"Not Harry! Please... have mercy... have mercy... Not Harry! Not Harry! Please I'll do anything..."

"Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!"

He could have finished her then. It seemed prudent, but he chose to force her away instead. His powerful Stunner sent her thin body sprawling away from the crib, her red hair eerily like a pool of blood in the dim light.

The violence of the act frightened the boy into silence for a moment, but then it began to scream louder. Voldemort could hear the terror in the child now. It bothered him, somehow, but he pushed the absurd thought aside.

His greatest enemy went silent as he came to stand before its crib. It stopped crying, its wide green eyes staring at Voldemort in curiosity, perhaps hoping that he was his father. He knew he should act quickly before the boy's fool of a mother tried to interfere again, but Voldemort wanted to savor this moment.

"Only a child," said every fool.

They could have their platitudes. Unlike them, he had actually bothered to study the history surrounding prophesy, and he knew that this whelp struggling to stand before him was the deadliest threat Lord Voldemort would every face.

He raised his wand and the child, perhaps sensing his malice, began to cry, this time low and pitiably. It stirred an alien emotion that he was unfamiliar with. He pushed it aside. Lord Voldemort does not pity the weak.

"No! Harry!"

"Avada Kedavra!"

Green light flooded the room. The child's sobbing was cut off. It collapsed abruptly into the soft cushions of its crib and lay there, its lifeless eyes staring into nothing.

The boy's mother shrieked in grief, and as Voldemort stepped away from the crib, she ran to it. She fondled the child as if it still lived and breathed. She did not even acknowledge Voldemort. Her display made him feel absurdly uncomfortable. What was wrong with him?

"Why did you spare me?" she asked, her face streaked with tears. The child was cradled in her arms, its unsupported head pitched unnaturally to the side. Her face betrayed no hint of loathing, but he could sense it in her mind without any active probing.

What could he respond? She was a mudblood. Sparing her would serve no propaganda value. Mercy? He had just murdered her helpless child. He replied with the truth.

"Severus." He was not interested in the explosion of emotion that erupted in her mind and buffeted Voldemort's passive Legilimency. He had no interest in the feelings of weaklings.

Voldemort was barely able to Apparate back to his father's ruined mansion before he collapsed to the ground consumed by pain greater than any he had ever experienced.

The slam as the door was thrown open was the only sound. His movement so silent that he might as well have been gliding. He entered the room quickly, having seemed to know exactly where to go.

The boy remained quiet beside her, oblivious to his impending doom.

Tom Riddle was much as she remembered him from Hogwarts. A little older and a little more lined. His dark cloak certainly looked ominous, and there was a vague menace about him. He seemed shrouded in shadow, even though his pale face was clear in the candlelight. He held his wand loosely in those uncanny long fingers of his.

"Augusta," he said, with his typical false warmness. "It has been far too long."

"Tom," she said evenly. She too had stood, pointedly blocking the distance between the man and the infant who still remained silent in his carriage. They had never been close, but they had always been polite those few times they interacted. "I see that you have invited yourself in. I hope you are at feel at home."

"Of course. Your hospitality is most welcoming," Tom said. They said he was a psychopath who felt no emotions, but she would swear that she saw pity in his eyes. Pity that he was trying very hard to mask. Cold comfort either way.

"I see no reason for you to be harmed." he said, ending their polite facade. "The boy is a threat, you must understand. It is either him or me."

"I weep for you, Tom." Augusta said scornfully. "Did you offer my son the same choice?"

"He made his own choices," Tom said darkly. "Just as you must." He took a step towards her. Towards Neville.

"The Great Lord Voldemort, slayer of grandmothers and infants," she said mockingly. Her heart was hammering so loud she feared the dark wizard could hear it. Her terror had given her a sense of focus and purpose such as she had never felt before.

"I had hoped that your final words would be a little less tiresome. Pity. I am afraid that none of my servants fancy you." He took the time to look over her critically, smirking at some private joke only he was privy to. She sneered at him as she slid her wand rapidly from her pocket.

"Avada Kedavra!" she shouted, pouring every ounce of hatred into incantation. Voldemort did not even flinch as his conjured snake intercepted it. It swallowed the curse with its gaping fangs before falling limp to the ground.

The second snake caught her in the back of neck. It barely even stung. It withdrew just as quickly as it had attacked and fall to the ground. The venom to effect instantly, and she felt herself in a daze, vaguely aware of the blood trickling from the wound.

Voldemort's Killing Curse was not intercepted.

"Anything," he had told Albus on her behalf. On this day, she would finally hold him to that.

It had taken nearly a century for him to get access. The Dark Lord was certainly cautious with his most prized artifacts, but Severus had always been his favorite. She would never deny that his privileged position with the ruler was useful...

Too bad it was, at its very foundation, based on her son's murder. She had forgiven him long ago, but she had never forgotten.

She did not know how he convinced Voldemort to lend him the ring. She never asked, and he never volunteered. She was never as skilled at Occlumency has him.

They stood together in their smaller study. The fireplace cast a warm light, but the room was bare and dark. The house elves had cleared the furniture, and it was night. It would not be appropriate to preform the only successful act of necromancy in history in the daylight. "Magic was a lot like a good novel," she had told Severus. "It requires the proper atmosphere."

He had snorted in derision, but he had not argued.

Severus had never been one for grandiosity, but it would not do for Lord Prince, Voldemort's most trusted servant, to live in anything less than magnificent opulence. Lily had never minded. At least he hadn't chosen to move to Walpurgis like most of the other Death Eaters. The capital had its own cold, elegant beauty, but it was not a place for her, who so often felt cold and gloomy without any help. Britain was hardly the most bright and cheerful place itself, but the nights did not last half a month.

She held the elixir in a small flask, the dark red liquid looking and behaving like blood fresh from a wound. It tasted of copper and salt too, and it was never pleasant forcing it down every year. She was glad to be spared it this time.

"You turn it three times," he said, his voice steady. His face betrayed fear as she began to do just that. Perhaps he feared that James would appear alongside his long dead son screaming for vengeance. She did not know if she hoped for that or not. James was such an ancient memory. She turned the ring, her heart pounding louder and her stomach knotting tighter with each spin.

The hairs on her neck stood tall as the spirit appeared before them very near the fire. It was like a shadow, alien and horrifying. Green eyes stared through her as if separated by an endless distance. The child itself was perfectly healthy looking, but its mannerisms were unnatural, and it did not move or react. Its eyes followed her like ghastly beacons of accusation.

Then they saw Severus, and she thought she could see hatred bloom on its face. He stepped back in terror, but the child did not move.

"Give him the potion." he said, his voice edged with fear he was unable to hide.

She was afraid too. The thing was cold and empty. This was not her son. Had this wraith had spend centuries in the some kind of limbo dwelling on its fate. Had it been held back from moving on? It looked at her with alien coldness as she approached, and she shuddered in fear.

"Harry, my dear, it's me, your mum," who betrayed you and served your murderer for centuries, she felt the eyes accuse. Did he know? Did he comprehend? She forced herself to approach. The thing did not move, just stared, its sickly eyes fixed on her own.

"I can give you your life back, Harry. You can have the life you should have had." It made no indication that it had comprehended.. Severus came beside her, and put his arm on her shoulder. He was afraid, she knew, but had steeled himself to do this. It gave her strength.

"Please, Harry, just drink this." she held the elixir out to it. She did not know whether it was her own pleading, or the magic of the elixir itself, but the boy's eyes changed, and she saw the what seemed like purest expression of lust on its face. It held out its arms greedily.

Gilt washed over Lily. How many untold numbers among the dead were there that would never get such an opportunity? Is that all death was? An endless craving for the life that was forever lost. Here she was, ready to risk throwing her own away. Would it be worth it? It was the first time she had ever truly asked that question, and ever truly considered it fully.

Severus saw her hesitation. What was he thinking? She knew he wanted her to forget her lost child, and her desire for revenge. The Dark Lord had given them so much. He had to knew she couldn't. No mother could.

"Give it to him, Lily," he said. "The boy deserves his chance at life, even if he does turn out to be an arrogant prat like his father." Severus said. His bitterness at Lily's first husband had faded over endless years, but it still remained.

Harry took the flask and downed it with the grace of a toddler. At least half of it splashed down his face. He looked even more gruesome for an instant, but the change was very rapid. The blackness dissipated, and the boy seemed cross an endless distance. He became real, and suddenly it was her one year old son screaming his eyes out on the floor, as alive as he was on that terrible evening.

The Resurrection Stone cracked in half with a loud bang that made Lily almost leap out of her skin, and Harry stopped crying.

"So you were right," Severus said. He made to attempt to hide his grief and disappointment.

"How, exactly, am I supposed to explain this to the Dark Lord?" Severus asked the next morning, fingering the ruined ring as they sat in their dining room. Her reborn son making a mess out of his eggs.

Lily had no response for him. She was focused on her long hair, which had turned from red to grey, and was whitening by the hour.. Her skin, smooth and eternally young just the evening before, had rapidly managed to shrivel up and yet sag at the same time, making her look like an blotchy albino raisin.

Severus had made no comment about this. What was there to say? Her own death was easy to explain away. The other Death Eaters had always loathed Severus' "mudblood pet" and her influence at court. The ring was wholly unexpected, and much harder to explain away.

"How am I supposed to raise your brat for you when I'm dead, Lily?" he said. His anger rose to the surface, and Lily was jolted out of her own thoughts, a hazy mix of melancholy at her fate, and elation as her own son happily smeared yolk and sausage grease over his grinning face.

"It still works, doesn't it? Your dear friend Voldemort will surely forgive his favorite." she said, her tone equally angry.

"I helped you bring the brat back to life. You can't hold that over me anymore, Lily. I paid my debt." His tone was softer now. "Will you not help me?"

He was right, of course. If she could spend centuries plotting her revenge against her son's murderer, surely she could help the man who, for all his faults, had been there for her.

"Maybe I can ask Albus, and he can convince one of the other Councillors to repair it." Severus considered the idea.

"We can't. The Dark Lord does not trust Albus fully," for good reason. "It would be too great a risk."

"Then it seems your only option is to plead incompetence. You won't be the first person to screw up in his service." she said.

"It is not a matter of competence. It is about trust. The Dark Lord will have reason to be suspicious of me, however small. I will lose his absolute confidence. You do recognize that his trust is the only reason this plan can work at all, correct?" Severus' tone was even, but she knew he was reminding her that she needed him.

"Severus, you know I don't see you as some tool to be used." she said knowing how self-serving it sounded. Harry had begin to cry. She stood up, abandoning her own uneaten meal.

"People are going to die because of this boy. The entire world could be torn apart if that prophesy still holds true."

Lily knew where this was leading. She picked her son up, and the boy quieted.

"Who, Severus? Who has to die to protect Harry?" She dreaded his answer.

Severus sighed, at least trying to pretend that he actually felt any empathy for his – their victim.

"I don't know yet. Somebody has to take responsibility, though. The Dark Lord will not just accept that one of the Deathly Hallows was damaged. He will hold someone responsible, and that person will suffer greatly." Severus said. His eyes bored into hers accusingly. Harry seemed to think it was a good idea to grab her nose.

"You enjoy the idea of me getting my hands dirty far too much," Lily said, smiling sadly.

Severus managed a smirk despite his grief.

"It's better to try to be a good person and fail sometimes than to not try at all. I hope you teach Harry that, if nothing else." He laughed bitterly, and she mentally prepared herself for another tired, cynical rant.

"Your hopeless optimism has always been endearing." He paused, looking a lot like he tasted something unpleasant. "It is what I admire most about you."

"Love you too, Sev."

He waited until the day term ended, arriving only minutes after the Hogwarts Express pulled out of Hogsmeade. Albus knew it was him the moment he approached the gates.

Albus loathed magic at times like these. Why? Was there no justice? Albus knew he was no avatar of righteousness or goodness himself, but he had always held out hope that magic itself had some benevolence. Yet here it was, favoring a Dark madman who made Gellert seem like a champion of righteousness.

Tom stood on the path before the Hogwarts gates, his long black cloak billowing in the heavy wind. His hood was down, and his pale face was an expressionless mask. A handsome man, Albus had to admit even now.

His fine features were framed by his dark hair. His face was becoming lined, but his dark hair had not a single bit of grey. His dark eyes found Albus's, and he smiled his trademark charming smile.

"Albus! It is good of you to finally come down to see me." Lightening flashed, and the cold iron of the gate was for an instant the only dark thing, a regular pattern against the younger wizard's visage. "It is dreadfully miserable out here, don't you agree?"

"Every day is dreadfully miserable for you, Tom," Dumbledore said coldly, glaring.

"Albus, please! You misunderstand me." Tom said, his pained, wounded expression so obviously fake. "I have no desire to harm you or your students, Albus. You know how much I loved Hogwarts."

"I am sure Myrtle would be eager to vouch for you," Albus said. In truth he rather doubted she actually knew who her killer was.

"A shame, that, yes," Tom said, his voice unconcerned. "She was weak, Albus. You know that as well as I. It was a mercy."

It was the wrong thing to say to the brother of Ariana Dumbledore, but Tom could not know that. Albus suppressed his rage. "How can you expect me to capitulate to one who so casually discusses murder, Tom?"

The younger man smirked. "Yes, Tom. That is my name. Why should I, the most powerful wizard ever, blessed by prophesy, be ashamed of my name?" he laughed his high cold laugh.

"You are so proud of what you have done, Tom. You make it seem like murdering children is your greatest accomplishment." Albus allowed the contempt to slip into his voice, but Tom was unperturbed.

"You should be proud, Albus," he said. "I spared the Potter boy's mother. She was all ready to sacrifice herself for him too. It was Severus, really. I figure he deserves his little mudblood pet, so I blasted her out of the way instead."

"And murdered her boy," Albus finished. He knew his moral indignation was pointless, but he was unable to stop himself. "The mercy of Lord Voldemort is endless."

"That's right, Albus. I murdered the screaming little whelp. I'd do it a thousand times while both you and his poor pathetic pleading mother watched." Voldemort paused, smirking maliciously. "Fine witch, I must admit. I do hope Severus enjoys himself."

Albus could barely contain his revulsion. He had taught Tom for more than half a decade and had always suspected the boy's true nature, but it had all been rather academic before that moment.

"I respect you, Albus, even feared you before today. You know magic I've never conceived of. Whatever you may think of me, I have no intention of seeing the world burn now that I hold it in the palm of my hand. I've won, and you are no more a threat to me than that Longbottom whelp's brave, idiot father was."

"You are so confident in the prophesy, Tom. I thought you had more sense than that."

"You cannot mislead me, Albus. You know as well as I do that prophecies always come to pass. It is in the interpretation where problems occur. My prophecy is crystal clear." Albus was taken aback by the younger man's certainly. Whatever doubts Voldemort had, they were very small.

"Will you join me or not? Perhaps you can reign in my darker impulses, Albus. How about that?" Were it not for Tom's utter absence of humanity, Albus might have thought him like Gellert in that moment. It made his heart ache.

"You know I cannot, Tom," Albus said. He looked at his former student sadly.

"Albus, please. Do not let your foolish conception of morality get in the way of doing what is truly right. You can join me now, and help shape the world I create, or you can hold to your principles, and leave the world to me alone. It is not betrayal to do the right thing." Albus was loathe to admit that his point was valid. If Voldemort was truly unbeatable, it would be for the greater good to just join him. He would rule with or without Albus' aid.

Nurmengard, with its ominous banner, floated in front of his mind, competing with Gellert's smiling, mischievous grin as they dreamed of the Greater Good together.

"You are an empty person, Tom. One act of mercy does not change that. Might does not make right, and if you were truly a worthy ruler, you would realize that." It started to rain, thick drips spattering against himself and Tom, filling the world with their cacophony of puttering and pattering on the now muddy ground.

"So be it," Tom said coldly, raising his wand. His face was filled with malice.

"Expulso!"

It seemed as if lightning had hit. The gates shattered with a deafening bang that set Albus' ears ringing. White hot iron flew outward as if a muggle bomb had gone off. Only complex, passive defensive enchantments prevented Albus from being shredded by the shrapnel. A thousand years of protective magic was shattered in an instant. Lord Voldemort strode past the now absent wards onto the Hogwarts grounds.

"Avada Kedavra" Voldemort shouted forcefully. Dumbledore had expected this, the fragmented remains of the boar that had stood sentinel over the gate for centuries leaped from the left column to intercept the curse. He also knew that the it was a distraction.

His fire rope caused a trail of steam as it cut through the rain, its bright orange glow absurdly bright against the storm cloud gloom. It severed the rather large cobra that Voldemort had conjured behind him with a hiss. The two halves fell to the ground to writhe momentarily before disappearing.

He brought the rope around and lashed it at Voldemort. At the same instant now now one-winged remaining boar leaped at Voldemort. He could see the momentary panic in his opponent's face.

Voldemort's blasting curse shattered the gargoyle, and his conjured gush of water shattered the rope, breaking Albus' spell. He could not intercept the stone shrapnel from the boar fully however, and Albus could see that he was injured. Blood began seeping from several deep wounds.

Voldemort snarled in rage. "Crucio!" It was not a spell meant for dueling, but the intensity of it was enough to break Albus' shield. It knocked him off his feet, and the pain overcame him for crucial instants before he fought it off.

Voldemort had pressed his advantage, and the snake was already coiled around Albis. Its sleek, dark skin was cool against his arms as its head hovered silently inches from his face, its tongue flicking in and out of its closed jaws.

"It's over, Albus. You can't win. Save yourself, you old fool. Save yourself and live to fight another day." Again he sounded so much like Gellert, but so very different in intent. Albus would be his trophy, not his equal. The greatest servant a man could ever hope to have. It reminded him, rather absurdly, of a muggle film that had come out the summer before.

Flame flashed, and the snake spit and writhed as Fawkes tore at it, lifting it briefly off the ground before flinging it away from Albus. He was ready, and took advantage of Voldemort's momentary surprise to cast a spell of his own. One of great power and potency.

It hit Voldemort square in the chest with such intensity that it seemed the man should have been knocked off his feet. Dumbledore was already at his feet.

Voldemort laughed, his high, cold voice full of genuine mirth. "Only a self-righteous old fool like you would give up such an opportunity to destroy your enemy. You're too late, Albus!"

Albus felt his heart drop. It had been his once chance. Was magic truly so cold? Had Tom been right all along? Might makes right? Was he really just a fool clinging to useless ideals?

Voldemort's voice was mocking now. "All the poor freaks and weaklings. Such a terrible tragedy! I've been a very bad boy, haven't I? It must be so galling to know that I've won."

"If you truly were able to feel love, Tom, you would not say such things." Dumbledore said.

"You think feelings are what keep people decent, Dumbledore? Such a fool. It is fear. Not love, not friendship, and certainly not platitudes and lies. Fear and self-interest bind this world together."

Dumbledore understood now why Tom reminded him so much of Gellert, when he never had before. Voldemort had always been cold and empty, however brilliant. He still was empty and cruel in a way even Gellert never had been, but deep down, something had changed in the man.

"What have you accomplished with your doddering and oh so humble facade? Oh, that's right, you handed Britain to me on a silver platter. I do appreciate it, Albus." Voldemort's mocking smile was insufferable.

"You say that because you are empty, Tom. Too empty to even feel remorse. I had hoped otherwise, truly my boy." Albus feared his own impending death, but he feared the world he would leave even more.

His felt his resolve strengthen. It would be worth it even if all he could hope to do was delay this madman's plans a little.

The phoenix appeared in front of Voldemort in a flash of flame, and slashed cruelly at Voldemort's eyes. At the same time the stone fencing ripped out of the grass as if alive and swept toward him. Voldemort was struck point blank. The hard stone flung his thin figure away like it was not even there and likely shattering every bone in his body. Fawkes was also struck, bursting into flames at the impact. I'm sorry, old friend. The gate itself splintered into stone fragments as soon as Albus ended the transfiguration.

Voldemort's body did not move.

Pain exploded, and his left leg was suddenly no longer able to hold his weight. He only just managed to keep his feet. The Bone Breaking curse. It came from behind him. Where Voldemort's body should have been, there was now a small garter snake.

"Expelliarmus!" His wand flew from his hands into the spider-like fingers of Lord Voldemort as he fell to the ground, his shattered leg grinding painfully as it bent at an awkward angle. His long beard twisted and fall over his face, and the muddy ground kissed him with its rough, nauseating embrace. He felt his robes eagerly soaking up the frigid rainwater. He did not try to raise.

The killing blow never came. He heard Tom's boots crunching against the mud as he approached, then felt his head lifted as his damp hair was grabbed roughly. Tom's pale face came into view, his face triumphant. Blue eyes met red, and his head exploded with pain.

A young women, her long blonde hair tangled around a slack face. Her unmoving eyes stare wide and blind at him, and his heart is filled with emptiness.

Shock, denial, and horror all mixed into one, but also, faintly, acceptance, on the face of an old friend. He is bound and wandless as he is dragged away to a prison of his own making.

An explosion of pain as his brother's fist connects with his face. He doesn't try to avoid it. It will hurt less than grief and self-loathing.

A terrifying pale child with powers even he marvels at speaking in a cold, empty voice.

A pathetic young man who made all the wrong choices begging for his lost love. He feels pity and contempt, but also understanding.

The parchment, titled Twelve Uses of Dragon's Blood, unlocks secrets of magic that wizards before him have only partially understood.

He looks at his empty trophy. A dark, exotic stick, said to be greater than all others. It seems to approve of him, and finds him worthy. Even after everything this still makes him swell with self-satisfied pride.

A brilliant blond wizard with an enchanting foreign accent spinning tales of glory and power and the Greater Good.

A green-eyed infant with his equally green-eyed mother pleading for his help. Her young husband is trying so hard to keep his own fear and desperation hidden.

An older version of himself, shackled and silent, as accusations are read against him in the Ministry of Magic. His mother sobs bitterly beside him.

A wretched women who is somehow a fraud and true at the same time speaks in an absurdly self-important voice just a few short sentences that would damn the entire world.

A flash of flame, and a creature more beautiful than anything he has ever seen flies from the fire. It is crying. Perhaps life is not so empty after all.

"I have seen your heart, Albus Dumbledore, and it is mine," Tom whispered as he shared a memory of his own.

A dark ring with a black stone. Its mysterious symbol is finally revealed for what it is.

"Get up!" Snape pounded on his door. "Get up, you useless brat."

Harry rolled over, groaning in annoyance as his guardian continued his ceaseless assault. The old bat would not give up, he knew. Severus Snape, chief Enforcer of the Dark Lord, did not take any disobedience from anybody, much less his useless, good-for-nothing great-great-great-great-grandson.

That was a little unfair, he knew. Snape had always made it clear that he was his guardian, not his father, but the man treated him well enough, especially considering his reputation. Harry certainly wanted for nothing in life, living in obscene opulence even by wizard standards. His room was larger than many muggle homes, his bed could fit several grown wizards, and his room had its own balcony overlooking the gardens that his mother had tended when she was alive.

His robes, a deep rich dark blue embroidered with the Prince Family crest, were equally extravagant. Pictures of his mother, some with Snape, were set on the wall. Snape had even given him a photo of his father, but had demanded Harry that it never been shown to anyone. Harry had been fascinated at the clear loathing on his guardian's face while looking at the photo. Snape had never mentioned the man before or since.

Harry was standing before his over-sized mirror made of solid silver trying not to fidget as his House Elf Tinky applied various cosmetic charms that he realized what day it was.

"We is wishing you a very happy birthday, Master Harry," Tinky said, her wide green eyes looking at him earnestly. "We is knowing it is a very special one, yes," she bobbed her head absurdly.

"Thanks, Tinky," Harry said warmly, causing the little creature to beam with pride as it forced Harry's hair flat.

Hogwarts, or the Academy. The choice had loomed over him since Snape had first told him, curtly, of the dilemma faced by all members of the nobility. Hogwarts, where the Dark Lord himself had long ago attended, or the Academy, located in the heart of the empire itself, home to many of the most influential wizards in the world. Harry would receive invitations from both.

Tinky opened Harry's absurdly heavy and ornate door, the iron hinges groaning as they bore the immense weight. Snape stood in front, tall and imposing as ever, his long hair tied into a ponytail. His homely face looked almost handsome and grand with all the contraceptive charms that were put on it. He held several letters.

"You will inform me of your choice at dinner," he said in a tone that allowed no argument. Harry accepted the letters with a sense of awe.

The absurdly unprofessional Hogwarts letter was first, his name printed in lime-green ink in unruly, blocky lettering. It contrasted with the flawless calligraphy of the Academy's letter. This lettering was so perfect as to almost be from a muggle printing machine. The deep black ink was inscribed on a pale grey letter, with an equally flawless seal that somehow had no run in the wax

Harry remembered untold hours of his impatient, anxious tutor forcing him to write lines, his nasally thin voice edged with frustration at his hopeless pupil. Harry had really tried his best, but somehow, when his guardian had taken to joining in his lessons, his hard, black eyes fixed on Harry, he had begun to improvement.

He preferred Hogwarts already.

The fourth letter bore the Dark Lord's seal, the deep green, almost black wax set with a single snake, the crest of his ancient ancestor Salazar Slytherin. The letter itself was white, Harry's name written in an elegant script. This letter he stared at with a mixture of fear and awe.

He had been expecting it. Everyone got a letter from the Dark Lord when they turned eleven, but nobody ever seemed willing to share anything about its contents to him. The Dark Lord had not been seen publicly for over a century, and even the Death Eaters themselves were only granted extraordinarily limited audiences with him.

He broke the seal, his stomach knotting with fear, and pulled the white, clean parchment from the envelope. Something heavy slid out that hadn't been there before, and Harry yelped in pain as the heavy gold coins hit his foot. There were seven in total. All bore the familiar face of the Dark Lord, his twisted, thorny crown set with a large gemstone atop his deformed, serpentine face.

Dear Mr. Prince

It is with great pleasure that I write to you to congratulate you and wish you luck on this day. It is on this day that you begin of your magical journey, and join the great society countless generations of witches and wizards before you have built. You are greatly privileged to have been born with the gift of magic, but you are also burdened with a great responsibility. Will you add to what those before you have built? Or will you work to tear it down, and squander your blessings?

The choice is yours, Harry Prince. Just know that there are no secrets from me. You cannot lie to me, and you cannot hide from me. I am not your grandfather, Severus, and I am not your irritating Latin tutor either. You can hide your misdeeds from them, but not from me.

I know that you snuck out last night with the aid of your elf Tinky to meet your blood traitor friend.

I know that you are the one who placed dungbombs in Draco Black's bed when he falsely accused that muggle of attacking him.

I know that you think your lot in life is rather unfair. You resent me, because it is I who made the world the way it is.

Know this Harry Prince. You owe me loyalty. I demand it, and I do not tolerate those who fail to demonstrate it no matter how noble their blood. Know also that those who are loyal can achieve great things no matter how humble their blood. Serve me well, Harry Prince, and I will make your wildest dreams come true.

PS: Every witch and wizard should have their own wand.

As soon as Harry finished reading the letter, it dissolved into a puff of black smoke. The hairs on the back of his neck stood tall as he reflected on its contents. He knew he would never share it to anybody else. Not ever. The very idea was absurd.

"Ah, I see that this is hopeless, Mr. Prince. Anyway, Lord Prince tells me that your young friend will be arriving soon. You may as well run along now."

Harry's arithmetic tutor had made only a token show of trying to keep the boy focused on his lesson before giving it up as a bad job. Mr. Burns was an average height serious man with neatly cropped dark hair, but he tended to be friendly and indulgent.

"Yes sir," Harry said, grinning widely. He did not need to be told twice.

Harry felt the mixture of apprehension and delight that he always did before seeing his friend Draco Black. Draco was certainly of respectable bloodline, being a direct descendent of Sirius Black himself. Draco was even the spitting image of his immortal patriarch, but his face was framed with blond curls rather than black, and his face had an odd, pointed quality.

"Hullo," Draco said when he arrived, Apparated directly to the Prince Manor's gardens by his small, fearful house elf. The creature bowed nervously to Harry, its wide brown eyes full of terror, before disappearing again. Draco eyed Harry critically as he usually did, but for once could find no fault in his appearance. "So what did you choose?"

"Hogwarts."

"Of course you would. They would eat you alive at the Academy. Probably sort you into Servus!" Draco smirked maliciously.

"Still better than Slytherin, Harry replied easily.

"You wish, Prince. You're still serious about not wanting Slytherin?"

"If only to piss off the old bat." Draco smirked uneasily, intimidated by the powerful man.

The July air was stuffy and hot, but enchantments forced it to flow through the garden and produce a gentle breeze. The many flowers swayed easily.

"So what do you want to do?" Draco asked.

"Dunno," Harry replied. "Go flying, I suppose."

"Is that all you care about, Harry? C'mon, you're the heir to the Prince family." Harry sighed.

"You sound just like the old bat himself."

"He's right though. Don't you have any ambition?" Harry knew Draco's ulterior motive. Harry, as Lord Prince, would be a powerful ally in court.

"Yeah, of course I do. It's just, I dunno, hard to explain." Hard to explain to the likes of Draco Black, at any rate. "I really don't wanna think about that right now."

"Fine," Draco snapped. His annoyance was mostly feigned. He enjoyed Quidditch as much as Harry did. "Father will be unhappy."

"So will Snape. Never let it stop me," Harry said, now leading them to the broom shed. "Tinky!"

The house elf appeared immediately with a loud crack in front of the boys.

"I need you to get Draco's broom, okay?" Harry smiled at the elf. He ignored Draco's sneer.

"Of course Master Harry, we will do it right away." She said before disappearing.

They reached the broom shed, a small, plain building no larger than an outhouse, and Harry pulled the door open. He pulled out his rather expensive broom.

"I still can't believe Lord Prince bought that for you," Draco said in awe at the Firebolt 1337. "Father makes me use the old Comet 720 while he uses the Numbus."

Harry rather wished he had a father to play Quidditch with in truth, but he did not say that to Draco. Despite his disdain for court politics, he knew full well that showing weakness was never acceptable. Snape had always been rather insistent about teaching him that particular lesson.

"Do you expect my pity?" He asked harshly.

"I'm just saying that your supposed skill may not be so great without your broom," Draco replied easily.

"D'you think that'll work one day, Draco, or are you just mad?" Harry smirked himself, a rare thing for him in truth.

"Coward." Harry ignored him.

Tinky took that moment to appear, Draco's Comet held firmly in her hand. Draco snatched the broom away roughly.

"Thank you, Tinky," Harry said.

"Of course, Master Harry," the elf said, moving to bow.

Draco's foot caught her full in the face, and she went flying backwards onto the stone path.

Harry rounded on him in a rage.

"What's wrong with you?" He demanded, his hands curled into fists.

"Me?!" Draco asked, seeming genuinely incredulous. "Why are you thanking a servant?"

"Why shouldn't it? Why did you kick her?" Harry replied angrily, moving to comfort the elf.

"It needs to know its place. You're too nice to it." Draco picked up a small pebble. "Hear that, elf?"

Draco raised his arm to throw it at Tinky. Harry's rage was blinding. He lunged at the boy, and fist connected with Draco's pointed face. Harry danced away, prepared to defend against the boy's counterattack, but Draco instead collapsed to the ground, wincing as he grasped his now bleeding nose. Harry went to the elf.

"My Father will hear about this!" Draco shouted after him. "You and that old bat will pay!"

"My eye! My eye!" Tinky was muttering under her breath, glancing with fear at the blond boy. Her small hand was clutching at her closed eye. Harry could see a trickle of blood running down from between the closed lids. He tried to comfort the elf, but had no real idea what to do.

Draco began laughing uproariously, a malicious sound full of derision, his bloody nose apparently forgotten now that Harry was no longer a threat.

"Harry and the House Elf, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!" He sang out. "You're pathetic, Prince. Just pathetic, just like your dead parents and Lord Prince and his mudblood whore of a wife."

Harry did not particularly care about Draco's insults.

"That will be all, Mr. Black."

Snape was standing behind Draco. The man looked out of place in the sun-drenched gardens, his black robes and blacker hair stark against the greenery. Draco rounded on him full of fear. His face was full of loathing.

He grabbed the boy roughly by the back of his robes and pointed his wand at Draco's face. Draco looked ready to wet himself.

"Episkey!"

Draco's nose healed, and a silent cleaning charm cleared the blood.

"You will leave," he ground out. "Now."

He didn't need to ask twice. Draco's own elf, already summoned by Snape, grabbed the boy and they quickly Disapparated.

Snape rounded on Harry, his face still full of anger. He knelt down to examine to the elf.

"What have I told you about weakness, boy," Snape said, how voice low with rage.

"I wasn't weak!" Harry shouted, his eleven year old voice high and pathetic to his ears.

"Yes, you were. You knew how that boy felt about House Elves. You couldn't feign coldness with Tinky for even a moment?"

Harry knew he was right, but he hated it.

"The Blacks would have been powerful allies. You let your own selfish need to be self-righteous get in the way of doing what is prudent. As usual." Snape was no longer angry, it seemed. His tone had become resigned.

Harry did not respond. He felt rather ashamed now, and fearful. Would Snape send him to the Academy as punishment?

Snape looked at him directly now, his black eyes taking on an almost pleading look.

"You are so like your mother." Harry saw an expression on Snape's face he had never seen before. "That is a good thing, but this is a dangerous world sometimes. She understood the need for prudence. So must you. You must always be on your guard, even when you think you have the upper hand."

He paused, his face taking on a dark look.

"You read the Dark Lord's letter. You know what it contained."

Harry nodded.

"How did it make you feel?" Snape was staring hard into his eyes. Harry thought for a long moment before finally replying.

"Helpless."

"Indeed." Snape nodded curtly. "Some enemies are too great to challenge directly."

He vanished with a loud crack taking the elf with him.

Harry sat there alone, his Firebolt laying on the ground beside him, not knowing what to think. Snape was always quick to tell Harry that he was a reckless idiot who didn't think before he acted. It was a tired back and forth that occurred every time Harry got into trouble.

His last words seemed to be another reminder.

"Some enemies are too great to challenge directly."

The opposite was also true. Some enemies are not too great to challenge directly. Draco Black had cowered as soon as Harry resorted to violence. He showed weakness in front of Harry for perhaps the first time. Snape had not only not punished him for his violent outburst, he had not even brought it up. Did Snape actually approve of what he had done?

Maybe he wasn't such a slimy old bat after all.

AN

So Draco Black is an expy for Draco Malfoy. To keep the number of OCs down a lot of characters in Harry's generation in canon will be moved to the future timeline because they played no real role in the First War.

Snape is a bit OOC but I think after hundreds of years with his TWU LUV and being one of the most powerful wizards in the world he would be a lot nicer and less bitter than in canon. He still looks down on Harry for being James' son, but the hatred just isn't there.

He is also the most plausible way for Harry to be brought back to life. How else would Lily get access to the Resurrection Stone and be granted immortality by Voldemort? Whether she actually loved Snape or has just been using him is a question for the reader to decide.

The idea of an immortal ruler doling out Elixir of Life to favored individuals comes from Curse of the Reapers by deanine.