All right, so let me explain why this is being redone. This is a dark tale. Harry's life is hard. Draco's life is probably harder. Regulus went through batshit hell. I reread the story, choked on the sweetness and, despite the fact that I'd planned on turning it around, I soon realized that this was impossible. Some of you will probably never forgive me…

Hahaha, anyway…warning: this story, eventually, will one day, in the future, become Draco/Harry. If you don't like slash by then, well…then stop reading when Harry shoves- oh, right, I'll keep the dirty talk for the later years.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or anything associated with the books and/or movies.

Reviewers, I cannot begin to apologize, and all of the reasons that I have not been able to get to this will never relieve you of the long wait, and the time it will take to get the story as big as it once was. I can only say that I love you all, it will be better, this is for you.

Prologue

"We will leave him with Sirius."

Lily looked up into his eyes – his blue eyes. They were the firm, compassionate eyes of her husband, whom she had known since she was a child but had been with for far too short a time. When she looked into them, she saw all the pain, the hardships, and the suffering that he had had to endure.

But she also saw the happiness. These Potter men…she resisted the urge to laugh irrationally. These Potter men, she'd seen, had an immunity to sorrow that made them seem invincible at times. She seen it in the deep lines of her father-in-law's face when his wife had died, five years ago, and she saw it now, in the eyes of her husband as he prepared to die.

No…not an immunity, she corrected. He, above all others, had felt sorrow at its worse, had been bloodied and scarred by its vengeful whip. It was a resiliency that the Potters had, that they have, she thought fiercely. They have enough power in their singular bodies to stand erect against a rushing waterfall of hurt, and survive without losing themselves – survive, and be better because of it.

"He is young," she said, her pink lips forming the words softly in the darkness. Who were they to say he would survive, being as young and reckless as he was?

James Potter directed his glance down to the parchment on the desk. It was fresh, but it looked old in the candlelight, yellow and waxy. The name Sirius Black was written conspicuously small in the top right corner, as though it was not enough to fill the parchment's quota; as though more names were needed in this task. James shook his head slightly, unnoticeably, and looked back at his wife. His glasses glinted, hiding his eyes for a moment.

"Remus." Was all Lily said, and she dipped the quill deliberately before writing his name, giving her husband time to intervene, stop her, say that Sirius was not enough…

"He may not be able." He said instead, and let her shape the letters beneath his best friend's. They both knew that he was a werewolf. There were complications in that fact, but he was also patient, and kind. Of course he would be on the list. It was implied just with Sirius' name being there. If one of them was unable, then so the other would be.

James shifted his hand from the back of the chair to rest on Lily's shoulder. It was a firm, comfortable hold. They had known each other for a short time, but well – long enough that any assumptions of fragility had long been abandoned. They had been through much, and it showed in the lines on both of their faces.

"Albus will be busy." James said, watching as she wrote another name.

"Not for Harry," she whispered," Never for Harry."

He shook his head, stood, and turned. He looked at the empty hearth, wondering if he should light it, if they had enough time.

Did it matter? He wondered savagely. They would never have enough time to prepare. Nothing they could possibly do would change anything whatsoever, unless they were to survive. And how could they? How? Voldemort was invincible. He was no longer human, no longer mortal. They said that he'd found the fountain of youth, and that he'd stolen it and gorged himself on its waters. They said that he'd found Atlantis, the city of Gods on Earth, and that he'd drank the blood of its founders. Dumbledore himself had said that he was the cleverest student to ever set foot in Hogwarts. That alone made him seem as great as Merlin himself.

How could he compete? How could they compete?

Harry…

Lily turned, as though his tortured moan had been voiced aloud. He saw the same pain reflected in her eyes, and recognized that the form it took was the word Harry, and all of his losses and all of his pain.

They would not live to share his burden.

Lily did not set the quill down. Her eyes hardened, and she continued writing names. She was a strong woman, James knew, stronger, perhaps, than he.

But she was not enough to defeat Voldemort.

Rubeus Hagrid

Neville Longbottom

Alastor Moody

She abruptly stood, her eyes harsh.

"It will not be enough." She said, turning suddenly, "It's not enough! We must do something!"

She stood straight, her back held taught, her shoulders thrown back. Her hair, thick and red, curled like fire from her face as she stood there, not blinking, brows furrowed in determination.

Then suddenly, she collapsed, and it was a terrible thing to watch. James had never seen it happen before, not in all the years he'd known her. As he caught her in his arms, he remembered…

…the day that they'd visited Petunia for Christmas, and she had spat in Lily's face. Lily had stood proudly, expressionless, as the saliva rolled down her sculptured cheekbone. "I have been called a Mudblood time over again, and yet this is the first time that I have felt ashamed of my relations."

…the day that her mother had died, and she had sat upright during the funeral, as tears cascaded down onto her lap.

…the day that they'd been ambushed by Death Eaters, and the leader had pulled back his hood and been Snape. He'd seen the look in her eyes, the betrayed feeling towards this man whom she had once, yes, loved. She had pulled out her wand, not in an act of hurt or revenge, but to defend the baby boy whom she held to her breast, her boy not ten months old.

"It is not enough." She said into his shoulder, and his heart clenched as he pulled her closer.

He looked over her to the paper bearing the names of Harry's would-be fathers. He would have wished that it was sufficient, and that one of the men whose names were written on that paper would one day step up to claim Harry. But wishes were fickle things. What star could he wish to, what god could he pray to, when the man who owned the sky and had mastered the gods had claimed them as his own?

"I will kill you," he'd said, "You so-called light-bearers and truth-keepers. You have waged a war at your own expense, vision clouded with lies and idiot fantasies!"

Dumbledore had bought them time. He'd given them Godric's Hollow and cast the protective spells with his own wand. But he hadn't tried to reassure them. They would die.

"Lily…" he whispered. Stroking her hair lovingly, "Lily, let's go to bed. It is late, and there is still tomorrow."

But after that? He did not know.

She nodded once into his shoulder, pulled back and set her mouth in a firm line. Her eyes were slightly red, but the strength was back in her breast. She smiled at him, and it was not bitter or sad.

"Let's watch Harry for a little while," she said, "He's so sweet when he sleeps."

"So long as we don't wake him." James smiled softly.

They snuffed out the candle and headed upstairs, to where Harry slept alone in his crib. There was a window in his room, facing towards the sleepy village. James looked out it once and a while, and when he did, it filled him with a sense of nostalgia. Sometimes he felt like he was already dead, being separated from the world like this. It was hard, though he was surrounded by loved ones, to live in Godric's Hollow. He missed the strangers and the cities. He missed peace, innocence, and Hogwarts, most of all.

"Come, sweet." Lily said, ushering him over to the crib.

He obeyed, tearing his gaze from the window and curling an arm around his wife. They did not sleep that night, but sat watching Harry, adoring him, appreciating him. He was so innocent, so small, so cute, so chubby, so healthy looking, so…perfect.

So alone…thought James. Who will he have to guide him?

He snapped awake quite suddenly, not remembering having sat down, nevermind falling asleep. There was a strange feeling to the air, a prickling sensation that settled on the back of James' neck, cold and wet.

He looked down at Lily, who'd woken only a moment before him. She was peering silently at the door, eyes furrowed and back rigid with the same stillness as a deer checking the bushes for wolves.

That was a horrible analogy, James shuddered. It brought to mind horrible slaughter, incomprehensible pain, and suddenly he was imagining what it would feel like, having their family torn apart, like a man being rid of his limbs, one by one, until there was nothing left, nothing-

Harry would live. He had to live.

James glanced briefly outside, checking the horizon, but there was no golden glow to the mountaintops. He looked down at his hand with a strange, slow sensation, as though he was moving under water. His palm looked sickly green in the light; shadows danced off his still fingertips.

Lily rose from her seat the same instant he spotted it-

The Dark Mark. Here! What was this? How had they- It was too soon! It was too late! How-

"They come." Was all Lily said.

Her eyes remained fixed on the door, and he realized that they'd both unconsciously situated themselves in front of Harry. He would live. They would live.

"Lily, quick, firecall Albus, I'll head them off downstairs."

It was a testament to her strength that she did not argue. She turned, hair dull in the green gloom. He was struck with the sick thought that it made her look dead, but he shook it off and tore the door open. The hinges creaked in protest.

"Mister Potter,"

His first reaction was to stop, to gape, despite all the training and conditioning they had done. He felt his abdomen go strangely slack, and his arms tingle with numbness.

This was fear, he realized. It was nothing like owling his father after he'd failed his first test, or leaning over the end of the broom, your entire body held steady by nothing but your arm, trying to get that extra inch over your opponent, on his knee, proposing to Lily, thinking, what if she says no, what am I worth then?

This was different.

"I come here without meaning you harm, in a gesture of peace, if you will. Hand over the boy, and I will do you no harm. I wish to make things as easy as possible, for all of us."

He held out his hand as though he was negotiating a business transaction, but his palm was upturned, expecting payment. Lily, James noticed, was frozen in the corner, whether by fear or magic, he didn't know.

Words caught in James' throat. He tried to speak something heartening, something like, "I would die, bastard, before I would give my son to you! I will die, and I will take you with me!"

What came out instead was fatal.

"Stupe-"

And then he died. The room was flushed in that vibrant, sickly green, and Voldemort moved his cold, red eyes from James' corpse to Lily. Seeing her husband had spurred her into action, and she took Harry up in her arms, shielding him as she backed slowly to the fireplace.

"You still have something to live for, if only you hand over the child. You have Black, and Dumbledore, and that werewolf. You could patch things up with your sister, I hear you and Snape ha-"

The name Snape caused her chest to flush with shame and despair. The betrayal burned in the back of her throat, and she let her eyes fall, for a moment, on her husband's corpse. A whimper escaped her lips. He'd been right, all along…

Damn Voldemort! Damn him!

"Don't you dare talk about him! You're inhuman! You're heartless! You're worthless! Don't you dare…don't you…"

His left brow rose, miming the questioning lift of an eyebrow.

"Don't what? Discuss the wishes of my third in command?" he laughed cruelly, "He's quite useful, you know. And so would you be…or, you could just live, go somewhere far away, relax and live in denial…or you could die."

He looked at the point of his wand in boredom, twisting it in the air as he rested his elbow on his other arm. His red eyes bored into her, almost as though he was actually awaiting her word.

She placed Harry in his crib, bent down to kiss his chubby little cheek, ruffle the tuft of unruly black hair on his head…

When she turned around, it was with her wand raised, but Voldemort was not there, only a shining, green light, and screaming, she could hear screaming…was that her?

HARRY!

There was a dull thud as she crumbled to the ground. Voldemort stepped over her, kicked her hair away in irritation as it curled around his ankle. Her head snapped sideways unnaturally, but she was already dead.

Harry had started to cry. He made soft little gasps of despair, not really understanding and yet somehow knowing. He was a smart child, too bad he was dead.

Voldemort stopped, his hip pressed against the edge of the crib as he looked at the toddler. Harry took a deep gulp, and, with the courage unique to newborns and elderly, looked death in the eyes. A wand arm faltered imperceptibly. Eyes glinted smartly in the morning glow, like emeralds, almost.

There was a flash of green light, and Voldemort died.

His body fell to the ground, but, as though only his soul held his pale skin to his brittle bones, only robes landed on the floor of that little bedroom in Godric's Hollow. Chalk filled the air like dust, and settled on the shelves to make everything seem old, old as memories.

Little Harry started to cry again, his small hands rubbing at his cheeks, grasping the bed sheets, reaching for his mother. He cried for his parents, but they did not come. Instead, a great, lumbering giant entered the room an hour later, to pick up the child on a loud, rickety motorcycle that took them away into the night sky.

He had dreams about that motorcycle. He remembered that it was red…that was all he remembered, really. That and the colour green. It was probably the street light.