Harry Potter: Bloodlines Reborn

The village of Godric's Hollow was unusually quiet that Halloween night. The full moon hung high, casting its pale light over the old stone cottages and narrow streets, unaware of the terror about to unfold within the walls of a small house on the outskirts.

Inside, Lily Potter held her infant son, Harry, close to her chest, her heart racing as she paced the living room. The warmth of the fire did little to soothe her nerves. There was an overwhelming sense of dread in the air, something far darker than the usual anxiety she felt with Voldemort still at large. She could feel it—he was coming. Her eyes darted to the door, knowing that it wouldn't be enough to keep him out. Nothing would.

James was somewhere upstairs, his voice sharp and low as he spoke to Sirius through the Floo, trying to organize a defense they knew might never come. But Lily wasn't thinking about escape anymore. She wasn't thinking about herself. She looked down at her son—at Hadrian—his dark hair a mix of hers and James's, his green eyes bright with life, so unaware of the horrors waiting outside.

They had always called him Harry as a nickname, but Hadrian Potter was the name he was born with—the heir to the Potter line. She could only hope that power would be enough to save him tonight.

A sudden crack split the air outside, and Lily's blood turned cold. She clutched Hadrian tighter, her breath catching in her throat. She knew that sound. He was here.

Voldemort's Arrival

Outside, a figure cloaked in darkness moved with eerie grace through the fog-laden streets. Voldemort, his eyes burning with malice, approached the Potter home with a cold sense of purpose. His mind was singularly focused on one goal: the death of the boy prophesied to bring about his downfall.

The Fidelius Charm was useless now; Peter Pettigrew had already betrayed them, giving away their location. Nothing stood between Voldemort and his target.

Inside the house, James's voice echoed from upstairs. "Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Run! I'll hold him off!"

The front door exploded inward with a violent burst of magic, wood splintering as Voldemort entered. James rushed down the stairs, wand in hand, and threw himself between the dark lord and his family. He barely had time to raise his wand before Voldemort's voice cut through the air.

"Avada Kedavra!"

A flash of green light, and James fell where he stood, his body hitting the floor with a sickening thud. Lily let out a gasp, stumbling back with Hadrian still clutched tightly to her chest. Her legs shook, and tears filled her eyes, but she refused to give up. She wouldn't. Not when her son's life was at stake.

She ran up the stairs, her breath coming in ragged sobs as she reached the nursery. She had no plan, no way to stop what was coming. But she had to try.

The Curse and the Awakening

Voldemort appeared at the door, his snake-like face twisted into a cruel smile. His wand was raised and pointed directly at Hadrian.

"Step aside, foolish girl," Voldemort hissed, his voice like ice. "You need not die tonight. Just the boy."

Lily stood firm, her arms wrapped protectively around her son. "No... not Harry. Please…" Her voice cracked, but she didn't move. She wouldn't let him take her son.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "So be it."

"Avada Kedavra!"

The curse flew from Voldemort's wand, the room lighting up with the sickly green glow of death. Lily crumpled to the floor, lifeless. The world seemed to stop for a moment, the very air holding its breath.

Voldemort turned his wand toward the crib, where the infant lay, staring up at him with wide, innocent eyes. This child… this was the one foretold to bring his end.

But as Voldemort cast the killing curse once more, something unexpected happened. The moment the curse struck Hadrian's small body, there was a violent surge of power—something ancient, primal, and terrifying.

A deep, resonating pulse of demonic energy erupted from the boy. The killing curse never reached him. Instead, it was reflected back, and Voldemort's twisted soul, unable to withstand the immense force, was torn apart. The dark lord screamed as his body disintegrated, leaving behind nothing but ash and the faintest remnants of his soul.

Hadrian lay in the crib, unharmed—but something about him had changed.

His once-black hair had a streak of white running through it, a stark contrast that marked his transformation. The emerald green eyes he had inherited from his mother were no longer the same. One had turned into a fierce, almost electric blue, glowing with the newfound power coursing through him. His small body, still that of an infant, radiated a faint, unearthly aura—one that crackled with raw, untapped energy, and the air around him buzzed with the residue of the demonic force that had saved him.

The Horcrux—the fragment of Voldemort's soul that had tried to latch onto the boy—was obliterated before it could take hold. The boy's demonic power, dormant until now, had surged forward the moment the curse touched him. The house fell silent again, though now filled with the lingering traces of the magic that had saved him.

Dante's Arrival

Across the countryside, far from the quiet village of Godric's Hollow, another presence stirred. Dante, the legendary devil hunter, was finishing a mission when he felt it—a sudden, overwhelming release of demonic power. His heart skipped a beat. This was no ordinary surge.

This was Sparda's power.

Dante strode through the night with a practiced ease that belied his urgency. The long tails of his dark red coat swirled behind him, and the familiar weight of Rebellion, the massive sword strapped to his back, brought a sense of comfort. His silver hair, tousled by the wind, framed a face marked by years of battle, yet his piercing blue eyes remained sharp, always on the lookout for danger. He had spent his life hunting demons, but tonight felt different. This demonic energy was too familiar, too close to home. It was the energy of his long-lost family, the power that ran through his blood and, more importantly, through his sister's.

By the time Dante reached Godric's Hollow, the village was eerily still. The faint glow of the house's destruction flickered in the distance, but it was the scent of death that hit him first.

Stepping inside the shattered remains of the front door, Dante surveyed the destruction with a grim expression. James Potter lay dead at the foot of the stairs, his body lifeless, his eyes vacant. Dante grimaced, stepping over the fallen man, his senses pulling him forward, upstairs, to the source of the power.

In the nursery, he found her. Lily. His sister, the last link to his family, lay motionless on the floor, the light in her eyes extinguished forever. Dante's jaw tightened as he crouched beside her, brushing a strand of hair from her face. He searched for her for years, only to stumble into her after he finished on one of his missions, Lily recognized him in an instant. They only meet about five times after that, just enough to know what goes on in each other life. Now, the regret weighed heavily on his chest.

But something else was here. Something alive.

A faint sound drew his attention to the crib. There, amidst the wreckage of the curse that had failed to kill him, was a baby—Hadrian. The source of the demonic energy Dante had sensed. He stepped closer, eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of the child.

Hadrian's black hair was now streaked with a bright white lock, and when he opened his eyes to stare up at Dante, one was still the vibrant emerald green of his mother, while the other had turned into a glowing, electric blue. The baby's presence radiated a subtle but undeniable power, something ancient and dangerous, something that Dante recognized instantly.

"White hair," Dante muttered, a wry smile tugging at his lips despite the situation. "Guess that runs in the family."

He bent down, picking up the child with practiced ease. Hadrian was small and still, his strange eyes watching Dante with a quiet intensity far too focused for a mere infant.

"You're just full of surprises, aren't you, kid?" Dante murmured, cradling him gently. "Looks like besides the Potter blood you have something a little extra."

There was no time to mourn properly. Dante knew that others would come soon. The wizarding world would be turned upside down when they discovered that the boy who lived had survived, and worse—Voldemort's death was only the beginning of something darker.

With one last glance at his fallen sister, Dante turned and walked out of the house, the infant still cradled in his arms. Godric's Hollow would soon be a place of legends, but for now, it was just the place where a family was shattered—and a new legacy was born.