Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, the series, the fictional character, or the fandom. Sorry to disappoint you... If I did, though, I might have died of happiness. And the frolicked around in the still-unfinished HP theme park for a year or two before I let it open to the public.

Hey, guys. I'm taking this off my Dartboard via the request of xol225. I figured I might as well put it up for everyone, and pray that it doesn't (I stared at this word for a few minutes before moving on. Firefox is telling me it doesn't exist.) go catatonic like everything else. So... Here it is. The beginning.

Prologue

The Second Malfoy

The night - wet, cold, and windy - had fallen brutally upon the small, harmless community that was none other than Godric's Hollow, as if it was a blanket of stars and darkness and all things mysterious. The streets - winding, old, cobbled to a fault - were alight with the joyous, frantic giggles of children and the wavering flashlights of their warier, reserved, slightly anal parents who, upon angering, would gently scold their young, which hobbled around as mummies and zombies; ugly greet, boil-ridden witches and beautiful, tiny fairies with shimmering, baby pink wings; mermaids of shining green sequins and firemen with their hard, crimson hats and superheroes in capes and knights in shining armor. And then, there were the muggle teenagers, who had donned looks of pure contempt and held toilet paper or shaving cream or eggs hidden in their deviously curled fingers, and those who had worn hideous, freakish costumes of blood and gore to scare the littler ones. And then, there were those that still dressed just as their younger siblings were. It was Halloween; a muggle's holiday that was a simple, beautiful, terrifying, bump-in-the-night bobble to them, like the inside of a snow globe or a painting of a far-off place they would never visit.

And then, amongst them all, disguised with ease amongst their foolish, taunting costume-wearing, was a dark inhabitant of that world they could never grasp the true reality of. A dark, wafting cloak had been draped around his thin, skeleton figure, and his hood was pulled low and tight to hide his pallid, lifeless, snake-like face and demonic, blood red eyes that burned with hatred. This was Lord Voldemort, lurking amongst the muggles he loathed with such an invigorating, horrible passion, such a terribly painful severity. To him, magic was might, and all those without its graceful, commanding touch should know their place below his rule, below all that possessed the power. They should fear him, worship him, surrender to the sound of his very name. But here they frolicked carelessly, a mockery to his wonderfully dark, exciting wizarding world. And, no matter how dearly he wished to eliminate those happy, stupid smiles from their faces, to smear their worthless blood across the cobblestones below, to rip their bags of stupid muggle candy from their fat, greedy hands, to ruin the loves of the very type of people he had been saddled with until the sanction of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry - no matter how he loathed the place, it had been his first sanctuary, his first home - found him, the wonder of the magical world, he could not. Voldemort could do nothing to these pathetic muggles, for it would blow his cover, the knife in the side of this operation. He couldn't afford, to let such a counter productive thing happen; he needed to succeed tonight, to ensure his safety and seat as the Dark Lord of the wizarding world. But as long as he resisted the temptation, the pulling urge to murder each and every one of these pathetic muggles, nothing could possibly go wrong. As long as he could point that wand only at the threat to his life, that one hitch in the smooth road to having the world at his feet, he would succeed greatly…

"Nice costume, mister!"

Voldemort turned and a wicked smile grew on his lips, watching as the small boy's grin faltered as he drew closer, seeing the horror under the hood that had been drawn up so well. As he ran off, frightened, the Dark Lord wrinkled his nose, almost wishing he had dressed in the pathetic muggle clothes he so hated, and grasped the handle of his wand tightly underneath his robes, too tempted to ensure that the little boy would never reach his mother. It would be so easy, so simple. With just a flick of his wrist and two tiny, meaningless words, that boy would collapse, never to rise again… But it was unnecessary and foolish, to kill here in the open. There were too many wizards living in Godric's Hollow. Surely, if that telltale green flash ever left his imagination on this busy street, then his presence would be acknowledged, and his prey would flee…

But that would not happen. It could not happen. Lord Voldemort was ever so confidant in his abilities; he could never allow such a thing to happen right under his nose. He was so close; it was too easy. He was now on a darker, quieter road, and his destination, its Fidelus Charm broken, looked ahead.

The curtains weren't drawn, but parted to reveal the small, revoltingly happy family of three. The father, black, messy-haired, and bespectacled, looked on with a sappy, disgustingly gentle expression at his son, who wielded the same messy, dark locks, and had his arm looped sloppily around his redheaded wife, who just smiled absently, though just as warmly, at the two boys that meant the world to her.

"Harry," the mother, Lily, whispered, her voice wavering with tears unshed. She knew what was to come. "My baby. The most beautiful thing in the world." The father, James, only nodded in agreement, glancing to his beautiful redhead love as she listened to each coo, each tiny giggle, that slipped from the baby boy's lips like it could be his last. "I love you," Lily whispered to James, turning to place a salty, sad, needy kiss on her husband. "I love you both so much."

Voldemort did not hear the exchange at all, nor did he see the tears, but he smirked; how foolish this family was. There they stood, not even aware of his powerful, almighty presence. It would be too easy to kill them. Far too easy. But the parents, they didn't have to die. If they were reasonable, if they were intelligent at all, if they let him to the baby with no resistance, all would be fine for them. It was only little Harry that Voldemort needed dead, after all.

As he pushed it open, the gate creaked, but neither James nor Lily heard it. The redhead had walked out of the room, and James yawned, stretching as he threw his wand to the couch, disregarding it easily. A white hand, wand clutched in it, pointed at the door, and, with a silent charm, it flew open, and a large bang filled the quiet house. Silence followed, only broken by the innocent coos of the death-marked child.

In an instant, Voldemort had stepped over the threshold, and James sprinted into the hall, his eyes wide with panic, his heart racing so loudly that Voldemort could hear it, as it told him, demanded him, to protect the small new family that had been such a joy to have.

"Lily!" he cried, his eyes darting to the sitting room, where Lily stood once more, her arms encasing Harry as she, too, found her heart racing. "Take Harry and go! It's him!" Voldemort smirked; James hadn't even picked up his wand. He was defenseless. It was too easy… "Go, run! I'll hold him off for now, just go!"

Hold him off? Without a wand!? Voldemort chuckled darkly to himself, drawing his hood back to better see the look on James' face as he cast his curse. The brunet man's face twisted in disgust and horror, but not fear, and the Dark Lord's bright red eyes narrowed. How dare he… "Avada Kedavra!"

A green flash filled the cramped hallway, illuminating the darkness to show a pram in the corner, the stairs that Lily had raced up just moments before, and James Potter as he fell to the ground. Limp. Dead. And yet, as the light left his eyes, his face portrayed no fear, no pain. Only disgust. Disgust and anger for the wizard who threatened everything he held dear.

Lily's screaming was quite evident from the second floor as she looked down on the scene, her bright green eyes that Lily Evans-Potter shared with her tiny son gulping in the sight of her husband, motionless on the hallway floor. A single sob coursed through her tense, tiny frame, and, for a moment, Lily stared into the cold eyes of Lord Voldemort. And then, clutching Harry to her bosom, she ran.

Voldemort listened with slight amusement as Lily Potter tried to barricade herself inside the largest bedroom, piling things hastily in the way of the door. She didn't have her wand, either, and how thoughtless it was of her. How could she discard her weapon for even just a moment? How could she blindly trust her friends to protect her? With a flick of his wrist, the barricade was gone, the door open, and Lily in front of the crib which held the baby Potter, her arms outstretched as if she could protect her son just so easily.

"No!" she shrieked, her voice cracking with tears and fear and love for the small, adorable, little baby that cooed naively in his crib, suspecting the man under the hood was his father, and they were all playing just a silly little game. "Not Harry! Not Harry!" Lily screamed, only earning a chuckle from the Dark Lord. "No, please, not Harry!"

"Stand aside, you silly, pathetic mudblood girl," Voldemort hissed, ignoring her pleas for mercy. "Stand aside. Now."

Lily did not move one bit. Instead, she braced herself tighter to the crib, shielding little Harry from view as Voldemort drew closer. "Not Harry!" she repeated, her voice rising to a height of hysteria. "Please, no! Take me! Kill me instead!"

"This is my last warning," the Dark Lord snapped, impatient with the woman that bawled pathetically before him. "Stand aside! Stand aside, girl, or join your pathetic, blood-traitorous husband in death, for I will not hesitate to send you all to oblivion."

"Not Harry!" Lily Potter cried in response, the words dead set in her mind, as fear and pain and love clogged up all her reasoning and extensive vocabulary. "Please, have mercy. Have mercy! Not Harry! Not Harry! Please, oh, please, I'll do anything…"

Voldemort could have forced her away from the crib. He could have spared her life. He could have let the mudblood live. But it was better to finish them all, more prudent… It was just better to rid the world of these speed bumps in his master plan…

The green light flashed all across the room, and, as Lily Potter crumpled lifelessly to the floor, just as her husband had, the child did not cry. He stood, clutching the bars of his crib, looking into the intruder's face with eyes that were alight with a bright kind of interest.

Voldemort pointed the want very carefully into the boy's face; he wanted to see it as it happened, the destruction of this one, odd, inexplicable danger. And then, Harry began to cry; he could see the dark of the wizard's face, see that this was not a game, that nothing was alright, that it would never be alright.

The Dark Lord grimaced; he could never stand the incessant crying at the orphanage. He couldn't stomach it as the younger children wailed and moaned and cried and bawled, the tremor of their infantile voices to painful, so irritating to hear…

"Avada Kedavra!"

And then, it didn't seem to happen correctly. Voldemort was gone, confused, barely able to make out the crying of the little Harry Potter as he was trapped under debris and screaming woefully. He couldn't feel the world around him, only the searing pain that had started the moment he said those horrible words… And it all seemed too dark, too black…

And to Harry, the world was dark as well. The roof had collapsed with a great tremor; he could not move in his crib, and the walls seemed to be closing in, trapping him… trapping him here, only to wait to die… Waiting for him to collapse, just like his parents had…

And then, the dark seemed to lift, and the night sky shone above the baby. Stars twinkled and winked, and the child cooed gently, his panic subsiding. Voices, dark and muttering, almost silent, reached his ears, and a silvery mask appeared before his eyes, blocking the brilliant constellations that had lulled him into submissiveness. Then, boney hands clasped around his middle, and he was being lifted, bounced into quietness, drifting to sleep slowly…

"What shall we do with him, Malfoy?" a thick voice asked, and the man holding the baby against his chest protectively turned to stare at the shorter, stouter double who also wore a silver mask and black robes. "What is the Potter baby's fate?"

"We kill him!" a shrill, cruel voice cried, and a woman, her hair dark and wild, her eyes heavily lidded and sparkling with an unhealthy dose of insanity, her face gaunt and palled, appeared on a pile of rubble a few feet away and hopped down, sauntering heavily over to the duo with her hauntingly beautiful face stretched with an evil smile. "We kill little Harry Potter, and the Dark Lord will award us for our loyalty! Our concern! And when he comes back, he will favor us more than any other!"

"No, Bella!" Malfoy snapped, pressing the baby closer as his green eyes, curious and prying, drifted over all three mysterious figures silently. "I will raise the boy, and he will be learned in the Dark Arts, like any dark wizard is. He has defeated our Lord, and perhaps it is his fate to restore the Dark Lord's wishes, to rule the wizarding world under His beliefs, to finish the Dark Lord's conquest. And if He should rise again, we simply present the boy to him, and He will kill the Potter child Himself. It is what He wanted, and therefore we will win no matter which situation presents itself."

"Then he will be our little Dark Lord?" Bella asked, holding out her hands to accept the child. When he was placed in her waiting arms, she held him to the sky, staring straight into his curious emerald eyes. "He doesn't look like much, the little bugger. No red eyes, no pale skin… Kinda scruffy, even. But if he has overcome the Dark Lord, so be it. Call me Auntie Bella, little guy, and I'll teach you the Cruciatus Curse as soon as you can speak, okay?"

"No," Malfoy snapped again, snatching the boy back and holding him against his chest protectively. "We will raise him properly. He is Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, the next Dark Lord. But for now… For now he is only Scorpius, the Second Malfoy."

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Not very long, I understand, but definitely a start, right? I basically took this out of the seventh book and rewrote it, as I'll have to do with a good bit, since this will be.. a parallel to the series. And yes, if I'm ambitious enough, it'll be seven parts. That's why it's a series. So... Help me with my hopes and dreams, and review!!! I won't put anything else up until I do get reviews, so if you want to read more...

Love ya! See you next time.

- Phyre