to Godric's Hollow to eliminate the threat of the one prophesised to defeat him – Harry Potter. He had duelled and killed James Potter. Then, he had intended to kill Harry, only to have his mother begging him to spare her son's life and kill her instead. Three times, he had given her the chance to step aside to honour the vow he had sworn to Severus, one of his most trusted. But the stubborn witch had refused, leaving him no choice but to kill her. After her death, nothing had stood between him and Harry. Voldemort remembered clearly having stared into the bright green eyes that were filled with confusion, but also curiosity despite the dire situation. Still scared for his life, he had uttered the two words, sure to eliminate the threat the infant posed to his life once and for all. Instead, the killing curse that had ended the lives of so many had rebound. But why?

The incorporeal spirit that was left of the once Dark Lord stared at little Harry who was still clutching the bars of his cot and watching the scene with curiosity. Much to Voldemort's surprise, he wasn't crying, even though the building was in shatters and parts of the roof had collapsed from the backfire of the killing curse. Luckily, no debris had hit the cot. In fact, he was remaining eerily quiet. But then, something else caught the Dark Lord's attention: a lightly bleeding lightning bolt shaped scar on the boy's forehead, which clearly hadn't been there before. What had happened?

With great struggle, the Dark Lord managed to reach out his now very limited magic. Only to pull back immediately. How in Merlin's beard had a piece of his soul ended up in the boy? But before he could think more about the mystery, Voldemort heard footsteps approaching. What was he supposed to do? Leave? No! If he ever wanted to truly uncover what had happened this damned Samhain night, he had to stay and there was only one option for that: Harry Potter.

So, moments before the door was thrown open, the Dark Lord joined with the sliver of his soul that resided behind the lightning bolt shaped scar. He wasn't met with opposition. The young body didn't perceive him as threat. Not that he dared to possess Harry. Much like the sliver of his soul, Voldemort opted to stay in the background and observe.

Then the door burst open to reveal Severus Snape. A scream of agony filled the air as the young Potions Master clutched Lily Potter's dead body close to his chest. Through Harry's eyes, Voldemort watched as Severus broke before him. Tears flowed down the dire man's face. Not that he would ever admit to it, but the scene in front of him deeply affected the Dark Lord. Yes, he had feelings like everybody else, not that he showed them often. Somewhere in the distance, he heard the sound of an engine. Something that sounded like a motorcycle. Snape must have heard it, too. An almost silent crack later, and the Potions Master was gone without further sparing a glance at him/Harry.

Whoever had arrived outside, was manically screaming "James". Agonizing minutes later, an equally broken Sirius Black entered the room. His whole body was shaking as he stared at the corpse of Lily Potter. Harry used this moment to make himself known, obviously recognizing his godfather. The shaken Auror hurried to the cot to pick up his godson. Trough tear-dimmed eyes, Voldemort watched as Black tried to soothe the crying toddler.

"Shhh, Harry! Everything's alright. I got you", Black spoke trying to sound reassuringly yet failing spectacularly, "I… I will take care of you. You are safe with me. I will…"

His voice broke as he clutched Harry closer to his chest. Once more, Black's gaze moved over Lily Potter's dead body. A heavy shudder shot through the Auror's body. He hastily turned on his heels and hurried down the debris covered stairs. Voldemort observed, as Black left the house quickly approaching a motorcycle, the source of the noise earlier. Sirius Black froze as suddenly an all to well known figure appeared next to the motorcycle. Voldemort groaned inwardly at the sight of none other than Albus Dumbledore, the last person on earth he wanted to encounter while stuck inside Harry Potter.

"Sirius, what happened?"

"Lily… James… Albus, they're dead…" Sirius stuttered, "I was too late… I… I…"

"Did you encounter Voldemort?"

"No… Only Harry was there when…"

"Was there any sign of him?"

"His robes and wand… But why? How?"

A triumphant look appeared on Dumbledore's face, "He must be gone! Harry defeated him…"

"But what about Harry?" Sirius asked clearly baffled by the Headmaster's display of emotions, "he has just lost his parents…"

"Because Peter Pettigrew betrayed them!" Dumbledore interrupted him with his customary twinkle, "he as the secret keeper revealed their whereabouts to Voldemort. It's his fault young Harry here lost his parents. They deserve to be revenged. It's you who should do it. After all, you were James' best friend. I can take care of Harry meanwhile."

Voldemort's mind went haywire after that declaration. Something was not right! Did Dumbledore just send Black after Pettigrew? The alarm bells inside the Dark Lord's mind were ringing dangerously. Who in their right mind would do something like that?

"I shouldn't have agreed to the switch, Albus. I…"

"They would have gone after you, Sirius! I would have never thought Peter capable of betraying the Potters. I must have been mistaken. But it's too late. The least we can do, is avenging the Potters. Sirius, you are the only one with the right to do it."

So, Dumbledore had initiated the switch. Had he known about Pettigrew's true allegiance all along? To his knowledge, the Potters hadn't been under the Fidelius Charm for long. Was the whole prophecy debacle a set up? A trap? Voldemort desperately longed to know. But before any other thoughts could form, Black handed Harry over to the Headmaster without protest or second thought and apparated away instead. Once the Auror was gone, Dumbledore dropped his genial façade. Satisfaction and smugness seemed to radiate from the aging headmaster. This seemed to verify Voldemort's presumptions. He had just been setup by Albus Dumbledore. Damn him! Voldemort could have cursed himself to the moon and back. His raging came to a halt when Dumbledore's gaze suddenly fixated on a point on Harry's forehead. Voldemort groaned. He had detected the scar.

The headmaster frowned. Without warning, a wand was pointed at the toddler's forehead. Voldemort prayed that his presence would not be detected as Spell after Spell was cast on Harry. Dumbledore didn't seem to care about Harry's well-being. Unperturbed by Harry's crying and the pain caused by the Spells, he continued. After a particularly violent Detection Spell, the frown on the headmaster's face deepened. A long boney finger hoovered over the scar. Then, Dumbledore muttered, "Should have never left books about Horcruxes in the damn library!"

Suddenly, the finger was removed and instead, Dumbledore's wand moved over Harry. Upon realizing, which ritual was being cast, Voldemort would have screamed if he had a body. Sadly, he couldn't do anything to stop the madman who called himself Headmaster. Once the ritual took hold, the pain luckily caused Harry to pass out and Voldemort with it. At least, he hadn't been detected.