Chapter Text
A man sat in front of a small bundle on a doorstep.
Inside said bundle was a boy, breathing softly. The boy was just a little over a year old, his small form inside the bundle revealing nothing past his young age. The man took a sobering breath, observing the boy’s face with acute fascination. The child had a fresh wound of what appeared to be a lightning bolt starting at his hairline and branching off and down through his eyes, the longest branch tapering off on the crest of his nose. Blood slowly dripped from the injury, covering the boy’s forehead and eyes in sticky red. Almost in spite of it however, the child was sleeping softly, breath coming out in visible puffs of heat due to the cold weather.
The man had his pointer finger on the start of the lightning bolt scar, right at the boy's hairline. Pressing into it, the man shuddered, as if the cold was bothering him, and very suddenly he flickered, as if not truly there, his form becoming transparent for a moment as he grunted in pain. Pressing his finger in further, he gave a shaky breath, before flickering again, nearly disappearing entirely for a moment before returning, now very clearly translucent and weakened.
The tattered memory of Tom Riddle sat on the porch of number four Privet Drive, pressing desperately into the horcrux housed in Harry Potter’s forehead.