Once upon a time, on the night of Hallow's Eve, Lord Voldemort sang the killing curse on the father, then the mother. But when he raised his voice to fell the child, the spell rebounded.

The little cottage blew open, burying the bodies inside with dust and stone. Yet the crying babe was somehow safe and mostly unharmed, nothing but a grisly scar marring his forehead.

A pale spindly hand broke through the rubble, fingers grasping at the air. A man rose from the debris, dust and grime falling off of his shoulders. Though was he in fact, a monster? His skin glistened an unnatural white and his pupils were scarlet like blood.

Lord Voldemort did not perish that night.

He stumbled towards the child, serpentine face twisted with rage. This child who was fated to kill him, why did he not die? The Dark Lord knew the deadliest of songs and no one had survived his curses before. What was so special about this one little boy?

He drew his hand towards the child's delicate neck. No matter, he'd strangle the brat if that was what it took.

But when his spider-like fingers wrapped around the boy's skin, his own screamed with the searing burn of torn flesh. A gaping hole in his very soul that yearned to mend, to heal. Only five times before had he known this pain. The Dark Lord clenched his chest, gasping for breath at the realisation.

He'd made a horcrux of the boy.

He looked at the child in a new light, already brewing the most ambitious of plans. Lord Voldemort was as wicked as they came, but more than that, he was cunning. This baby, this powerful little boy, held his very soul.

The perfect immortal heir.

He wrapped the struggling child in blankets, his hold firm but gentle, making sure not to so much as brush with his skin. He'd raise this boy in his image, keeping him safe from the hands of Dumbledore and witch-hunting muggles alike. The child was now vulnerable, but Lord Voldemort allowed no one to harm his souls. He knew just the place to raise him.

And when the time was right, they would force the world to its knees.

***

Ten-year-old Harry Potter gazed over the stone balcony, his head barely peeking above the parapets. People roamed the streets around Notre Dame like little wooden dolls from his vantage point. There went the baker and his wife, delivering fresh bread, and the fisherman with his catch of the day. Many of them were hanging up colourful banners everywhere, preparing for the Festival of Fools.

Harry's heart ached with a familiar hunger. He knew everybody below, having memorised their faces long ago. He'd watched them go through their lives every day, drinking in the stories he could see, knowing them as they would never know him. All his life, he'd been hiding up here all alone with the bells of Notre Dame.

What would it be like to not be above them, but part of them?

A fluttering noise distracted him from his musings. Hedwig had returned, her snowy feathers glistening in the sunlight, a thick envelope tied to her foot.

"Hey girl." Harry stroked her and untied the mail. Like all of Master's letters, it had a green wax seal in the image of a skull and a snake. He'd never read what they said, but Master had told him that they were very important for his work.

Harry rummaged through his pockets for a treat as Hedwig stared at him with expectant eyes. He'd always saved a bit of his meals for her whenever she was away. She was his closest friend and he missed her dearly in those days.

"Here you go," he said, giving her some cheese. She gobbled them up as Harry leaned over the balcony with a wistful smile. "I wish I could go to the Festival...be there for me, okay?"

Before she could hoot an answer, the door nearby slammed open.

Master was here.

Harry rushed into his dingy little room in time to see the man shrugging off his dark hooded cape. Master's bloodless lips stretched into a smile. "Good morning, Harry."

"G-good morning, Master," Harry handed over the letter. "Hedwig just came back."

"Good lad." He pocketed the envelope, then took a seat by a creaky table. "Shall we review Incendio today?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said, though his stomach clenched at the thought of what was coming.

From the cobwebs draping the room like curtains, his Master plucked a spider, its legs wriggling in resistance, and placed it on the floor with a slight squish.

"Sing," he hissed.

"Listen fire as I cast this spell." Harry willed his magic to dance to his voice. A tiny flame blossomed over the spider. "Obey and sear these flesh and bone." The spider began to writhe and gave off a charred smell. Harry's throat tightened with unease. "Let it taste the fires of hell. H-hear me and me alone—" His magic gave way and the flame died down with a splutter.

Master trampled on the half-burnt spider. "Disappointing."

"I—I'll do better next time, Master." Harry shrank back.

"That you will." The man's scarlet eyes narrowed. "The world is cruel and wicked, my boy. They will look upon you with fear so you must grow strong enough to silence that hate and revile."

Master had told him this for as long as Harry could remember. But why then did the folk out there seem so kind and pleasant?

Harry summoned a spark of courage still within him. "I-it doesn't seem all that bad outside. And today's the Festival of Fools and everything looks jolly and..." I want to go there. He wasn't reckless enough to say it, but Master had always had a peculiar way of reading his thoughts.

"What did you say?" His master hissed, rising to tower over him and Harry stepped back. "You want to go there, don't you? Do you not remember what I've taught you? You're a wizard, boy." He pointed at his forehead just shy of touching him. "And marked by a powerful spell. These are crimes for which the world shows little pity. How can I protect you boy unless you always stay in here when you're still weak?"

Harry stared at the ground, remembering the horrifying stories about muggles Master had told him. But something inside him refused to believe them. "I'm sorry, sir."

With one last scolding look, Master grabbed his cloak and swept out the door.

Hedwig cooed in sympathy when he made his way back to the balcony. "It must be nice," Harry said. "To go everywhere you please." She nibbled his ear with affection and he smiled.

"To live out there among the millers and the weavers and their wives. Through the roofs and gables, I can see them." Harry's magic bubbled with a restless need, weaving his voice into a melody. "They know not the gift it is to be them."

He climbed on top of the ledge, arms stretched out and swaying precariously over the edge, the exhilaration of being one with the air sweeping through him. "Give me just one day out there, I swear I'll hold it forever! Won't resent or despair." The song grew with magic, music shifting around him in an intoxicating dance. He'd never wanted for anything more.

"Even if there's danger, I won't care," His very skin sparked with a static current, and without his own realisation, Harry began to float in the air. "I'll have spent one day out there...!" His voice surged euphonious with emotion, filled to the brim with his want, his need, sheer power squeezing him from all sides.

The boy dropped to the ground, his magic's toll leaving him gasping for air. But what was this? Instead of the stone floor of his balcony, rough gravel stuck to his hands and clothes. The melody was now replaced by...a merry jingle and a thousand squabbling voices.

People in all kinds of costumes hurried around him as he rose up, their faces painted into the likeness of monsters and beasts. There were stiltwalkers and contortionists and other circus freaks. Above them all, the great bell towers of Notre Dame loomed over the topsy turvy chaos of the Festival of Fools.

His heart soared with joy and the city seemed radiant with the glow of heaven's light. A thousand emotions juggled within him, making him want to both cry and laugh.

He was out there, out here!

Then something fluffy and heavy knocked him onto the ground.

"Djali, no!" cried a girl his age, panting as she came to a stop. The thing that rammed into him, a goat with a golden earring, backed away. The girl extended her dark hand, several bangles along her wrist, and said with a gentle voice. "I'm so sorry, are you alright?"

"Uhuh." A strange nervousness swept over him. Butterflies flew around his stomach as she pulled him up and helped brush the sand off his clothes.

"Cool scar," she said, her green eyes twinkling with mischief as she tossed aside her fringe and gestured at her forehead. "Though you should've painted it bigger, maybe more bloody too. I bet you'd have a chance to be the King of Fools then. What's your name?"

"Th—thanks." His cheeks burned. She thought his scar was fake? He patted down his bangs, just in case Master was right and she'd call him a freak if she found out it was real. "Harry, and you are...?"

"Esmeralda!" someone called out and she rolled her eyes.

"That's me." She bunched up her flouncy skirt. "I gotta go, see you around, Harry!" She and her goat weaved through the rabble, graceful and nimble like a woodland fae.

Harry kept staring even after her raven curls long disappeared in the crowd. He'd actually spoken to someone, someone kind and fun and beautiful, something he had not even dared to dream. And she was nothing like Master's stories. The butterflies in Harry's stomach flew faster.

Today was turning out to be a wonderful day.

Cold fingers gripped his shoulders with a vice grip. "Enjoying yourself?"

He turned his head around, limbs frozen with fear, to find his Master behind him. His face was hidden by his dark hood, but Harry's every hair stood on edge at the sheer rage wafting off of him.

With a quiet song, Master's magic squeezed them through the fabric of space and they landed back again in Harry's cold dark tower. He pushed the boy onto the stone floor.

"You will learn today," he hissed, "what happens to those who disobey Lord Voldemort."

"Cruciare, smite those who spite me." His voice thundered with the cruellest of songs, and the curse cut into Harry like hot knives. He screamed till his throat grew hoarse, the words of his Master drowned out by his own pain.

It was over as soon as it began, but it felt like an eternity all the same. The Dark Lord swept out of the room, slamming the door behind him, and left the boy whimpering on the floor. Hedwig snuggled close, and Harry curled around her as he wept.

Would he never know that warm and loving glow of freedom and friends? Even though he'd wished with all his might?

A fluttering noise came from above and something dropped onto his head.

Harry opened his bleary eyes to find a letter. What was this? Hedwig looked just as confused as he felt, for she was the only owl they'd ever used for post. But instead of Master's seal of the snake and the skull, this one had a purple coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger and a snake surrounding a large letter H.

In emerald-green ink, it said...

Mr H. Potter

2nd Bell Tower of Notre Dame,

Paris,

France.