A/N: Hello everybody!
This will probably be a long and pointless author's note, so if you want to skip it, scroll down until you get to the prologue.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any affiliated trademark or copyright. I do not make money by writing this story on this site.
Firstly, I would like to tell everybody that I am going to enter one of the busiest times of my life, college, and so I might not find time to write. Also, as readers from my other fanfics might know, I am a notoriously slow updater. The Fears of a Prince is updated roughly every month, and this fanfic will most likely be a lot slower in updates than even that. That said, I would like to invite anyone that thinks I need to update this story to send me a PM or write a review (update ploxx! is review enough for me), because it is one of the best (and only) ways to get me writing. I would therefore like to ask forgiveness for any slow updates or missed deadlines, as I will likely have both many times.
Secondly, I'm trying out both a new writing style and a new style of writing with this story. The style of writing refers to how I write my stories (now: different one-shots formed together into one story. Then: One continuously-written chapter), the writing style refers to grammar, vocabulary, syntaxis and other such things. Please let me know in reviews whether either of these are insanely good or insanely bad, because I like getting reviews (for one) and also like results to my experiments in writing.
Thirdly, and perhaps most importantly, I want to request some input from my readers. For now, the first month(s) or so, this story will be relatively small, but as it progresses, I hope, I would like to request various things that I either cannot do or are not skilled enough to do without making myself look like a complete idiot. Therefore, if anyone is a capable artist, I love any drawings, sketches and other works of art made based on my story, or fitting to the storyline. If you find any interesting pictures about which you think: 'Hey! This fits with the story!', please, send me a link to the picture. Maybe I'll contact the author to see if I can use it as the story's picture, since I don't have one yet. Furthermore, if anyone wants to add this fanfic to a community, please do so. Communities mean more readers, more readers mean happy author (and that's me!).
I am currently looking for a Beta reader, maybe more than one. He or she would preview my chapters (meaning you get them earlier than the rest of the world), and I would take their input very seriously. I'm a notoriously messy writer myself, so I'm looking for someone who can catch all my grammatical mistakes. Beyond that: Anyone who could criticize the facts used in my story and win in an argument will almost certainly be accepted as a beta reader.
With that said, I want to thank those who have taken their time to read through this, and will read through my story. And for everyone, including those who thought: TL;DR:
ENJOY!
A/N out.
Edit: I uploaded the edited version of this chapter earlier than I had intended, since I'll not post any updates until the end of September. University is starting, and I cannot yet tell how much time it's going to take to get used to 'the good life'. There were several small spelling errors in this chapter, and a pretty severe chronological error. Thanks to David305 for pointing that one out.
"Tell me, O muse, of the man of many stories. Tell me of his deeds, his quests, his friends and his enemies. Tell me of his secrets, his goals and ambitions, of his dreams and secret desires. Tell me, O muse, since I have forgotten. Begin at the beginning, and end at the end, for my mind is old and cannot think in turns. I beg of you, O muse, tell me."
Chapter 1 – Prologue
I feel it is my duty as a writer to warn you that I'm going to start my story with the most over-clichéd sentence in the history of over-clichéd sentences.
'Once upon a time...'
...
Ok, that sentence just sucks. I'm going to try again.
'In the beginning...'
Okay, better. Now I need to find something to end that sentence with. Preferably something that happened in the beginning.
'In the beginning, there was a big bang (figuratively speaking), and the universe started.'
Maybe not that far in the beginning.
'In the beginning, around the year one thousand..."
Still too early.
'...nine-hundred...'
Starting to look better.
'...seventy...'
Still a little early for the story.
'...seventy-nine...'
Still early. I don't want to bore all my readers to death by telling stories that aren't fun.
'...sixty...'
I said too early! You stupid, ignorant... Oh. Wait. I just insulted myself.
...
Bloody hell this is difficult! Who in the name of something holy made me the writer of this story?
...
Bloody...
...
Hrmpf. Looks like I don't have a choice.
All right then. But don't complain if you don't like it!
'In the beginning, around the year one thousand nine-hundred and eighty, a baby was born by the name of Harold James Potter. His parents, Lily Potter née Evans and James Potter, loved him very much and they were the happiest family in the world.'
Sappy, isn't it?
'In the days after his birth, James and Lily found out, like any parents of a child will do at some point in their life, that their little baby was special. He was the most attentive newborn they had ever seen, with clear green eyes gazing everywhere they could when he was awake. He seemed extremely aware of the world around him and, contrary to most babies that have been labelled as 'special' by their doting parents, he was quite as his parents were saying. Extremely aware of the situation around him, where most infants have very bad vision in their first few weeks he seemed to have almost perfect vision from day one, he'd respond to sounds both far away and up close and he would react to even the smallest things his parents –or anyone else for that matter – did around him.
The first weeks of Harry's life turned into months. He grew like any healthy baby boy, but he grew faster in mind than in body. He crawled like no other had ever crawled, exploring everything and looking at anything with his innocent yet strangely attentive gaze. The energetic boy drove his mother Lily in hopeless fits sometimes, when she thought she had lost him but he was actually busy exploring the Potter Manor.
Little Harry was a sweet boy. Whenever anybody he knew felt down, from the war that was raging outside the protected walls of the house, Harry did his very best to cheer them up. He made his mother smile by making her presents, unusually thoughtful for a boy of only one year old. The war took a heavy toll on the Potter family, but Harry did his best to lighten the load. He was a source of love to his mother, and a source of great amusement for his father James and their good friends Sirius and Remus. James and Sirius would play and laugh with him under the watchful eye of either Lily or Remus, while their other good friend Peter was mostly busy with taking care of his old mother and couldn't be around overly much. But Harry, who almost never made a fuss about anyone not directly family, didn't like the short, mousy man, and neither did the short, mousy man like Harry, so it wasn't that much of a problem.
With Lily working as an unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries in the Ministry of Magic, James working as a captain Auror in the Wizarding Police force and the inheritance of late Mr and Mrs Potter, they had all the money they could possibly need and a lot more. They showered little Harry with gifts, but didn't pamper him unnecessarily. Sirius and Remus were almost living with the Potters in their Manor, spending as much time with little Harry as his parents. The other members of the organisation both James and Lily were member of, as well as Sirius, Remus and Peter of course, The Order of the Phoenix, visited almost daily. Little Harry was loved by everyone, and he loved almost everyone back equally as much.'
Yuck. All that sap makes me feel like an acorn with diarrhea. Let's throw a proverbial rock through the window!
'But on the evening of Halloween in the year nineteen eighty-one, the village of Godric's Hollow in West Country, England, was in a state of uproar. Minutes ago the Potter Cottage, one of the oldest homes in the village, had been blown away by a huge explosion. The roof and back of the second floor were utterly destroyed, and only a few walls of the front of the floor remained. Muggles and wizards alike had felt the explosion and magical backlash that resulted from the first time in known history that the Killing Curse had rebounded.
The Potters had moved in only a few months ago, on the pressing advice of their old friend and mentor Albus Dumbledore. They had constructed a plan where the house would be brought under the 'fidelius-charm', a piece of quite ancient magic where the exact location of a property is locked away in the soul of the 'secret keeper.' No one can find the property then, not even by accident, unless they are told by the secret keeper. The Potters, in an attempt to confuse the enemy, had taken their friend Peter as their secret keeper. Everyone would expect Sirius Black or Remus Lupin to be the secret keeper, for they were the most powerful friends of the Potters save Albus Dumbledore, whereas Peter, as a mediocre wizard, wouldn't be expected to know the location of the Potters. This had caused them to move from Potter Manor to Potter Cottage in Godric's Hollow, since Peter couldn't perform the difficult fidelius-charm on something the size of the Potter Manor.
Unbeknownst to the Potters, or any Order Members for that matter, Peter was a secret death eater, a follower of the Dark Lord Voldemort, the enemy of the Potters. Voldemort had heard of a Prophecy that spoke of a boy with a strength greater than his, a power he knew not, born as the seventh month dies. Harry Potter was born on July the thirty-first, the day the seventh month dies, so Voldemort saw the now sixteen month old infant as a great threat to his power. On Halloween, traditionally the beginning of the darker half of the year, Voldemort found the time right to strike and deal with this threat.
Many pops and cracks sounded the arrival of the members of the Order of the Phoenix, a group of wizards and witches that had battled Lord Voldemort, the Dark Lord responsible for the current state of the Potter cottage. Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, was the first amongst them to enter the remains of the Potter Cottage.
As soon as the aged Dumbledore entered the Potter Cottage, a feeling of sorrow and regret overcame him. James Potter's corpse lay on the floor, eyes wide open in surprise with the word 'Lily!' on his lips. The old man bowed his head in regret, but stepped around the remains of one of the few of his pupils he considered good friends. He made his way towards the nursery of the sixteen month-old Harry Potter, whom he knew Voldemort was after.
Dumbledore bowed his head in grief again when he saw the body of Lily Potter on the floor next to the crib. She was too, one of the few he considered close friends. He stepped over to the crib to check the infant, and to his great surprise he could still sense life in the little body. He picked the boy up and checked for a pulse. His heart sighed with relief as he found one.
The worries of the infant being alive now temporarily subsided, he turned around to seek what could possibly have caused Voldemort to leave. Voldemort only ever came somewhere to kill, no one had ever stopped him before or even got him to leave whilst surviving. But there, in front of the section of the wall that was mostly blown off in the back of the house, in a circle of ashes and soot where the ground was charred, lay the remains of a black cloak and a wand – Voldemorts wand.
Voldemort was gone, and Harry Potter had survived.
1980, Hogsmeade, Scotland
The eve of Thursday the seventh of February was cold and wet. Rain poured from the sky in big drops, and the town of Hogsmeade in Scotland was deserted. Lights could be seen through the windows of homes and shops, but nobody was out.
Nobody, except an elderly man, whose long white beard was dripping with the rain. His glasses had fogged over, his violently purple robes were darkened by the water and his whole figure seemed to be drenched. This image he projected wasn't false, like many of the images he could project. He was a drenched old man out alone in one of the heaviest storms of the year. But the rain and the cold meant little to Headmaster Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, the old man out in the harsh weather.
In fact, the old man barely noticed the storm raging around him. His mind was spinning and turning from what he had heard not more than half an hour ago, interpreting words and meanings, creating and dismissing plots and plans, but discarding them as fast as they were formed. Not more than half an hour ago, Albus Dumbledore had been the recipient of a prophecy. A prophecy which could mean very much, or very little, depending on the interpretation.
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ..."
To be the recipient of a prophecy was a true honor. It meant that Magic itself had chosen you to be the bearer of faith. Prophecies were rare too, as even Albus Dumbledore knew of only a handful of people that had witnessed one firsthand. The unnaturally altered voice of Sybill Trelawney was eerie to hear, and the content of the Prophecy was even more foreboding, but Albus Dumbledore considered himself honored that he had witnessed this event.
The only fact that called his attention away from interpreting the prophecy here and now was the fact that there had been an eavesdropper. Someone had listened to the prophecy as well, but he had only heard the first part. His own brother Aberforth, owner of Hog's Head Tavern, where the prophecy had been made, had seen the eavesdropper, but the eavesdropper had seen him as well and had portkeyed away immediately. Albus was worried that it had been a spy for the Dark Lord Voldemort, who was almost beyond a doubt the 'Dark Lord' mentioned in the prophecy.
Dumbledore knew that Tom Riddle, Voldemort's original name, was clever, and would understand the meaning and weight of this particular prophecy. He would have to move fast and decisively to stop Voldemort from trying to counter the prophecy, or trying to alter it. That was his task, as the first recipient of the whole prophecy.
Albus Dumbledore made up his mind on the way to the school of which he was Headmaster, Hogwarts. He would call an extra meeting of the Order of the Phoenix, the vigilante group he led against the armies of Lord Voldemort, and caution all of them to pay extra attention to Death Eater activities. After that, he could try to check with St Mungo's and maybe even the Ministry how many women were pregnant and would give birth around the end of July. He knew there were several women in the order pregnant, but he would need to narrow it down to only those who would give birth at 'the end of the seventh month'.
With extra haste in his step, Albus Dumbledore almost ran back to Hogwarts to prepare. This prophecy could very well mean the end to the war!
Three days before All Hallows Eve, 1981
"Crucio!" The eerie form of Voldemort spoke the pain-curse without a second thought. The unlucky servant on the floor writhed and screamed in pain.
"This is what liars get, 'Wormtail'. You should have thought of that before withholding information from me!" Voldemort shouted through the dark room.
"Master… I… Please…" Wormtail begged.
"You do not deserve the mercy of dying, Wormtail. Crucio!" Voldemort cast the pain curse again.
"Tell me where the Potters are!" He bellowed.
"Master… Please…"
"Tell me! Or I shall torture you until there is nothing left of your pathetic mind and then I shall get the answer out of your rotting corpse!"
"…Please…"
"Tell me, Wormtail." Voldemort spoke softly, but even more dangerously. "What would you choose? Would you choose to die for the men you called 'friends', men who aren't here? Where are they, Wormtail, and why aren't they here for you? Shouldn't friends help you in times of need?"
Voldemort turned around, facing away from his quivering servant. "Or will you choose to tell me where they are now, and be spared? Surely you know where they are, don't you? I can be quite merciful if the situation merits it…"
"They… they are behind a Fidelius charm, Master…" Wormtail spoke
"I know that, servant. But I also know that you," Here Voldemort stalked closer to Wormtail until they were almost nose to not-nose, and Wormtail shrunk practically through the floor, "are their secret keeper. You can get revenge on your foolish friends, the ones that made you come here, the ones that caused you to be my servant. They have failed you, haven't they, Wormtail?"
"Yes, Master."
"Don't you want to get revenge then, Wormtail?"
"Yes, Master."
"Then where are the Potters?"
Wormtail let out a gulp before answering. "The Potters are living at number 7, Godric's Hollow."
"Very good, my servant." Voldemort said. "Crucio."
The screams of Peter Pettigrew echoed into the night for a long time.
A/N: You like? Please leave a review!