True Destiny

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling does. I own my OC, my hypothetical answers to major canon plot questions, and the plot twist I introduce, but that's it. I've just hopped a fence and am playing in someone elses sandbox.

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--Begin--

Hogwarts, Midday October 31, 1981 AD

Albus Dumbledore was not particularly happy at the moment. That is not to say that he was angry or sad, but he was not happy. He was, in fact, very worried. Nearly one and a half years earlier he had interviewed one candidate for the post of professor of Divination at the school he ran, though he was all in favor of simply letting the subject die. But no, Sybil Trelawney, though her powers were extremely weak, had given a Prophecy during this interview, and so he was forced to hire her.

But he was not worried about his students receiving a substandard education in that subject. No, he was worried about those to whom Trelawney's Prophecy had related. Had she simply given a Prophecy about one who could fell the Dark Lord he would not be so worried. No, he was worried because one of that same Dark Lord's servants had overheard part of the Prophecy. So he had sent the two families to whom the Prophecy could relate into hiding immediately. But something was nagging at him. Halloween was upon them, and it was a night that had power. Even before Christianity came to the British Islands, this night was powerful, both for Light and Dark magic. He wasn't completely sure, but he felt that this may well be it. He sighed and put the thought out of his mind for now. He looked back at his desk, at the mountains of paperwork he had to read, sort, and sign. Now he was just annoyed.

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Godric's Hollow, 11:59 PM October 31, 1981 AD

Under normal circumstances, Lily and James Potter would probably have been the proudest parents you could ever find. After all, their son Harry, barely a year and three months, had just produced an astonishing display of accidental magic that many fully trained wizards would have a hard time reproducing. But these were hardly normal circumstances. A psycopath terrorist was after either Harry or their friends' son Neville, though no one knew which child Voldemort would attack.

Both families had been hidden away extremely well, and literally only one person could tell Voldemort where one family was. But there was a spy in the ranks of the group arrayed against the self-proclaimed Dark Lord, and no one knew who was trustworthy. The Potters had chosen their friend Peter Pettigrew to be their Secret Keeper, and no one other than the Longbottoms knew who hid them. As long as the Secret Keepers were safe and on their side, the children were safe.

But Lily had felt something ominous earlier in the day. As such, she set to work crafting an intricate and ancient enchantment of protection for Harry that would trigger should she be murdered in his defense.

And now, they heard a tremendous crash from their yard. Unfamiliar voices, laughter, high and cruel. Harry was so startled that he let off another pulse of accidental magic that, though undirected, shook the house. Lily picked him up and tried to calm him down, to no avail. James turned to Lily, "Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off—" Lily nodded, wide-eyed with fear, and stumbled out of the room, attempting to apparate out of the house. She couldn't. She ran to Harry's room and put him down, double-checking her enchantment. Then came the sound of a door blasting open from the front of the house, and a high-pitched cackle that made Lily shiver and caused Harry to wail.

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James stood facing a nightmare come to life. Voldemort himself stood framed in the door. As he entered, he gestured for someone behind him to follow. James watched in horror as his Secret Keeper–one of his best friends!–followed the Dark Lord in. Willingly. Voldemort cackled once again as he saw the emotions fly over James's face.

"Peter… how… why?" And in that instant, it all clicked. Peter was the spy. Fitting, really, a rat being the rat. "Traitor!" The word seemed almost to tear itself from his lungs.

"Now James, is that any way to treat a guest?" came the high, smooth voice of the Dark Lord, "Now, I believe that you have something I want."

James pulled out his wand and shifted into a ready stance. If Voldemort wanted to get past him, he'd have to fight his way through. Voldemort cackled again and pulled his wand from his sleeve.

Time seemed to stand still in the few seconds they stood facing each other. Then Voldemort seemed to hiss out the killing curse, "Avada Kedavra!" James seemed to be rooted to the spot. Then something unbelievable happened.

A rift in space seemed to open between James and Voldemort. The Killing Curse flew through it, and another rift opened in front of Peter, from which the spell exited, striking him down.

The second rift closed while the first widened, and a young man stepped out. He was oddly dressed in muggle clothes: blue jeans and a slightly baggy tye-dye t-shirt, with a black trench coat over it all. He stood about 5'11", with short brown hair, and he wore darkly tinted glasses to obscure his eyes. The strangest thing about him, however, the thing that made him look most out of place, was the sword he wore on his belt.

He turned his head left and right, taking in his surroundings. He then turned to Voldemort. "I'm gonna assume, since you're more insane and inhuman than he is, that you're Tom Riddle. Am I right?" He spoke in a low voice with an American accent.

"How dare you call me by that filthy name!" hissed Voldemort, "I am the Dark Lord Voldemort!"

"Yep. Definitely Riddle." He reached into an inner pocket of his coat and pulled out an official-looking document. He began to read aloud from it, dodging spells thrown by the irate Dark Lord, "Tom Marvolo Riddle, you have been tried in absentia by the Destiny Council and found guilty of innumerable crimes against humanity, the most heinous of which are five counts of creating a Horcrux. The sentence imposed upon you by the Council is death. Your Horcruxes have been rounded up and destroyed, a False Prophecy was given to lure you out of hiding to a place we could find you, and your execution is… now."

And with that, the man drew his sword. The blade was a good two and a half feet long and three inches wide, and it seemed to shimmer in five colors. The executioner seemed to blur into nothingness, then blurred back into focus on the other side of Voldemort. Voldemort's eyes were wide, then his head fell off his body. The world seemed to give a tremendous heave as such a huge weight on the Dark side of the Balance, one that seemed to hold the scales pinned to that side, was removed, but then it righted itself again.

James stared dumbstruck at the man, who was wiping down his sword, removing the blood from it. The Prophecy was false!? And who–or what–was this Destiny Council? His head was spinning. The man sheathed his sword, then held out a hand in front of him, whispering. Another rift opened and he stepped through after dropping the document he'd read from on Voldemort's body. James ran to the fireplace and floo'd Dumbledore. He needed to hear about this.

--End--

AN: Well, this is my first Harry Potter fanfiction. Now to forestall questions: The Destiny Council exists in parallel with the normal Universe. They are a group of immortals charged with overseeing the fate of humanity. If they see a problem that could bring about the end of the world they will move to correct it, usually through Prophecy, True or False, and they are the ultimate source of all Prophecies. The executioner is a self-insert. His sword may seem a bit small, but it's magical. It doesn't need to be big.

James's words to Lily are lifted directly from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. No one really knows what happened that night other than what Harry gets from the dementors.

Now I wanted to give this a flavor of what I envision actually happening that day (then completely mess with the universe), so I started with the question, "Why didn't Dumbledore intervene?" He was being watched (though I didn't put that part in) and had mountains upon mountains of paperwork to fill out. He couldn't just up and leave or his watchers would know something was up. To answer the number of questions about Lily's protection: I gave her nearly 12 hours to work the magic. She felt something coming, like Dumbledore did. No one really knows if Voldemort had created all six of his horcruxes by the time he killed the Potters, but I agree with Dumbledore on this one: he meant to use Harry's murder as his crowning glory, therefore he'd use it to create his last horcrux. I agree with many of you, horcruxes are a horrendous plot device, but they're canon and this is ultimately canon until the Rift opens.

About my making Halloween a night powerful for both Light and Dark magic: Halloween (as we know it) is not the original manifestation. It actually started as Samhain, a Celtic celebration of remembrance of the dead and the changing of seasons. Then Christianity came, and moved All Saints' Day and All Souls' Day to Nov. 1 and 2 respectively, and the observance of those started in the evening of Oct. 31. Again, they are remembrances of the dead. So it's a night of power from the dead. Dark. It's a night of celebration of life, Light. In my world, at least.

If I've royally screwed up any facts or canon points please feel free to correct me without flaming.

I hate the title, but I couldn't come up with anything better. Suggestions would be very much appreciated.

Reviews are welcomed, though flames will be ignored.