Of Snakes and Stags

by FelixCrow

Summary:

When the Boy-Who-Lived stood in the middle of the clearing, waiting for death with terrified yet resigned eyes, the Dark Lord Voldemort thought that he had finally won. That he could now shape the world the way he was always meant to do, with no Dumbledore, no prophecy, no boy with green eyes stubbornly standing in his way. He raised his wand and confidently cast the Killing Curse and, once again, his life fell apart.

OR

When Harry chooses to come back to life, he takes with him the entirety of Voldemort's soul. In doing so, Voldemort's mind and body reset to the time right before he made his first horcrux; he is seventeen again, and does not seem to remember the horrors he has committed. The Light wins the war, and is left with an impossible decision. What should be done with Tom Marvolo Riddle?

Notes:

This is my first fic and English is not my first language, so please be kind :D

EDIT

TRANSLATION IN Português brasileiro BY THE WONDERFUL moonletterss IS NOW AVAILABLE :D

TRANSLATION IN Russian BY THE WONDERFUL Athene_Sych IS NOW AVAILABLE HERE: https://ficbook.net/readfic/019990d8-f83c-7b4b-ab73-39a347c44d8f

EDIT2

I finished this monster!!! I'm going to post it also on Wattpad for those who prefer that platform. I'm pretty sure eventually I'm going to write a sequel, so if you want any news about that you can either check on my AO3/Wattpad profile every now and again or follow me on Tumblr (@felixcrowwrites)
Enjoy!

Chapter 1: Prologue

The Dark Lord Voldemort had never, did not, and never would believe that a god existed.

 

“God” was the imaginary friend the caretakers at the orphanage told the children about to make them shut up. To make them believe that, if only they stopped crying, one day a god would take them into the sky and give them all the food they keep asking for. To make them believe that, if they behaved, a god would give them the hugs they try to steal from the busy and dismissive caretakers. To make them believe that, if they were good, a god would protect them from the bombs.

 

That didn’t work out for them in the end, did it?

 

The children that swallowed their tears had curled up under the thin and ragged cloth the caretakers called a “blanket”, and they had starved. The ones who behaved and never caused problems were never adopted, and never knew the warmth they so desperately seeked. And when the bombs rained from the heavens, so similar to the wrath of an actual god , the orphanage was not spared, nor were any of the people inside… except him.

 

He had always tried to not think about that night. About the murmurs of the other children sleeping, about the sudden screams, the smoke, the sirens . After all, everything had happened so fast, was there really anything important to remember? The bombs had fallen, the orphanage had exploded in flames, and everyone died but him. Because he wasn’t weak, because he had magic, because he was special .

 

So what if he vaguely remembered the explosion throwing him against a wall? Sure, he had hit his head. He had dreamed of a place immersed in a white mist, of a woman with an ugly dress and crossed eyes begging someone, something, to allow him to not take a train. But then he woke up under the rubble and the dream had been just that, a dream . Nothing to worry about. Nothing to think about. Nothing he would ever see again.

 

Or so he had though.

 

But when he raised his wand towards the middle of the clearing, looking with only hatred at those scared yet resigned green eyes, he couldn’t help but think back to that memory. He thought he could hear the voice of that woman in that very moment, a terrified voice, telling him one word over and over: stop . He felt eyes watching him, judging him, begging him.

 

But the Dark Lord Voldemort had never, did not, and never would believe that a god existed. Until he shouted the spell that would change everything.

 

“Avada Kedavra!”