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Voldemort chuckled softly to himself as he pointed the wand at little Harry. Soon he would be rid of the one thing that could possibly stand in his way, and he would rule supreme at last over Britain.

"Avada Kedavra!"

There was a green flash of light, a roar of sound, and pain

 

...

 

Six lives left. Still good.

Voldemort chuckled softly to himself as he dangled the little baby from high atop a tree, near the ruins of the Potter house. If a Killing Curse did not work, something as simple and mundane as hitting the ground was still foolproof. He let the baby go.

He turned his head to listen for the sound of a little body going splat as it hit the ground. 

Instead, he heard a "boing". And before he could process the sound, something smacked him in the side of the head.

He lost his balance, and fell.

 

...

 

Five lives left. Still good.

Voldemort grinned as he raised the metal stake above Harry's heart. This was even more sure than dropping the boy from a tree. Just the boy lying on the bare earth, unable to bounce; Voldemort, his body whole once more and hale; and a metal stake, which the bones of a weakling baby could not withstand. Voldemort brought his arm down.

The stake bounced and the blunt end smacked Voldemort in the trachea. He fell, gasping for breath, unable to draw any.

 

...

 

Four lives left. Still good.

Voldemort glowered as he picked the brat up by his ankles and swung him at the tree.

The brat bounced back from the tree and smacked Voldemort in the face, causing him to stumble backwards, fall, and  -- there was a blinding pain in the back of his head.

 

...

 

Three lives left. Not good.

But it was fine. This would work. Voldemort grinned as he aimed the AK-47 at Harry. Look at him, still burbling happily, perched there on the boulder. He wouldn't be laughing for long. Terrible thing to make use of a muggle instrument, but this one had to work. Something so full of muggle-ness had to get past whatever was protecting the boy. 

Voldemort pulled the trigger.

Suddenly he felt like a massive piece of wood had smacked him in the abdomen. He looked down. Blood gushed from his robes and spattered the earth.

Ever so slowly, he sat, and then slumped.

 

...

 

Two lives left. Something wasn't working here. Maybe it was him that was the problem.

Fortunately there were plenty of muggle farms around, and one with an overlarge bull. This would be simple. A teacher had once told him that large herbivores could fly into a rage at you over nothing. All Voldemort had to do was lead the bull to the baby, let the Imperius curse go, and bull would see the baby, and bob's your uncle.

When Voldemort let the curse go, he vaguely recalled something about the eyesight of large herbivores, and how it was terrible.

The bull swung its head to fix an eye on Voldemort.

It snorted.

It pawed the ground.

It charged forward before Voldemort could bring his wand up.

 

...

 

Last life. No half-measures this time.

Voldemort hefted the bazooka over his shoulder. Another crude muggle instrument. But this one would not bounce. These shaped charges detonated upon contact. There was nothing the bloody magic protecting Harry could do. This was it. This had to be it. Voldemort would forever grant the muggle world some grudging respect for giving him the one thing that could actually get rid of this kid. He would still enslave them, of course, but he would occasionally tip his hat to their inventors, in the times when his Death Eaters could not see him. 

Voldemort chuckled as he aimed. He grinned. He savored the moment.

Then he pulled the trigger. The rocket rushed toward Harry and -- 

Missed.

It missed. How could it miss! How could it just rocket off into the trees like that! The rocket wasn't even supposed to go that far and there it was going! And now it was curving in a wide arc, because of course it couldn't fly straight, of course these muggle machines were awful, they never worked as perfectly as advertised, not like the certainty of a spell, no, the muggles were only working with crude matter as best their pathetic brains could handle -- 

The glow of the rocket suddenly grew larger in Voldemort's sight. It was heading straight for him. He ducked -- 

There was a burst of orange light, a roar of sound, and pain.

 

...

 

This was absolutely the most boring train station in the entire world.

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