Note: PLEASE READ. There will be future slash between people whose names I won't be mentioning. If you don't like it then don't read and don't complain. There's a very loose plot here and I know about as much as you do as to where this story is going! I just really want to write this and share it, just to see if my writing has gotten any better, So please, constructive criticism is welcomed. Also, this is one of those "new take on an old cliché" type of fics and I don't know how original it will be but I hope you'll enjoy it.

Bloodlines: Divergence.

Prologue

June 5th, 1980

Albus Dumbledore isn't surprised when Lucius Malfoy, hair in disarray, comes barging into his office one dreary March afternoon. In fact, Dumbledore appears to have been waiting for him as the gargoyle had jumped aside as soon as it saw Lucius and the office door had been cracked open.

"You were right," Lucius says with some contempt, already having caught his breath. He stops in front of the desk, standing straight and trying to maintain some of the dignified air he left behind in his rush to get to Hogwarts. "My son nearly burned me alive not thirty minutes ago."

Dumbledore can tell. Lucius' robes are wrinkled and his sleeves are singed, some patches of the silk glistens from being melted and the silver buttons on his shirt are melted, some of them completely missing all together. His face is pinched with stress and red with the early stages of what looked like a bad sunburn. If it wasn't such a serious situation, Dumbledore would have laughed a little at seeing the impeccably tidy Malfoy so disheveled. He settles for laughing quietly in his head.

"This is quite unexpected." Dumbledore says, "Your grandfather's bloodline didn't show itself until he was nearly seven-years-old, if I've read it correctly…"

Lucius narrows his eyes impatiently. "Spare me the history lessons and tell me what to do about this."

"Well, I'm sure a dragon tamer might be of some use." Lucius' face turns red—redder—from the effort of holding back a curse or two. Dumbledore smiles and decides to give the man a break. "The best you can do is put up strong fire-repelling wards on everything in his room or the entire Manor if you must. There is little else you can do until he is old enough to be taught how to control himself."

"What kind of training?"

"I believe Occlumency is our best bet. The Malfoy bloodline is highly influenced by strong emotions. Once he knows his own mind, he will be able to control his bloodline." Dumbledore thinks for a useless moment about who could possibly partake of this task in the future. Only one man comes to mind, really. "Severus will have no qualms over taking up this task." He says.

Lucius sneers, "Severus has qualms about everything."

"That is very true but not about this. He is your son's Godfather after all." Lucius stares at the twinkle-eyed man, wondering if he should even ask how he knows that. Draco was born a mere two hours ago and Severus was still at the Manor making sure it didn't burn down in his absence.

Dumbledore leans forward in his chair suddenly and stares intently at him, morphing into the powerful wizard that destroyed Grindlewald and greatly irritated Voldemort. His power is all in his eyes, in the way they brighten, in their serenity. They're misleading. Lucius will never admit it but he admires that ability. "You know what you must do now, Lucius." Dumbledore says softly.

Malfoy frigidly stares back at him, standing stiffly. It doesn't fool Dumbledore. He knows that Lucius is apprehensive, as is his right. He is being asked to risk everything, after all.

"Of course," Lucius drawls.

There is silence for what feels like hours as Lucius struggles to say something extremely uncharacteristic. Dumbledore waits patiently, turning back into the wise, grandfatherly man whose eyes twinkle too much to be healthy.

"My family," Lucius says stiffly. "They will be safe?"

"Severus has already taken them to the safe house." Dumbledore assures him. Lucius is relieved though it only shows by the way his holier-than-thou posture becomes less holy and more humble. Dumbledore smiles and opens a drawer in his desk. He pulls out a bright red tail feather, one of Fawkes', and holds it out to him. "The safe house is already under the Fidelius and this portkey is the only way to reach it. For obvious reasons, I shall refrain from telling you who your secret keeper is. The activation word is redemption."

"Predictable." Lucius sneers as he takes the feather and tucks it into one of many hidden pockets in his robes. He doesn't want to admit that it is a fitting password. "I will return as soon as possible." He also doesn't want to admit that it is very likely he won't return at all or even with all of his limbs intact. Dumbledore's sympathetic gaze tells him that it isn't a secret that he might not return. Lucius turns on his heels and walks out.

Unknown Location, five days later

Lucius sometimes forgets why he joined Voldemort when he is at home, his "day job", or anywhere else Voldemort isn't. It is easier to think clearly and more logically about the blood purist ideals and how unfounded they truly are when not in the presence of the Dark Lord. There has never been any substantial research on the effects muggleborn's have in the strengthening or weakening of the magic levels in purebloods. It is all speculation and the twisted, misquoted beliefs of Salazar Slytherin that paranoid purebloods are only so eager to believe in. Some days, Lucius is ashamed to have been one of those small minded purebloods who believed they were being run into extinction by the ever increasing population of muggleborn's and half bloods.

It isn't until he enters the main hall, lavishly decorated in Slytherin green and silky black draperies, where Voldemort sits casually in a high wing backed black leather chair at the head of a long obsidian table, that he remembers why he joined him. The air in the room distorts with heavy magic that threatens to snuff out the candlelight and all but drugs him with its sickly sweet scent and butter thick texture. It's thickest around Voldemort, which is why many death eaters crave the title of right-hand man. It helps that he is handsome. He looks youthful for someone in his sixties, with just a touch of gray hair at his temples, smooth pale skin, high cheekbones and unearthly eyes the color of fresh blood. He wears only the finest of robes, fitted to his lean, wiry figure in Slytherin colors and the occasional royal blue.

He's charming too, a glorified sweet-talker and Lucius believes that's why most of the female death eaters joined him in the first place, even some of the males. Lucius isn't so shallow as to have joined Voldemort just because he was pleasing to the eyes. No, it was his intelligence and the casual display of raw power that drew him in and almost kept him. Lucius probably would have stayed a loyal death eater had Voldemort not expressed interest in the Malfoy bloodline.

Lucius has killed and tortured. He has enjoyed it and laughed about the misfortune of muggles and muggle-lovers with his fellows but now he has a son. His eyes see through a cleaner window, his ears hear a sharper sound and his heart beats to a more passionate rhythm.

He will not give up his son to this madman.

"Lucius," Voldemort says, drawing his attention towards him. "Come closer."

Lucius leaves his seat and walks closer until the weight of Voldemort's magic forces him to his knees. It dilates his pupils and quickens his heart. He's already beginning to see colors swirling in front of his eyes, like tiny snakes.

He doesn't have to look up to know Voldemort is pleased.

"I hear your son was born several days ago." He says conversationally.

"Yes, my lord."

"What's his name, Lucius?"

"Draco."

Voldemort laughs softly and shifts in his chair, crossing one leg over the other casually. "How fitting."

"I thought so as well, my lord."

"So he does have the active bloodline."

"We don't believe it will be active for a few years as my grandfather's bloodline didn't manifest until he was almost seven-years-old. It is highly probable that he does have it, my lord."

"That is good to hear." Voldemort pauses and Lucius chances a glance. Voldemort is staring at him thoughtfully, tapping a manicured fingernail to a clean shaven chin. Suddenly, he speaks and his eyes twinkle with frightening familiarity. He thinks, with drunken amusement, that he isn't all that much different from Dumbledore. Perhaps a little more cultured. "Lucius, I've decided to give you seven years with your son. When his bloodline makes itself known, bring him to me."

"As you wish, my lord." He replies smoothly.

The meeting doesn't last long and Lucius leaves the same way he always does. He converses for a few moments with his wife's sister and her husband, who both congratulate him on his new child. He talks with several ministry employees, accepts dinner dates that he normally agrees to, and casually makes his leave after bowing to Lord Voldemort who is too wrapped up in his own thoughts to notice the unnatural glint in Lucius' normally dull blue eyes.

He doesn't have much time to get what Dumbledore asked him to retrieve. Voldemort will only stay in the meeting hall for another fifteen minutes before he retires to his bedroom, which is connected to the library he's heading for. Lucius hastens his pace. He meets no one on the way but if he did it wouldn't be a problem. He is often found heading towards the library after meetings or well before them. Voldemort's personal collections of books are something of a legend.

He knows exactly where the book is and briskly heads towards the very back of the library. His footsteps echo against the marble floor and his heart echoes in his ears. If he were stopped now…

"Lucius." He halts abruptly, stiffening, and turns around. Severus is leaning against one of the round obsidian tables; a thick, worn, leather bound volume is tucked under one arm. "You don't have much time. The book was set up in about a dozen charms to alert the Dark Lord should anyone have the intention of taking it out of the castle." Severus walks over and shoves the book at him. "Use the portkey, it will work even here."

"Severus—"

Severus snaps, impatient, "This is no time for leisure; Hex me and make it believable. As long as I survive fully functional I won't hold it against you." Lucius nods and without hesitation shoots off rapid fire hexes and curses that has Severus crumbled on the ground, bleeding and twitching. Severus' wand rolls away from his lax hand as Lucius grips the feather.

"Redemption," He whispers and is gone.

July 31st, 1980

Their child's cry breaks through the air, loud and healthy. Lily and James shed tears of happiness. He holds her hand, which is weak with exhaustion and kisses her forehead tenderly, ignoring the sweat.

"Congratulations, it's a… boy…" The healer announces. James and Lily are too happy to notice the strange undertones in his voice or the way he stares at their child with shock and awe. However, they do see the way the nurses gasp as the healer cleans their child with a swish of his wand and wraps him in a soft blue blanket.

"Is there something wrong?" James asks.

"It depends on your definition of wrong." The healer says slowly, approaching the bed. He hands the child to Lily who smiles brightly despite her exhaustion. It takes a few seconds for her to realize that instead of normal human ears, her child has fuzzy black cat ears and when she does, she's not very shocked. In fact, her smile grows brighter.

James, however, is five seconds from exploding with shock. His mouth moves wordlessly and he turns three shades of purple.

Lily laughs, "Breath, dear."

Air rushes from his lungs, followed by high pitched, disbelieving words, "He has cat ears!"

"And a tail." The healer adds.

"How the f—"

"Calm down James." Lily orders. She brushes a finger against her crying baby's cheek and almost instantly he begins to fall asleep. A smile graces her glowing face when her baby boy actually starts purring. "Dumbledore told me this might happen. It's my family's bloodline."

"Bloodline? I thought you were muggleborn!" James whispers furiously.

"So did I." She yawns and looks up at him. "We can talk about this later when I'm not so exhausted. Right now, our son needs a name."

"Harold James Potter." James says immediately. "After my father."

"Harold James Bastet Potter." Lily corrects. "After my mother."

"Lily, he's a boy." James protests weakly.

"I know that and I don't care. That's his name." She says firmly. The healer knows who's won this round and spells the birth certificate.

"We'll owl you a copy of the birth certificate after it's put on record." The healer tells them.

"That's fine. When will I be able to go home?" Lily asks, yawning again.

"At the latest, tomorrow afternoon."

"Good." With that said, Lily promptly falls asleep, protectively cuddling her baby.

Sirius, Remus, and Peter respond in almost the exact manner James did when they come to visit the next day after Lily has been discharged. James has had time to adjust, now that he knows, but he understands their surprise. It's not every day your best friend's wife births a cat baby.

Remus and Sirius lean over the crib where Harry is sleeping, cooing. Peter opts to stand as far away as possible and stare nervously in their direction.

"Do you know what bloodline this is?" Sirius asks, finding it difficult to stop himself from reaching out and petting Harry. He's just too damn cute and of course he is with the parents he has; even if he were without an active bloodline, he would be the cutest little baby ever.

"The Prince bloodline." He says.

"Prince? I thought they died out." Sirius says. He gives into his urges and brushes a finger across Harry's cute little kitten ears. They twitch instinctively but Harry remains asleep. Sirius has a feeling nothing short of an explosion would wake the littlest Potter.

"Just about; Lily says she has a cousin somewhere who's a Prince."

"And now there's Harry," Remus smiles, tearing his eyes away from the baby to look at James. "That makes three."

James grunts in agreement, "That's nice and all but it would be better if he developed the Potter bloodline. There hasn't been an active one in decades!"

"Be glad he didn't," Sirius smirks at him. "Then you'd have a kitten that could grow his own catnip!"

"Oh Merlin."

"He should be easy to entertain though." Sirius says gleefully. "All you need is some yarn, a couple of bobblies with the fluff on the end, and Wormtail."

James and Sirius giggle as Peter sputters, "Wha-what? I'm not going to be his chew toy!"

"Aw, lighten up uncle Petey," Sirius grins.

"Remus chuckles and says, "He doesn't even have teeth yet, Peter, no worries."

"And I wouldn't let him put you in his mouth anyway," James shudders. "No offense."

"Ah. . .none taken."

June 15th, 1981

Their safe house is surprisingly not a hole in the ground but a cottage in the countryside of muggle France. It's quaint with two bedrooms, one bathroom, a sitting room with a fireplace—not connected to the floo network—and a kitchen. There is a flower garden in the backyard that can be seen from the kitchen window. Thankfully, there is a house elf provided by Hogwarts and Narcissa, who couldn't bear to part with a good bit of their heirlooms and paintings, took the time to decorate the bare cottage. It isn't home, it will never be home, but it will do.

Though their cottage is safe from Voldemort and death eaters, it is still open to Dumbledore who pops in as he pleases to coo at Draco and inform them of the goings on in the magical world on a weekly basis. Merlin only knows why he doesn't just send a house elf with the Daily Prophet. Narcissa appreciates Dumbledore's company more than Lucius but that's because she's a bit of a social butterfly.

"Voldemort is on a warpath lately. We have lost many Order members." Dumbledore is sitting across from them at their little kitchen table, enjoying a cup of earl grey with so much sugar in it, Lucius wonders how the man has kept his teeth for a hundred some odd years. "He seems particularly driven towards killing the Potters. They've had to go into hiding as well."

"This is relevant to us, how?" Lucius says. Narcissa frowns at him disapprovingly but he ignores her.

"Just making conversation," He says flippantly. Lucius doubts that. Dumbledore sips his tea before speaking again. "They fear one of their friends might be a death eater."

Lucius almost rolls his eyes. "You want to know what I know."

Dumbledore twinkles encouragingly.

"Unfortunately, I was not privy to as much information as you might think. However my personal opinion is leaning towards Pettigrew."

"Peter!" Dumbledore lifts his eyebrows in genuine surprise. "You don't think it would be Sirius or Remus?"

Dumbledore, for all his power, is still naïve in some things. Lucius knows he holds those two men with suspicion only because of Black's family and Lupin's unfortunate status as Werewolf. Lucius knows better. "Pettigrew is the perfect example of a grunt death eater. He is generally dismissed by everyone as a bumbling fool and sticks to more powerful wizards like dirt to a shoe. He is a sickeningly malleable man, Dumbledore. Surely you can see the logic in a man like that going to the Dark Lord."

Dumbledore's expression is dripping with doubt but he is thinking and that's what matters.

"If you hold anyone under suspicion, let it be Peter Pettigrew." Lucius encourages.

Dumbledore nods absently, stuck in his glitter filled head. He leaves soon after, thanking Narcissa for her wonderfully brewed tea. The house elf pops in to take Dumbledore's empty tea cup and pops out just as quietly. Narcissa stands and walks over to the window above the sink to look out at the tiny garden that seems to attract nothing but butterflies. The waning sunlight sets her hair a glow.

"I do hope the Potters will be okay." She says softly.

Lucius can't help but raise his eyebrow.

"Oh, don't look at me like that." She says without turning around. "You know they have a child now, a little boy a few months younger than Draco. I hear he has an active Prince bloodline."

"Where on earth are you hearing these ridiculous things from? Dumbledore?" Lucius makes a note to never leave his wife alone with Dumbledore to chat again.

"Where else would I hear it from, the cabinets?" She sighs and moves away from the window to sit at the table again. "It seems Lily Potter was a pureblood after all and a Prince of all things. I wonder if Severus knows."

"I'm sure he does."

"It's a shame we couldn't have been in hiding together. Then Draco would have someone his own age to play with."

"And burn," Lucius says wryly. "It would be entertaining at least."

"Lucius, behave!" She huffs, glaring. He curls his lip into a slight smile. "Even you would benefit from a little social interaction, even if it were with Potters. You'd probably find that you and James have something in common."

"And what might that be, my dear?"

She tucks her long, pale hair behind her ear where it doesn't stay and smiles with the utmost serenity. "Family."

Lucius refrains from outright chuckling. As usual, she is always right.

October 31st, 1981

A heavy silence falls over the Potter home as the virulent glow of the Avada Kedavra curse fades. It leaves a pungent odor in the air. James Potter lays crumpled in the foyer, his hazel eyes staring at the ceiling, forever unseeing. His wand is clutched in his hand tightly as if he would bounce back from death to save his family. He won't.

The hardwood floor is splintered, leaving a trail of broken wood towards the stairs. The railings are rubble and the hallway upstairs is a disaster area of fallen paintings that wail and curse. The wallpaper is charred and curling off the walls. The carpeting looks to be eaten away in an uneven line that suspiciously looks like footprints.

The destruction stops at the last room on the right. The door is blown off its hinges and lies in chunks across the room of Harry's nursery. Lily Potter is curled up in the corner between the crib and the wall. Her wand is nowhere to be seen. She keeps her grip on her precious child, even in death.

Voldemort stands over her, rolls his shoulders, and stares down at the beautiful woman. He thinks it is a shame he had to kill her, especially knowing she is a Prince. It's an even bigger shame that he has to kill the littlest Potter. Looking at the catty baby who stares back at him unblinkingly from his mother's arms, ears pressed flat against his head, he thinks that he would have made a wonderful pet. Alas, he can't allow him to live.

He raises his wand, levels it at the boy, and whispers his two favorite words, "Avada Kedavra."

There is a crackle of sound as the vibrant green curse breaks free of his wand, Voldemort is used to that, but he isn't used to feeling like he's being pulled apart in all directions and burned alive at the same time. Something is horribly wrong, he realizes and despite his efforts to pull his wand away at the last moment, the electric green curse hits the baby and bounces back at him, creating a backlash of magic that bursts outward, shaking the very foundation of the house. Voldemort howls in outrage and pain as the magic consumes him; He crumbles like sand, leaving only his robes and wand behind.

When the dust settles, the entire first floor has been leveled, leaving behind very little of the second floor.

The aftermath of chilling silence is broken by a cry.