Two men stood just at the edge of the village. One was tall, bald, pale to the point of death with a lean wiry frame. Two things made this man stand out amongst others. Over time his usage of the Dark Arts flattened his nose until it was practically nonexistent. Red eyes disdainfully watched the village children scurrying to and fro in costumes collecting candies from neighbors. When he spoke, it was in a high-pitched, almost hissing voice.

"Soon it shall be done. Soon I shall be free." Turning to his partner, he continued. "When I have succeeded, you may feast upon them all."

The second man, shorter with gray scraggly hair down to his shoulders, a lined face and steel gray eyes, smiled an evil smile.

"I so love children."

"Yes, well, go. The moon will be coming up soon. Make sure you're far enough away from me before you change. I'd really hate to have to kill you."

The shorter man smirked and slunk off into the fading light of the setting sun.

Voldemort stepped forward and strode purposefully toward the sanctuary housing the Potter child. He had no understanding of how this weak little half-blood child could best him but it was better to err on the side of caution. Destroy the enemy before the enemy had the opportunity to destroy you. That was one thing he'd learned and learned well. He felt tempted to strike down one of the filthy muggle kids but steeled himself against the urge. Greyback would soon take care of them all. He, Voldemort, just needed to finish what he'd come for before the werewolf began his killing spree.

Reaching the two-story home, Voldemort didn't hesitate. Drawing his wand, he blew apart the door. A quick curse later and the enemy's father hit the floor, lifeless. The mother had grabbed the child and run upstairs. Stupid muggle-born. Does she think she can win against me? She'll learn her lesson. It's a shame she won't be around to appreciate it. He laughed a high-pitched, maniacal, almost gleeful laugh.

He cornered her in the child's nursery. She'd put him in his crib and stood facing him defiantly. A small, hidden part of Voldemort's inner being admired her grit, for standing up to him, for refusing to abandon her child. Tired of the game, Voldemort's wand flashed and she, too, lay upon the floor, eyes glassy and unseeing.

"Finally, we come face to face, Harry Potter." He stared into eyes so like his mother's. "Finally, I will be free."

His wand flashed a final time. Just as the putrid green spell reached the little boy, a white light flashed, bouncing the spell harmlessly off the toddler. The spell rebounded at triple the speed leaving the wand.


It was all Voldemort had time to say before being hit by his own curse. A terrible explosion rent the air, the force of it sending little Harry Potter against the back of his crib causing him to cry out. When next he stood, he seemed unhurt but for a lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead just above his right eye. Screams of terror reached his little ears by way of the massive hole in the house not far from where his crib stood. Something snarled below, a great ripping sound then a howl. It scared little Harry enough he started to cry.


He truly did love kids. They were just so easy to take down. He killed. He bit. He infected others. Instinct told him he needed to move quickly before danger appeared. He heard the cry of a young child somewhere above him. Looking up, he saw a gaping hole in the side of a house. That's where the cry originated. Bounding through the open doorway of the house, he headed for the stairs, his long wolf legs making short work of the staircase.

Slinking into the doorway of the nursery, a large gray wolf appeared, eyes transfixed on the kid in the crib. This was no ordinary wolf, however. He was Greyback, feared werewolf of the wizarding community, well-known for purposefully staying near humans so he could attack them. He also seemed to take special glee from attacking children. Now, he had blood on his muzzle and all down his chest and forelegs from his previous activities.

The child's terror-filled eyes spurned on Greyback's advances. The boy's cries were music to the werewolf's ears. This one was special, something told him. An extra sharp thrill shivered through him. Standing just outside the crib now, he opened his mouth, snarling, a deep growl escaping his throat. His fangs glistened in the light of the full moon. Outside, screams still tore through the air. Sounds of spells being cast reached the gray beast's ears and he knew he had to be quick.

Suddenly, he lunged forward and managed to sink some teeth into the tender flesh of the child's left shoulder. He gloried in the taste of the blood, warm and cascading from his jaws to the bed. After a long moment, he let go and disappeared through the hole in the wall, onto the roof of the porch and away just as a barrage of spells tore into the room.


Little Harry was in pain. He didn't know why but that big gray animal had bitten him, right on his shoulder and it hurt! It hurt to move his arm, too. Several people barged into his room with those sticks he'd seen his mum and dad use. Surely, they would help him, take the pain away. But no, they looked at him, at his shoulder, the blood and they backed away in fear. He watched them stand in a tight group, talking. He wanted someone to pick him up, to tell him all was alright, to cuddle him but no one did.


After a long while, another man entered the room. This one had a long white beard and wore half-moon glasses. His blue eyes full of sadness as he looked upon the child. Reaching forward, he retrieved the toddler. He turned as a woman entered wearing a Healer's uniform and carrying a small bag. The man with the beard took the child to see the woman.

The woman cleaned away the blood and attempted to heal the marks left by the attack, hoping he had been injured when Voldemort had attacked him. She'd dealt with enough werewolf injuries that night to know that hope was largely misplaced. When the marks on the boy's shoulder didn't fully heal, her hope died. She looked into the mournful gaze of Hogwarts' headmaster. She could tell he already knew.

The child responsible for conquering Voldemort this night, the child who would be famous throughout the wizarding world and would be known as the Boy-Who-Lived, had been bitten by a werewolf.