Reaper: I OWN NOTHING!

-o-

Ferris Slytherin stood by the door of the family mansion, surrounded by his relatives, all of whom were powerful wizards. He watched the dark, misty driveway through the front door's window, waiting for the invasion.

Ferris was an ugly man with green eyes (the left of which was obviously blind given how dull and glazed over it was), several facial scars, greasy black hair, and two missing teeth (his left upper canine and his right front tooth). He was tall, but scrawny, and very pale.

This did not, however, prevent him from becoming the most powerful wizard in the country, even without official schooling or help from the rest of the wizarding world.

Soon enough, Mary Slytherin, Ferris's wife, came out of the hatch in the floor. After she was out, the hatch was closed, magically concealed, and covered up with a large rug by other members of the family.

Mary had tears in her eyes as she walked over to stand next to her husband. Mary Slytherin was a beautiful woman with long, blonde hair and dark brown eyes. She was thin, and a little pale, but not so much that she looked sickly. Her smile could normally light up a room, but right now, it was nowhere to be seen.

"Greg has Johnny in the basement," she said, her hand finding her husband's as she reached his side. "Once this is all over, Greg will have custody of Johnny and the entire Slytherin estate until he comes of age and gains ownership of everything himself. Greg will be able to raise him up to be a good kid.

"Good," Ferris stated, "Greg will teach him to be a fine man, so he'll be okay even with us gone. Even with all the wizard and No-Mag money our family has amassed, Greg should be able to raise him up without spoiling him. Johnathan won't become some high and mighty backstabber like what the Slytherin family is so well known for. I won't let my family go out with that as our reputation."

Mary nodded, tears streaming down her face. Then she froze. She and Ferris could both see several hooded figures in the mist coming towards the house like shadowy demons on a mission straight from Hell.

"They're here!" Ferris shouted to the dozens of Slytherins behind him in the main hall of the mansion. Everyone drew their wands and pointed them at the door.

"That loon," an old man said from behind Ferris and Mary. "I can't believe he would want us out of the way this badly. Probably angry that we've been hiding all these years without him. It's not like we ever knew about him before he was famous, though! Jokes on him, though, what with us getting little Johnny accepted into Hogwarts. I'm glad you got that message to Dumbledore, Ferris."

"I am too, Uncle Finnegan," Ferris answered. "Riddle may behave like an angry child, but he's still the most dangerous wizard alive. Hogwarts may be the only place that Johnathan can be safe."

Just then, a spell hit the door, but bounced off harmlessly.

"Alright then," Ferris said, raising his wand straight in front of him and steeling himself. "Let's stop our rambling and focus on the fact that an army of evil wizards wants to kill us right now; if we don't, then they'll easily destroy us, and I don't really want to go down without a fight!"

Finnegan was a short old man with leathery, wrinkled skin, emerald green eyes, and thin, wispy gray hair. He was a wand-maker and was considered to be the family genius.

He chuckled and said, "Sure, why not? I've lived a good life; why not go out with a bang?"

An hour later, the door was blown open and every Slytherin in the house was dead… except for one. A single boy whom the attackers did not know existed… a boy named Johnathan Slytherin…

-o-

John Slytherin was an eleven-year-old genius just outside of San Antonio, Texas, U.S.A. His IQ was unknown, but the paintings he had spoken to and his godfather were certain that he would change the world with the power of his mind someday. John always thought of his intelligence and his eidetic memory as unfair advantages, but he used them too often to wish for them to be gone.

He could often be found reading, honing his martial arts, or helping Greg (his caretaker and godfather) with fixing up engines; more specifically, old motorcycle engines.

John also had the looks of a true Slytherin, according to some of the pictures. He was tall for his age, with dark blonde hair that he kept at a length of about three inches and emerald-green eyes. He was tan from spending his days training in the yard, which also caused his thin body to remain quite muscular. He was tall for his age as well, making him appear a year or two older. The only marks or blemishes on him were the few scars on his hands and lower arms that came from accidentally cutting himself while working on engines.

Right now, John was reading in his family's personal library within the mansion, brushing up on some of the spells his family had made over the years.

"Manipulatum Leashia," he recited from the thick, leather-bound book he held.

John sat in an old chair, leaning it back on the back two legs with his feet up on the giant oak desk before him, surrounded by the fifteen foot high shelves lining the walls, each one jam-packed with books.

"So, a charm meant to ensnare a beast with a green chord from the wand," John continued. "It forcibly manipulates the body of the target to the castor's will. Looks like it's usually used on beasts, and masters of the spell could most likely use it to detain other wizards. Looks like can be used on inanimate objects as well. I like it."

Suddenly, a large, black owl swooped in through the open set of double doors and landed on the desk next to John's legs.

"Hello Grim," John greeted his pet, not looking up from the book so as to not to lose his place as the rather large bird looked around the library.

Grim had been given to John by a hooded man that had shown up at the door one day. The man had given John a basket with a blanket inside, a newly hatched bird on top in it when he answered the door.

"A gift to the Slytherin family; welcome back to the wizarding world," the man had said. "His name's Grim, and he's a Haunt Owl. There's a book in the bottom of the basket that will tell you about his species and how to care for him. Treat him well."

After that, the man simply walked back down the long driveway and Disapparated. John had simply shrugged, gone inside, and raised Grim since that day.

John shook his head free of old memories as he looked upon the giant owl, with a wingspan of about five feet, a height of about two-and-a-half feet, and a weight of about six pounds. He was shaped exactly like an overgrown great-horned owl with black feathers.

John was very fascinated by two things on Grim, however; his beak was lined with small, serrated teach and his eye color was red. In all honesty, John thought that is made his bird look absolutely awesome.

John took his feet off the desk and let the front two legs of his chair hit the floor as he sat up. He then opened a drawer in the desk and pulled out a bookmark. He placed it in the book and closed it before placing the entire book in the drawer he had just opened.

John closed the drawer back, stood up, and stretched. He then walked out of the double doors and into one of the many halls. Grim flew out right behind him before landing on his shoulder. Luckily, he didn't grip too hard, so John's shoulder wasn't cut by Grim's talons.

The Slytherin mansion was so big that it was really more of a city than a mansion, at least on the inside. Several charms had been placed on the house, allowing it to provide housing for John's entire family (before they were killed, of course).

John continued down the hall, passing several pictures with moving people in them and doors with their own addresses on them. The pictures greeted him as he passed, and he greeted them back. After sixteen minutes, John finally made it to a large, atrium-like room.

The place was huge. There were floating candles everywhere, which lit up at night, while in the day, the entire room was lit by a warm glow from the ceiling, just like right now.

In the middle of the room, a large bridge crossed overhead. This bridge had a door in the wall on each end along with simple wood railing to prevent anyone from falling. In the middle of the bridge, on both side, the railing had gates, and on the first floor beneath these gates, there were square sections of the floor with wood railing around them, big enough for six people to stand in and gates that lined up with those on the bridge.

John knew that these squares would float up at command, but he didn't need to go up right now. No, the two halls up top were not what he needed, nor were the two halls on the wall behind him, or the two halls on the wall across from him. The wall on the left had the large double doors with windows on them that led outside. However, he didn't need to go through those, either.

Instead, he turned towards the right wall and saw a set of heavy oak doors. He swept across the marble floors and headed to those doors, which swung outwards automatically as he neared them, sensing his intent to enter.

Before John now sat what would normally be a very strange sight for a pureblood wizard child such as himself; a Muggle sitting at his rather humongous kitchen table, reading The Quibbler and eating grits.

"Have they got anything solid yet, or has loony old Lovegood still been chasing false leads?"

The Muggle lowered his magazine and looked at John. He had wire-rimmed reading glasses, a bare-shaved head, and a nose that appeared to have been broken on several occasions.

Gregory Jones, the Muggle godfather of Johnathan Slytherin, smirked at his godson.

"Well, while it still has a lot of bullshit stories in it from a bunch of attention whores," Greg said, "I think the guy really is about to find real evidence of nargles. A shame your family beat him to it. I mean, there are still some living in the catacombs after all."

John smirked back at Greg.

"Well good," he said. "I guess that means your favorite magazine won't be going anywhere anytime soon."

"I sure hope so," Greg said. "I have to get these all the way from the U.K., so if they just go out of business, I'll be pissed."

Born and raised in Georgia for the first fifteen years of his life, Greg had moved to San Antonio after his father had accepted a job opportunity. After that, he had ended up meeting John's father, Ferris, and saw him using magic. Instead of erasing his memory, John's father had actually befriended Greg instead. The two became as close as brothers, Greg teaching Ferris about vehicles (he was a mechanic, after all) and Ferris teaching Greg about magic (even though he couldn't use it, he was still interested).

When he was twenty-six, Greg was asked to come take care of John by Ferris, who knew he was living on borrowed time by that point. Since then, Greg had acted as John's stay-at-home godfather.

Thanks to spending so much time together, a few of Greg's traits had rubbed off on him. This included interests in mechanics and martial arts (Greg had mastered several styles throughout his life, and had taught John quite a few), plus a bad habit of constant cursing, which got him in trouble at Muggle school a lot.

Muggles were people who had no magic abilities whatsoever, which John had learned from some of the older portraits of his deceased family members, which moved and spoke thanks to magic. In America, they were usually referred to as No-Mags, but John had picked up the habit of calling them Muggles (the name used in Britain) from some of the older paintings, which were made before the family moved to America.

"So, you excited to go to Britain next week?" Greg asked.

"Why are we going, anyways?" John asked. "I thought that school was further off than that."

Not too long ago, John had received a thick yellow envelope with a letter in it addressed directly to him. It was from a magical school in Scotland that his family had helped to found known as Hogwarts. The school was apparently inviting him to study there, and while he had also received an invitation from the American wizarding school known as Ilvermorny, he was far more interested in going to Hogwarts and seeing the school that first sealed his family's name in the history books.

John had tried to go to Muggle school and act social, but for some reason, he just never fit in. So now he just sits in class, does his work, and minds his business. Other kids stopped talking to him altogether since he beat up every bully he had ever dealt with (he couldn't even remember a time before Greg had been training him to at least some degree). Beyond that, he supposed he had a rather abrasive personality. He hoped things would be different at Hogwarts.

"Well, apparently, as you're a bit of a special case thanks to your family, you'll be going shopping and everything with a member of the Hogwarts staff," Greg said.

"Oh joy," John said sarcastically. "This'll be real fucking fun."

-o-

"So this is the U.K., huh?" John asked.

"Yep," answered Greg, tossing aside the rotting leather boot he'd been holding. "It's a good thing that the British Ministry was willing to send us a Portkey. Getting here normally would be one hell of a pain."

John and Greg were standing in a London street square, gazing around them at the large buildings and ignoring the strange looks from the several pedestrians around them.

"These driving laws are gonna throw me way the hell off," Greg suddenly said, eyeing a car driving on the left side of the road.

"We're taking a car?" John asked, still looking around at the buildings, noticing the differences with San Antonio.

"Well, to be honest, I have no idea how we're going to reach the place, but I'm assuming-Holy hell!"

A man the size of a rhino had somehow snuck up behind them when they weren't looking and they had just turned around to find him staring down at them. His head was covered in long, black hair from the top of his head and his beard, out of which two black, beetle-like eyes peered. His unique appearance was only highlighted by the giant black coat he wore.

"Johnathan Slytherin?" the man asked gruffly, looking down at John.

"Uh, yeah, that's me," John said, raising a hand to be shaken.

The man saw John's hand, gave him a sharp look, and continued speaking rather than shaking it.

"I'm Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts," the man said. "You'll be doing your shopping with me an' Harry Potter."

John recognized that name.

"Oh, hell yes," he said with a grin.