As Harry regained consciousness, he found himself not in the familiar surroundings of his home but in an endless, stark white expanse. This surreal landscape was in sharp contrast to the chaos he had left behind.
A sense of déjà vu enveloped him, as this place uncannily resembled the setting from the final book of the 'Harry Potter' series, where Harry met Dumbledore after Voldemort's attack. A chilling thought crossed his mind: was he on the 'other side', having succumbed to the night's events?
In the distance, a figure that Harry recognized all too well stood—Voldemort. This version of Voldemort, however, seemed different; less malevolent, yet undeniably sinister. His cold, red eyes locked onto Harry's, and with a predatory grace, he closed the distance between them. Harry prepared to confront him.
"Ah, so this is where I've ended up," Voldemort mused aloud. "In the mind of a mere child." A sinister smirk played on his lips. "And given the circumstances of this night, I deduce that I'm not the full Voldemort but a mere fragment, a shard of my soul split off during the bizarre events of tonight and latched on to you."
Fixing his gaze on Harry, Voldemort said "You must be the older Potter boy. I'm uncertain how I ended up within you. Though you're not the prophesied one, you'll suffice. Once I annihilate you here, I can take over your body and resurrect stronger than ever."
Understanding the danger he faced, Harry knew he couldn't let Voldemort prevail.
Harry's mind started racing, trying to find ways to get out of this predicament. He tried to conjure various muggle weapons like guns from his past life that could help him defeat Voldemort through his thoughts but failed. He also failed to summon other weapons and even magical wands from his memories.
After many failed attempts, it was only when he imagined the familiar phoenix-feather wand from the Harry Potter stories that he felt a wand appear in his hand and a surge of power course through him.
Voldemort's smirk faded slightly, replaced by a look of genuine surprise. "Oh, young Potter, you amuse me. I am surprised you even know how to hold a wand properly. But, do you think a mere wand can save you?" he taunted.
Harry replied with a confidence that belied his years, "You see... Voldy. This is my domain. Here, you cannot defeat me."
"A child," Voldemort sneered. "You think you can defeat me? I've vanquished the greatest of wizards. Your end is inevitable. Once your soul is crushed, I shall inhabit your shell. Imagine the world's reaction when someone from the Potter family becomes a Dark Lord!"
The duel began. Harry, drawing help from his grandmother's stories he loved, conjured spells far beyond the capacity of a toddler. "Diffindo!" he cried out, surprising Voldemort with the cutting curse. Harry himself was equally surprised and excited that the spell had worked. He felt a thrill he had never known; he was dueling with the most feared Dark Lord and holding his own.
As the battle raged on, Harry found himself learning and adapting. He was having fun, a stark contrast to the dark intentions of his opponent. Voldemort, initially toying with Harry as if he were mere prey, gradually increased his efforts as he realized the child was no ordinary opponent. Even though he felt significantly weaker due to being a mere soul shard, he couldn't fathom his inability to kill an inexperienced child who, inexplicably, could wield magic so effectively.
The duel escalated, spells flying back and forth like a deadly dance. Harry, growing more confident and fluid in his movements, was a stark contrast to the increasingly frustrated Dark Lord.
In a fit of rage, Voldemort, maddened by his inability to kill the boy, cast his defining spell, "AVADA KEDAVRA!".
Harry, seeing the green spell coming towards him, remembered the cliché scene from the books and instinctively cast "Expelliarmus."
Just like in Harry's fourth year in the original timeline, a tug-of-war between the spells ensued. It went on for a long time, and neither was willing to give up.
"Give up, boy! You cannot defeat the greatest Dark Lord of all time, Voldemort!" hissed the Dark Lord, his voice laced with venom.
Harry, undeterred, retorted, "Remember this defeat on your journey to hell, Voldemort or should I say Tom Marvolo Riddle!"
Hearing his true name uttered, Voldemort faltered, his focus wavering momentarily. Harry seized this opportunity, pushing the spell back with all his might. Voldemort's efforts to regain control proved futile.
As the rebounding curse struck Voldemort, he screamed in disbelief, "Noooo! How could I lose to a child!" His form began to disintegrate, his existence within Harry's mind crumbling away.
In the wake of his monumental victory over the fragment of Voldemort's soul, Harry felt an internal transformation. The energy of the vanquished soul shard was absorbed into his being, fortifying his soul.
Contrary to his expectations, influenced by fanfiction narratives, he acquired no memories of Voldemort. Yet, this did not dampen his spirits. He had faced and conquered a part of the most feared Dark Wizard in history, marking his first triumphant battle in this world. The exhilaration of this victory, his inaugural encounter with combat in the wizarding realm, was heady and empowering.
Emboldened by this experience and the knowledge from his past life, Harry felt a resolute determination solidifying within him. He recognized the daunting path ahead, littered with challenges and uncertainties. Yet, with this newfound resolve, he was ready to embark on this journey. His aim was clear: to prepare, to learn, and to grow into a formidable wizard. The trials that lay ahead would be arduous, but Harry was determined to face them with unwavering courage and strength.
As this internal resolution took hold, the scene shifted back to the physical world. In the ruins of the Potter house, where Harry's young body lay in an unconscious state, a sinister black sludge oozed from his scar. This dark residue, the last vestige of Voldemort's corrupting influence, slowly evaporated into the night, leaving no trace.
In a moment of magical purification, a brilliant white light enveloped Harry, healing his scar. The magic within him acted as a purging force, cleansing him of the last remnants of the Dark Lord's presence. The once prominent lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, a stark reminder of that fateful night, now faded completely.
As Harry lay there, his small form still and serene, the invisibility cloak that had shielded him earlier now lay crumpled beside him. The house, which once rang with the laughter of a family, stood wounded and silent, its walls echoing the night's grim battle.
Outside, the neighbourhood slumbered on, blissfully unaware of the profound struggle that had unfolded in the quiet house at the end of the lane.