Summary: Monsters are not born. They are made. Voldemort, the most feared dark lord in the history of the wizarding world is unable to kill seven year old Harry Potter when he sees him concealing some scratches on his face and neck. Having had split his soul in multiple parts, he cannot feel anything. He doesn't want to feel at all but memories remain, memories of his own dark, unknown past. He needs to find who gave those wounds to Harry Potter and why besides repressing his own memories and dreams. Then, there is Draco Malfoy, who is noisy and inquisitive and fearless and is hell bent upon finding out that why Voldemort never smiles.

Chapter-1

The failed Attempt

Lord Voldemort

"Bye, Harry," called the boy's aunt. The front gate was still closed so that meant Potter would come out in just a few seconds.

"Bye, aunt Petunia. Bye, everyone," the seven year old boy's voice sharp enough that Voldemort who was hidden behind a tree that was just a bit away from the house heard the words clearly.

The boy's parents - those filthy blood-traitors were just about to come to pick him up and he had decided to finally kill the boy today when no-one would expect it. When he saw the gate of the Dursley house open just a little, he started walking towards it. He was fortunate that the boy had decided to come outside before his parents had arrived. It would literally be so easy. An Avada Kedavra and that's it. The boy peaked outside, his entire body inside. Only his face was out. Expecting the kid to close the door and wait inside until his parents arrived, he sighed and leaned against the wall of another house, his wand in his right hand, ready to cast.

To his surprise, Potter came outside and closed the door behind him. He pulled away from the wall and started walking again and then he stopped again when he saw some scratches on the boy's face. They were near his lips and there was also some kind of wound on his throat. Voldemort frowned.

What was this? He thought for a few seconds before he lifted his wand. At the same time, the kid placed his small hands on the wound and scratches and closed his eyes, concentrating hard. The wound and scratches were gone in the matter of seconds. Voldemort stared, his mouth slightly open in shock and his hand lifted to cast the deadly curse. He didn't know why he hadn't already cast the curse. It was good that there was no-one around to notice his reluctance. It certainly won't do his reputation any good.

His hand fell on his side and he studied the kid. Potter spent the next few moments wiping his eyes although he wasn't making any noise. Voldemort wondered why. Children were generally noisy and whiny. The moment the Potters' car arrived, the kid sniffed and when Lily got out of the car, he smiled widely. He ran towards his mother and got inside the car. The car left after a few moments. Voldemort did not understand.

What he did understand was that he had wasted another precious day. So, he would come tomorrow and cast the curse and get it over with and get on with his plan to take over Hogwarts. He would probably become the youngest minister of magic in the history of magic. Well, technically, the youngest. He would make new laws restricting mudbloods and half bloods from using magic.

This decided, he apparated. He wanted to return to his own manor, he did. Unfortunately, his mind decided to apparate right in front of the Malfoy manor. He started walking towards the gate of the manor. It opened when he touched the handle. He went inside and the door closed behind him. Voldemort just could not get those scratches out of his mind.

What was that? Was someone beating Potter up? Why would those wretched relatives beat him up? Surely, the parents won't allow the boy to visit them. It couldn't have been Bill or Percy Weasley and Ronald and what was her name - ah, Ginny were too small to do anything of this sort. So, it should be those muggles.

Voldemort despised muggles. One day he would eliminate them or rule over them. However, right now, he would ask Malfoy about his beloved diary and take his leave. That was why he had come here - not because he wanted to ask Malfoy about - about anything except his diary. Potter was a nuisance. He had to get rid of the brat otherwise the boy would wage a war against him. That was what the prophecy implied at least and he would rather not fight another war and lose magical blood. As it is, the magical population wasn't even forty percent of the muggle population.

Malfoy's gardens and peacocks were lovely but he did not stop to admire them. He had no time for it. He walked ahead and opened the gate. A house elf greeted him with a bow.

"Please, be coming inside, master. Master and mistress are waiting for you in the drawing room."

Voldemort nodded and walked quietly, keeping a watch for that blonde brat. He was a ball of energy and called Voldemort 'Mr Riddle'. It was something Voldemort had allowed because he did not want him saying his name in a gathering full of his followers. The boy did not understand the fear that his name carried. Voldemort did not like seven year olds - especially ones like Lucius' brat. He was noisy and inquisitive. He was forever disturbing Voldemort with his endless questions.

Fortunately, the littlest Malfoy was not in the drawing room. Lucius was there, his hair tied and his cane resting beside his legs. Narcissa was reading a book and kept it down the moment Voldemort entered.

Voldemort sat across them and he did not know why the first thing that he said was, "How do you discipline Draco?"

Lucius froze. His face became blank although his eyes betrayed his fear. Voldemort had always known that Lucius would never let Draco follow in his footsteps. So, it wasn't a surprise when the man said, "He's only a child, my lord. He doesn't mean to insult you."

"We'll keep him out of your way. Please, forgive him. He is only seven," Narcissa murmured, her eyes defiant, unlike her husband's terrified ones. It was more of an order than a request. Voldemort had no doubt that Narcissa was as mad as Bellatrix and their elder sister who ran off with a muggle. Madness ran in the blood of Blacks. He won't be surprised at all if she stood up and pointed a wand at his throat right now.

"I'll not hurt your brat," Voldemort drawled curtly, leaning back and spreading his legs. He was wearing a shirt and trousers today. It was hot. He hadn't wanted to wear robes, seeing that he had gone to kill the kid and it usually didn't require dressing up.

"Ah!," Lucius said, frowning at him whereas Narcissa leaned back, his eyes very cautious and narrowed. His lips were pressed in a thin line.

"We scold him a little and take his toys away for some time. We give him more homework but that's it," Narcissa answered.

It was Voldemort's turn to frown.

"You don't beat him up," he asked and Lucius shook his head.

"He's only a bit mischievous. No, we do not," Lucius answered, his frown becoming more pronounced by the second, "May I ask why you're asking this question, my lord."

Voldemort leaned back and didn't answer. He did not care about Harry Potter. He would go tomorrow and wait until Potter came out after playing at the Dursley house and then he would kill the tiny brat.

He shook his head, muttering, "Never-mind. Tell your brat that I'll quiz him on what I taught him last time," and before Lucius could answer, Voldemort apparated. He only cared about killing Harry Potter. THAT WAS IT. Yet, he couldn't get his silent weeping, scratches - who beat a child around his lips and throat - out of his mind. He didn't sleep a wink that night and after trying for around two hours, he asked Severus to visit him. He had a theory to share with the man about stopping the turning of a person into a vampire after being bitten. Severus did not answer which was not a surprise. The potions master must be asleep as Voldemort should be. He had to be awake for killing the youngest Potter.

What if he hit a tree instead. That won't do. Voldemort lay back down on the bed and closed his eyes, willing sleep to take him.

TBC

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