15.11.15, Sun

A/N: So this isn't a proper crossover, because it's mainly just an amalgamation of two ideas, but when people fit their fandoms to the plot of Princess Bride they list it as crossover, so boo.

Oh, and don't steal my idea. I'm really, really proud of it.

Prologue

Once upon a time, the Dark Lord attacked an Order safehouse. Two of the occupants were killed before the baby began to scream.

The Dark Lord stalked toward the child, malevolent grin firmly in place as he raised his wand.

"Stupefy!"

Hissing, the Dark Lord whirled round to face his attacker.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The young man deftly twisted away as the curse streaked past, returning fire with a half-snarled "Reducto!"

The Dark Lord dissipated the curse with a swipe of his clawed hand, countering with a silent hex that shone a sickly violet.

As the two exchanged spells, a young woman rushed into the room, swiftly snatching up the child. Ignoring the baby's shrieks of indignation at the harsh treatment, she made a beeline for the window, forgetting the wand tangled in her son's blankets as she smashed the glass with her elbow in desperation. Seeing the panicked look she gave him once outside, her husband yelled,

"Just go! Fabian and Gideon are dead already - I'll - Bombarda! - I'll follow on! Go!"

With a sob, she ran toward the edge of the garden, making for the other side of the anti-Apparition wards surrounding the house that had once belonged to the fun-loving redheaded Prewett twins.

Distracted by the sight of his escaping quarry, the Dark Lord failed to notice the frantic high-powered "Expelliarmus!" sent his way by the child's father.

When the Dark Lord managed to raise his head with a groan, what was left of his heart clenched in horror. The boy and his parents were together running for the edge of the property - they were going to get away!

With a gargantuan effort (he had, after all, just been blown through two brick walls) the Dark Lord rasped the first spell that came to mind - "Diffindo!" - and promptly fell unconscious.

Back at her mother-in-law's secluded mansion, the young woman dried her tears for her friends. She checked herself for injuries - it was rather difficult to tell when one had so much adrenaline flowing - then gave her husband a brief examination. Finally, believing all to be well, she began to shush her son and rock him, hoping that he would calm down now that the loud noises had stopped and he was no longer being crushed against her chest in an attempt to shield him. When after some time he did not quieten, she worried that perhaps her body-shield had not been so effective after all. She held the baby away from herself to scan him for injuries, gasping when straight away she spotted a few drops of blood on his blanket. Peeling the thin cotton away, she sucked a breath in through her teeth.

"Poor little man! Your first battle wound!" She murmured, dabbing away at the short, jagged slice on his heel. Unwinding his blankets completely, she located her wand and cast a healing spell on the cut. Frowning, she repeated the spell. "Come and look at this, will you, love?"

Her bedraggled husband entered the room. "What's wrong?"

"Our little soldier managed to get himself a battle wound that refuses to heal properly." The young man made an appropriate whistle of amazement.

"Might have to get Dumbledore to take a look, sweetheart. Could be a curse-scar." Giving an unladylike snort, his wife replied,

"Our baby boy? A curse-scar from You-Know-Bloody-Well-Who? Not likely!" Her husband laughed.

"I'm sure you're right. Guess I'm just being paranoid. Still, it wouldn't hurt to have it looked at, seeing as it won't heal." His wife nodded in agreement.

But whether they truly intended to show the curious little cut to Dumbledore didn't matter in the end. The next night, the war was over and the Wizarding World had changed forever. Dumbledore was far too busy making arrangements for the newly-famous 'Boy-Who-Lived' to fuss over their son. By the time the world had calmed down enough for a great wizard like himself to bother about intriguingly unhealed scars on any body but Harry Potter's, the parents of the child had been tortured into insanity and had no hope of recalling their own names, let alone the cut on their son's foot.

Nevertheless, it was a terribly important little detail - one that would change the course of Wizarding (and Muggle) (and Zygon) history. Forever.