This is a tale woven from the delicate threads of fate, a story that finds its roots in a single drop of sunlight cascading from the celestial realms; A tear from immortals. It's not my tale to narrate, but that of a boy named Harry and a time when the world was bathed in the glow of possibility, sparked by a magical golden flower with the extraordinary ability to mend the sick and the wounded.
In a world veiled by distance, ruled by power, and separated through magic. A cherished Lord and Lady lived.
Well, maybe not cherished by all but cherished nonetheless.
Lord and Lady Potter were part of a magical world. A world of wizards and wonders beyond imagination, but where there’s light darkness shall always exist because without one the other can’t be possible.
A war that had been coming for years now was finally reaching their doorstep. An ambitious dark wizard, whose name could only be heard in the whispers of the wind, threatened the precarious balance that held the world together. He wasn’t the first to attempt such a thing and he certainly wouldn't be the last but he was the one that changed his fate.
It all started in a magical school, a castle of ancient history, and a place he once called home. Particularly in a girl’s lavatory on the second floor, a secret chamber full of forgotten knowledge.
Tom Marvolo Riddle had grown up alone, surrounded by abuse and death. Forced into the middle of a war that wasn’t even his own, denied a safe space, and designated as an outcast for reasons beyond his control.
And thus he became a man angry with the world, upset with those who hadn’t helped and those who should have. But in the end, he was still a kid, lost, alone, and betrayed, without anyone helping him and playing to be an adult.
So he was scared, afraid of dying, because what else could he be afraid of if he didn’t have anything? No money, no friends, no home, and no one he trusted. He had nothing and that made himself his everything, his one thing solely his, the one thing he had, his fragile life. And so he dedicated every fleeting second to searching for more time, something that made him never lose, a way of cheating death.
And he did.
And the world changed because of it.
He found four ways to achieve never dying, not becoming immortal, but never stopping breathing.
The first one was relatively common knowledge if one knew where to find, or simply searched enough to stumble upon it, the elixir of life . Now, as much as Tom was unique he wasn’t exactly the first to attempt eternal life, and as he later discovered Nicolas Flamel had already tried his way through alchemy and developed the legendary alchemical substance believed to be capable of turning base metals into gold and granting immortality— the Philosopher's Stone.
Now, the location of said red stone wasn’t known. And Tom eventually, a little bit because he didn’t have more information and a little bit because of pride, if he was going to achieve something he would be the first, left this method behind.
What he didn’t relinquish was his search and so he discovered the Deathly Hallows.
A tale of three wizards, three brothers, who, traveling together, reached a treacherous river. Using their magic they created a magical bridge over the water, halfway through the bridge it is said they met Lady Death in person. This one, angry at the loss of three potential victims, pretended to be impressed by them and granted each a wish as a reward for avoiding her.
The eldest brother, hungry for power, asked for an invincible wand, so Death created it from an elder tree on the banks of the river, The Elder Wand. The middle brother, longing for what he couldn’t have, asked for the ability to resurrect the death, so Death clenched her teeth at the offense of a mere mortal and plucked a stone from the river giving him the power to bring back the death, The Resurrection Stone.
The younger brother, untruthful of her offer, asked for a way to stop Death from following him, and Death narrowed her eyes and reluctantly gave him her own Cloak of Invisibility. Together the three items form the Deathly Hallows and it is said that the one to master them becomes the Master of Death.
That said, Tom could be called impulsive, but he was in no way irrational, and seeing the absolute madness that was the search for these items by Grindelwald and the destinies of the brothers, and everyone who supposedly possessed them, he wasn’t too keen on looking for them.
Which brought him back to square one, again. This time finding a new way wasn’t as easy as it had been, he had to suck up to a lot of people to even access the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts Library, where he finally found a line talking about Horcruxes. Surprisingly it was more difficult to find that mention than to trick his head of house to explain more about them.
Tom would probably have gone with that route if it wasn’t for what he found in one of the books down in the Slytherin secret chamber.
Between theoretical transfiguration ramblings and experimental potions recipes there was mention of the Sundrop Flower.
A supposedly beautiful, glowing, lily-like flower. Nothing more than a legend passed down through generations as a part of the magic’s world folklore, just like the Deathly Hallows.
But all legends have an element of truth. And this one was no exception.
In the ancient tapestry of existence, a singular tear from immortals cascaded from the heavens, and from the touch of this celestial tear, a golden flower bloomed—an emblem of divine grace and healing. This flower, known as the Sun Drop Flower, bore the extraordinary ability to mend the wounds of the body and soul, defying the boundaries of sickness and even mortal injuries. Legends whispered of a sacred incantation that, when sung with utmost reverence, could awaken the flower's magic, releasing golden pollen that carried the essence of rejuvenation.
Yet, as with many potent and sacred gifts, the Sun Drop Flower's radiance casts both light and shadow upon the world. The allure of eternal youth and miraculous healing beckoned those who harbored darker desires within their hearts, tempting them to exploit the flower's power for personal gain. Stories told of individuals who sought to seize the flower's potency for their own selfish ends, a stark reminder of the perpetual struggle between benevolence and the inherent darkness that lingered in the hearts of mortals.
And so, the immortals, guardians of this precious gift, took measures to protect the Sun Drop Flower. Lady Death herself raised a labyrinth around it—a formidable maze known as the Labyrinth of Life. This intricate labyrinth served as a barrier, concealing the radiant bloom from those who sought to manipulate its powers for selfish gains.
In the realm beyond the veil of life and death, Death found an unexpected companion in the form of the First Hound. The labyrinth needed a guardian, and the hound offered its loyalty willingly. The hound became a trusted confidant, listening to Death's thoughts and worries without complaint. However, Death's purpose was solely to find a suitable guardian for the Labyrinth, so it eventually had to part ways with its newfound friend.
The hound, unwilling to be separated, pleaded with Death to remain by its side. In response, Death, acknowledging his humble request, granted the binding and the hound assumed its role as the guardian of the Labyrinth of Life.
As time passed and the hound dutifully protected the labyrinth without incident, Death felt compelled to reward its loyal companion. The hound was designated a pet and, as an expression of gratitude, continued to safeguard the most beautiful flower within the labyrinth.
In folklore passed down through generations, it is said that those who find themselves within Death's labyrinth can navigate to the center. If they touch the flower before being caught, their death will be painless. If their will to live is strong enough, the hound's grace might guide them back to life. The tales vary depending on which hound recounts the story, and each flower within the labyrinth is considered the crest of a noble house, with the original flower being the Sundrop Flower—a resplendent, glowing lily-like blossom.
To distinguish a genuine hound from a Reaper, a symbol emerged—a rope braid around the labyrinth's mark. The flower, ever the guide, would reveal the noble house associated with the hound, ensuring that those who ventured into Death's labyrinth would be met not with demise but with the echoes of their own fate, intricately woven into the petals of the Sundrop Flower.
Now, Tom had no way of finding this flower, as he was no hound and he was definitely not willing to die. And so, even though he found the incarnation to activate the powers it was useless without a flower.
So he dismissed the flower, though not his search for never dying, and started gaining power. Spreading his ideals like poison through the wizards and creating an army of followers to take the world and reshape it at his will.
But turns out he didn’t need to find the flower. He just needed to wait for the perfect moment to take it, for when a rat told him someone else did.
The air buzzed with anticipation as Lady Potter prepared to usher new life into the world. However, joyous expectations were overshadowed by a looming darkness. The Lady fell gravely ill, and her family, teetering on the brink of despair, sought solace in any kind of solution they could find.
The air within the Potter household crackled with a sense of expectancy as Lily, prepared to bring forth new life into their world. However, joyous expectations were overshadowed by a looming darkness. Lily fell gravely ill, and the family found themselves teetering on the precipice of despair. In their desperate quest for a remedy, the Potters sought solace in every potion and incantation available, but none worked, no potion was strong enough to save Lily, and no spell was good enough. She was dying and nobody could do anything, the specter of impending death loomed, and an air of helplessness settled over the once vibrant household.
James, consumed by desperation and overwhelming love for his wife, had started to drape her in his Invisibility cloak—an heirloom that had been passed down through generations. Praying that death wouldn’t reach them under the protection of this one, it was James's desperate attempt to shield Lily from the clutches of her fate. He clung to childhood fairytales, fervently hoping that these fantastical narratives held a grain of truth that could save Lily from the relentless grip of illness.
As James shielded his ailing wife, he grappled with a growing sense of hopelessness. The impending loss of Lily weighed heavily on his heart, and he mourned not only the potential demise of his wife but also the son he may never have had the chance to meet.
So when James had started to lose hope, it was Sirius, his best friend, his child's godfather, his brother , who spoke of the rumored golden flower, a mythical entity whispered about in pureblood tales. The flower was said to possess miraculous powers capable of mending the sick and the wounded. And James, desperate for something that worked, agreed.
United in their pursuit, the four friends—James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter—delved into every version of the myth, scouring ancient texts and manuscripts for any shred of information that might lead them to the elusive golden flower. In the end, it was Remus, no surprise there, who unearthed a blood ritual from the darkest corners of the Black library—a ritual that held the promise of saving Lily and the unborn child and unknowingly setting into motion a series of events that would intricately shape Harry’s destiny.
Darkened by the urgency of their quest and the gravity of the situation, the friends delved deeper into forbidden knowledge, fueled by the hope that they could rewrite the cruel fate that awaited Lily. It was dark when James and Sirius entered the labyrinth—a maze woven from thorns that stretched into the mysterious depths of Death's realm. One covered in Death’s cloak and the other with fur, in his Grim form.
They had until dawn to return.
They did.
Just in time, bathed in the soft hues of dawn, James and Sirius emerged from the labyrinth, their hands clutching a single stolen glowing flower.
They never explain how they did it or what they sacrificed for it, no one was naive enough to think they hadn’t sacrificed anything, they just went directly to Godric's Hollow, where Lily lay in bed, and left the flower floating in water until it lost its glow and then, and only then, Lily drank the remaining liquid.
The enchanting magic of the golden flower, healed Lily breathing life back into her, and a baby with untamable brown hair and a lightning-shaped scar was born—Harry—the unwitting protagonist in a tale entwined with both light and shadow.
From the confines of his crib, Harry's green eyes stared at a mobile suspended above him, adorned with a radiant sun at its center. Surrounding the sun were figures that would later become familiar to him—a shining red stag, a shaggy black dog, a big brown wolf, and a plump gray rat. Lily gently lifted her son, a smile gracing her face, while James, his beaming husband, playfully set a crown upon Harry's head, and jokingly declared him their little prince.
To commemorate the miraculous birth, Lily, James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter released a lantern into the sky, casting a fleeting moment of perfection over his little world.
But perfection, as they discovered, is ephemeral, a fleeting dance that succumbs to the rhythm of time.
That very night, as the lanterns' light faded, shrouding the Potter household in the embrace of darkness, an ominous force began its malevolent dance. Voldemort, the dark wizard whose name struck terror into the hearts of wizards and Muggles alike, moved with an eerie silence, slipping through the shadows as he infiltrated the heart of the Potter home. Drawn by an irresistible power that emanated from the very essence of Harry's copper-brown locks, he approached the nursery with an air of dark purpose.
The room, once a sanctuary of familial love and joy, transformed into a theater of impending doom as Voldemort's presence contaminated the air. His red eyes glinted with malevolence as he surveyed the scene—the baby with untamable brown hair lying innocently in the crib, surrounded by the vestiges of a lantern-lit celebration.
In a sinister ritual, Voldemort extended a bony hand toward the innocent child, his fingers greedily reaching for the strands of hair that held the purported power of the golden flower. The air crackled with dark energy as he whispered incantations meant to seize the essence of the mythical flower's magic and the baby’s hair started to glow.
Happy with his discovery Voldemort drew a blade and sliced through Harry's hair, severing a strand. Wanting the power of the magical flower for himself. However, the expected radiance and vitality that should accompany such an act failed to manifest. Instead, the lock of hair transformed before his very eyes, losing its vibrant hue and turning as lifeless and black as the shadows that clung to the nursery.
Confusion flickered across Voldemort's features, his red eyes narrowing as he observed the unexpected outcome. The very magic he sought to harness had eluded his grasp, leaving him with a strand of lifeless hair that defied the legends he had once believed. The nursery, once filled with an ethereal glow, now bore witness to a twisted reality—the aftermath of a failed attempt to commandeer the enchanting powers of the golden flower.
Undeterred, yet perturbed by the unforeseen turn of events, Voldemort made a swift decision. The baby, Harry, now deemed a prize beyond the value of a mere strand of hair, became the focal point of his dark intentions. The room echoed with the unsettling hush of magic as he, in a swift and calculated motion, scooped the child from his crib, cradling him against his sinister robes.
In the blink of an eye, Harry vanished from the castle, snatched away by the cunning dark wizard. The nursery transformed from a place of familial warmth to a chilling void. The remnants of joyous lanterns, now dimming in the night, bore silent witness to the nefarious act that had transpired. The darkness clung to Voldemort like a cloak as he vanished into the shadows, his prize nestled in his arms—the unsuspecting Harry Potter, a child destined for greatness yet now ensnared in the clutches of the very darkness that sought to extinguish his light.
As the malevolent force retreated, the Potters returned to the nursery, their joyous celebration reduced to disarray. The crib, once cradling the promise of a new beginning, now stood empty, a chilling testament to the intrusion of evil. The echoes of Voldemort's silent invasion lingered, leaving behind an indelible mark on the Potter family and setting the stage for the unfolding saga of Harry's destiny—a destiny entwined with both the brilliance of a golden flower's magic and the ominous shadows cast by the darkest wizard of their time.
The little family, oblivious to the theft of their little Prince, searched fruitlessly, while Harry remained concealed deep within the forest, hidden in a tower shrouded in secrets.