Tom Marvolo Riddle

Voldemort stands. Harry Potter is dead, lying at his feet. Around him, the jubilation of the Death Eaters is irritating. By killing Potter, the Dark Lord feels as if he has killed a piece of something very important. What pleasure is there in ruling the world when everything around him is now so tasteless? Grey? The Dark Lord realizes that the boy was his connecting link. His horcrux. The one who still somehow tied him to human concepts.

Voldemort finds an artifact that helps him, and he travels to the past. Harry Potter isn't even born yet, but Tom Riddle already thinks that Harry is his. And his alone. Harry is his magic, his wit, and his mind. He settles into the past. He becomes Lord Gaunt, he becomes the Minister for Magic. He loves control. Over everything that his torn soul craves.

And then the mudblood Lily Potter gives birth. A few years pass. Riddle watched, smoothed over the rough edges, already shaping the world according to his desires. Tom Riddle also does not deviate from his goal. Harry Potter is his. And luck shines upon him once again. Just as the sun blinded the truck driver who was driving in front of Lily and James Potter. A ridiculous, stupid death. Harry, his treasure, is alive. He takes him; yes, he had to fiddle with the guardianship. But Harry is finally his, irrevocably.

"Harry, my little boy," Riddle says to the crying child, who was calling for his parents. "There is no point in calling those who are no longer here, Harry. It is meaningless. Because I am here beside you. Now, I will always be beside you. I will watch how you breathe, how you blink, how you eat. I am sure children are like clay; you will realize yourself that this is your salvation. Legilimens!"

Riddle carefully, like a surgeon, replaced the memories in the still-unformed child's mind with his own images. No more Lily Potter, only the necessary Tom Riddle. No more James Potter, only the approving Tom Riddle. Only him. Forever. He is the only one who will be Harry's authority; he will make sure of that.

Another 4 years pass, Harry is 6 years old; he is a quiet, curious child. That is how it should be. Control, the carrot and the stick.

"We have guests coming today, Harry. Behave yourself."