Prologue
Little Hangleton Graveyard, 1995
It wasn’t the first time in his life that Harry felt pain. the air smelled of wet earth and his own blood falling from his right arm where Wormtail had cut him. In the distance, he could see Cedric’s body lying cold and pale on the ground, his lifeless eyes frozen in an expression of surprise. The Killing Curse had not even allowed him to realise he was about to die.
Everything felt like a distant memory, as if he were peering through fogged glass. His mind teetered between the urge to scream and the desire to cry. Voldemort had returned, and Harry had been a part of it. Now, every shadow in the graveyard seemed to stretch towards him, as though the darkness itself wanted to devour him.
Harry tore his gaze away from Cedric’s body and realised they were not alone. Hooded figures surrounded the area, silent and motionless, their masks glinting under the pale moonlight. Death Eaters, he thought, gathering to pay homage to their master, bowing low and kissing the hem of his robes like devoted servants. Yet Harry could see the truth—they were terrified.
The silence was shattered by a voice as cold as steel.
—Thirteen years… —Voldemort said, strolling calmly among his followers—. Thirteen long years since our last gathering, and now here we are, as if nothing has changed —His voice was devoid of emotion, empty, as though he cared about none of it.
Harry knew that coldness all too well. He had felt the icy fury of Aunt Petunia, but Voldemort’s was far worse. With a flick of his wand, one of his followers crumpled to the ground. There were no screams, no agony—only the dull thud of their body hitting the earth like a broken doll. It was the second time Harry had witnessed death being wielded with such precise cruelty in this graveyard.
Then, one of the Death Eaters broke, their palpable fear driving them to their knees before Voldemort, pressing their face to the ground.
—¡Master! —the man cried desperately—. ¡Have mercy!
—How disappointing —Voldemort whispered, his voice dripping with venom—. ¿ Begging for clemency? When you should be pleading for my mercy.
Voldemort’s gaze swept over them with a mixture of contempt and icy satisfaction.
—Thirteen years… Thirteen long years of abandonment and betrayal. Do not think for a moment that you will escape the consequences of your actions.
Every word, every gesture from Voldemort was a veiled threat, a chilling reminder that not even death could escape this nightmare of a man.
Harry held his breath, his chest rising and falling erratically as he struggled to breathe. The weight of dark magic filling the place was suffocating, as if every molecule of air refused to enter his lungs. He knew he was having a panic attack and wished with all his strength to have the invisibility layer at that instant, so that he could disappear completely. Breathe, just breathe, he told himself, clinging to the only thread of control he had left.
The ropes biting into his wrists and ankles burned each time he moved or tried to free himself. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to block it all out. When he opened them again, slowly, he realised no one had noticed his internal struggle.
His mind oscillated between horror and curiosity as Voldemort began to rip off masks with unsettling calm, revealing pale faces twisted in terror. The sight of that almost hypnotic ritual pulled Harry out of his spiralling thoughts for a moment.
Then Voldemort tore out another mask, unveiling platinum-blond hair Harry recognised instantly—Lucius Malfoy.
Lucius tried to maintain his composure, but even his flawless facade wavered under Voldemort’s gaze, who smiled as though savouring his fear. Harry strained to catch their conversation.
—Lucius -Voldemort’s voice was soft and serpentine, an implicit threat cloaked in unnerving calm—. ¿How hard you have worked to present yourself as a respectable man? ¿Did you truly believe you could escape my notice, Lucius?
—My Lord, I have never ceased to serve you.
—¿Never? —Voldemort replied with a cold smile—. Perhaps we should put that claim to the test.
Harry watched, his body rigid like a taut bowstring, as Voldemort’s words cut through the air like invisible blades.
—Your son —Voldemort continued, his voice laced with a threat that needed no elaboration—. A promising young man, ¿isn’t he? Intelligent, ambitious… and so easy to mould.
Lucius’s eyes flickered momentarily, but his expression remained as cold and unyielding as marble. When he spoke, his tone was flawless, almost indifferent.
—My Lord, as always, you are correct. My son is still young. He can still learn, grow in his loyalty to you… I assure you, I will guide him to be of use.
Voldemort’s smile widened, cruel satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. It was clear that Lucius’s assurances meant little to him.
—No, Lucius. It will not be under your guidance. It will be under mine. I will make him my most loyal soldier, a tool to carry my will into the world. —Voldemort stepped closer, his words sinking into Lucius’s soul like venom—. I want you to understand, Lucius, that it is not your bloodline I value… it is your usefulness. And now, your son’s.
Lucius bowed his head again, his voice steady and without a trace of hesitation.
—My Lord, I can assure you, my son will be all that you require.
Harry fought to keep his breathing steady, his mind caught between horror and sympathy. While he had never felt much for Draco Malfoy, he wouldn’t wish such a fate upon anyone—not even his worst enemy.
Before he could process more, his body hit the ground with a harsh, brutal thud. The cold dampness of the earth stole the breath from his lungs, and the metallic scent of blood filled his nose.
Then he saw it—a snake slithering towards him, its body gliding with deadly elegance. Its eyes gleamed with an unnerving intelligence, almost mocking. Harry barely had time to react before its fangs sank deeply into his ankle.
A searing scream tore from his throat as the venom coursed through his veins, burning with agonising slowness, as though every fibre of his being was set alight.
—Did no one teach you it’s rude to eavesdrop, Harry Potter —Voldemort’s calm, chilling voice sliced through the haze of pain.
Through sweat and agony, Harry looked him straight into his eyes.
—¿What else am I supposed to do when I’m tied to a gravestone metres away from you?
Voldemort smirked, and the intensity of his gaze made Harry shiver.
—Your courage is admirable, though futile. Tell me, Harry, ¿why do you keep fighting against me? Your legacy has brought you nothing but death and destruction. Everyone who gets close to you ends up dead.
Harry felt the weight of those words. He wanted to scream that it wasn’t his fault, that he had never asked to be the “Boy Who Lived.” His heart pounded as the words caught in his throat.
—¿Why don’t you just kill me already? —he finally croaked, his voice hoarse and broken from the pain.
Voldemort tilted his head, studying him like a predator examining its prey.
—Boy, how simple it would be to kill you here and now. But no, that would be a waste.
His voice grew colder, more methodical as he took a step closer.
—To kill you swiftly would not do justice to the suffering you’ve caused me. No, I will relish watching you crumble. Watching everything you are, everything you think you are, shatter before my eyes.
The pain in Harry’s ankle spread, clouding his mind as Nagini’s venom moved through him, stealing his strength. He collapsed onto the ground once more, his breathing erratic, Voldemort’s words echoing in the distance.
But one thought struck him, clear as lightning: They say monsters aren’t born, they’re made.
And Harry had been called a monster for as long as he could remember. Perhaps there was some truth to that, because within him, a beast lay dormant, fed by every silenced scream and every blow endured.
As his consciousness faded, the echo of Death Eaters’ voices grew distant, and Harry barely registered the moment he was dragged away. Amid the pain and darkness, he understood one thing.
"We all carry a predator within us, a beautiful monster waiting for the right moment to awaken. And his was there, as still and watchful as a shadow"