Authors Note: Hopefully this chapter was worth the wait. I'm trying to develop a story that isn't a cliché in the realm of wrong BWL stories.

Warnings: Not really. Very, very, mild gore?

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

31/10/1981 Samhain

Voldemort stood outside the Potter's residence, watching the neighbourhood children pass by in costume, laughing and smiling.

Beside him were Lucius and the Rosier, who were polyjuiced as children. They were both blond and both dressed up- Lucius as a vampire and Evan as a cowboy. Voldemort himself was dressed in a long black cloak and holding his wand, which had been transfigured to look like a scythe. They were the most mundane and common costumes Lucius could think of, and looking at the sea of near identical costumes in front of him, Voldemort could only agree.

They had forgone illusionary magic as a means to hide themselves as a result of the many wards that surrounded the area and Moody's ever watchful eye. Aside from Dumbledore, Pettigrew and the two mutts, only Mad-eye had been given the house's secret.

Currently, Wormtail was inside babysitting the children while the two Potter's went on a date. As always when the elder Potter's ventured out- Moody secretly watched the house on Dumbledore's orders. Dumbledore was not as trusting as he would have you believe, but neither was Pettigrew as stupid. It had been Pettigrew that realised he was being watched, and Pettigrew that had worked out the man's schedule.

In about one minute, Moody would apparate home to have a shower, take a pepper-up, and swallow a nutrient potion. He would return in 10 minutes, as he always did, and settle down for the rest of the night until the Potters came home.

A cracking noise came from behind them, and they turned around to see the lights in the main bedroom flick on.

This was the signal, and as he saw it, Voldemort reversed the transfiguration on his wand. They had timed it perfectly, and just before they stepped into the wards, the polyjuice potion on his two followers wore off.

They stepped into the house to find Wormtail waiting calmly, and with a deep bow and whispered greeting, he began to lead them up the stairs and towards the nursery. Lucius stopped several feet before the door, and began remove the anti-apparation and Portkey wards that layered the house. Evan stood beside him, swaying back and forth as he found loopholes in the wards against malicious harm.

Wormtail stood a respectful distance away from the door, and was looking towards the ceiling with glossy eyes. Voldemort let him be- he had already knocked out the house elves.

He ran thin fingers over the names on the door, mouthing the names of the children he had come to kill, and stepped inside as it swung open. It closed behind him silently.

There were two children, and of the two, one was awake. It was standing steadily on small feet, and looking directly at him. As he watched, something cracked in the blankness of its gaze, and it reached out a tiny hand.

It opened its mouth and nothing came out, but all of a sudden the Dark Lord felt so very sad. He found himself picking the child up and holding it close, and as soon as he touched it something inside of him clicked into place. He looked at the child incredulously, but its eyes had closed and it was sleeping peacefully.

He reached within himself, and again he felt the connection that was forming.

This boy-Hadrian, if Wormtail was to be believed- was his son now as surely as he was the Potters. He could feel his magic reaching out to soothe Hadrian's, and make its own mark on the boy. He watched in horrified awe as the rune sowilo was carved onto the baby's head, and all at once knew what had happened.

He himself had Hagl carved on the sole of his foot. He was what would destroy the earth, before a better one could arise. He was hail and sleet and bitter, unyielding determination.

It was conceivable that Hadrian, who had been marked by lightning and sun, would destroy him. Perhaps he might have once, if Voldemort had left him to himself. But Voldemort could feel his magic- somehow; Hadrian was as dark as he was. He would banish night, and bring hope- but not to the side he might have.

He placed the child down next to his brother, and gently wiped the blood from his forehead. Their magic was still mingling and merging, and Voldemort was wary of disrupting the tentative link between them.

He looked at the other child, a normal looking child by general standards, and sighed as he slid a dagger from his sleeve. By now he was sure that the prophecy had spoken of Hadrian, but he would kill the other twin to be sure. He could accept Hadrian living as his equal, but he would not contemplate the other.

He pressed the tip of the dagger against the base of the boy's throat and was about to push down when the house shook.

The door slammed open and Lucius came running in.

"We must leave my Lord! There was an unseen failsafe in the portraits- one of the landscapes was occupied!"

Voldemort spun around quickly, dragging the dagger raggedly across the child's throat as he did so. He looked down at the bleeding, choking child and the one his magic had marked, and hissed angrily.

He was about to pick up Hadrian and disapperate, but the sensory Portkey in his pocket activated before he could do so. His wand fell out of his sleeve as tried to exert his will over the magic and delay it for a couple of seconds, but he was sent spiralling away to his manor before he could do anything, and once he landed, he collapsed screaming to the floor.

The link between Hadrian and himself was too raw to withstand what had just happened. He felt blood pour from his ears and eyes as he tried to hold the worst of the damage back from the boy, but he could still feel the child's pain echoing down the bond.

He bit through his tongue and spit it out onto a horrified Lucius's feet as he tried to keep from screaming. Slowly, he could feel the boy's magic draining as it struggled to keep their link steadied from his side, and nothing his own steadily weakening magic could do would help.

He clutched at himself, digging jagged holes in his sleeves and skin as he tried desperately to pump magic towards the boy- to save the child he had only just found; to bind the child to him again.

Something foreign in him was terrified at the idea of losing him.

Voldemort felt the boy's connection flicker and dim, and with a chilling scream he opened every path to magic he had, and pushed it in one last wave towards the boy. Somewhere in his body, something cracked loudly, and he fell into unconsciousness.

Slowly, haltingly, the bond slid back into place.

XxX

Dumbledore was the first to arrive at the Potters, followed quickly by Lily, James and Sirius. They ventured cautiously through the front door, and started running towards the nursery when they heard both twins screaming.

The nursery door was wide open, leaving a clear path to the twins.

Charles was sitting and crying frantically; he was covered in blood and breathing with horrible, gurgling gulps. Lily ran to him and swiftly vanished the blood, running downstairs to the floo before anyone could stop her. They heard her yell 'St Mungos', before a whooshing noise announced her exit.

Equally alarming was Harry, who was in a corner of the crib, sobbing painfully. The wooden post that was near his head was splintered and covered in blood. Sirius picked him up gently and attempted to hand him to James, but his friend had already left to follow his wife. He ignored his heavy heart and burning eyes, and took his tiny Godson to the hospital himself. He tried not to look at the mangled sight that was Harry's face, but he couldn't help it. He cried the whole way.

Left alone, Dumbledore could feel the magic that saturated the air. On the floor was a long, knotted wand Dumbledore knew to be Voldemort's, which he summoned to himself without touching. He placed it gingerly in his robes, and sighed to himself as he made his way out of the room and to the fireplace.

He would need to visit the twins and see which one had been the one to vanquish Voldemort before the evidence faded. He needed to be certain.

Tonight was one for celebration, but for now, he must work.

XxX

It had been two days since Halloween, and Dumbledore was sitting with Lily and James in his office.

Charles lay quietly sleeping in a bassinet beside Lily.

He had spent the last 72 hours examining every piece of evidence that had presented itself, scouring his library for long forgotten books, and studying the two children extensively. He hadn't eaten, had barely slept, and had survived on Potions made by an equally tired Severus Snape. He finally felt he could give the Potters, and consequently the world, the answer to a very important question.

"Charles is the chosen one."

James looked ecstatic, but Lily seemed cautious.

"Are you sure, Headmaster? It would be a very terrible mistake if you were wrong."

James looked Lily with an expression of acute horror, and Dumbledore smothered his own anger at her impertinence.

"He bears all of the signs. All evidence points to it being him."

Slowly Lily's face relaxed, and she settled in to James's side quietly.

"What evidence professor?" Asked James, wrapping one arm carefully around his relieved wife.

"Firstly, and perhaps most importantly, he bears the mark Tyr on his neck. He will be a God among men- a pillar to look up to. Voldemort may not have meant to, but he marked him in our favour.

Secondly, his magic may only be average for his age group, but it is uncommonly pure. I assume his acting as the dominant twin in the womb had something to do with that, and I have no doubt it will increase in power as he grows.

In contrast, his brother was not marked in any visible manner. The scars on his face are as a result of being thrown multiple times into the bedpost. It is amazing that he lived through the torture, but not a miracle. In addition, his magical level was well below average, and only just above squib level. It is also uncommonly dark."

He waved his hands at the Potter's worried looks and continued to speak.

"I believe that both twins would have been neutral in magic, if not for Charles achieving dominance over Hadrian in the womb. Charles siphoned the light magic from his brother, and pushed his own darkness into him. He must have had very little darkness to begin with if Hadrian is so magically weak.

I can find no reason that contradicts my conclusion, but if either of you can think of something, please tell me now."

James said nothing, but Lily spoke up quietly.

"What if Harry did it, but it used up most of his magic?"

Dumbledore nodded, and explained further.

"Voldemort was vanquished by an unformed, unintelligible wish for him be vanquished. There was no spell, no words and no moulding of magic. When such an unconscious form of magic is utilised, it commonly draws from the environment around the person. Only spoken spells directed with a wand or wandless magic of intense focus depletes the magical core.

Research suggests that children below four are not capable of such controlled wandless magic, and neither child had a wand or the words to utilise it. It seems that Charles felt the impurity of Voldemort's magic, and must have unconsciously drawn energy from his surroundings to vanquish him. It would have made no difference to his magical core size, just as it would have made no difference to Harrys."

Lily smiled and nodded, finally giving in to the excitement inside of her. Beside her, James squeezed her knee in equal elation.

Charles was the chosen one.

Two months later.

Harry had finally been allowed to leave the hospital. His brother had left a day after he had arrived, with a cauterised scar and a chocolate frog. James had not let them remove it.

Harry had been given extensive doses of skele-gro for his shattered skull, which had to be altered constantly due to his age. His skin had been grown back and the mess of ruptured organs that were discovered had been carefully treated and nurtured back to health.

He looked almost exactly as he had before, except for the small scar near his hairline that the medi-wizards had not been able to fix. It had been the deepest present, carving into his skull, and had bled constantly. Apparently it had etched itself onto his genetic makeup somehow and even when they tried to regrow the skin, it appeared again, though fainter than before. Eventually, they had left it.

Harry didn't mind- it was barely noticeable anyway. Somehow, it comforted him.

Sirius and Severus had come to pick him up, and he enjoyed their awkward silence as they took him the long way home. They had both visited him every second day or so in the hospital, but never together. Harry was young, but he appreciated it.

His parents had visited five times. All five times had been for the purposes of paperwork.

As children do, he was looking forward to the comfort his parents brought, even if he wished it was more like the comfort they gave Charles.

He had no idea that everything had changed, but he would soon.

Within a few days, he would yearn for the simple kindness of the nurses in white.

End Flashback.

The elves knew that something had changed.

Nap- the elf that usually brought Hadrian his meals and books- had been replaced by an older elf called Marrow. She was the only female elf the Potter's owned, and had been alive since Hadrian's great-grandparents had lived in the manor. She was the only one to speak with the inflection and intelligence of a wizard, and had managed to turn her pillowcase into a makeshift uniform. Usually, she trained and guided the younger elves, and generally kept out of sight and mind of the current Potters.

Sometimes older elves could be traded for younger ones; younger elves were sprightlier and more hardy- but older elves had a more potent magic. Their skin and organs were saturated in magic that increased the potency of several potions, and they were quite valuable as ingredients on the black market.

Marrow did not think that the Potters would give her such a fate, but it was still a fear that all house elves had.

Unbeknownst to the Potters, Marrow had sent Nap to work in the kitchens, and had given herself permission to watch the boy. The Potters had made no rules forbidding such conduct, and she seized upon their loose words with the certainty of a being with iron determination.

Currently, she was watching from the shadows as the young Master sat on his bed reading an old book on muggle fairy-tales. The Potters allowed him to read as much as he wanted, but they refused to buy books specifically for him. His only choices were his brother's childish comics, or the dry books from his parent's library. The fairy-tale book was the only one that was slightly appropriate for an intelligent and intellectually hungry six year old.

She watched as he sighed and placed the finished book beside him, and stared blankly at the ceiling in boredom. His head was turned slightly towards the window, where the sounds of his brother's laughter could be heard. Every now and then, the shadow of two people flying would pass over the room, and Hadrian's own expression would darken as well.

Slowly, she stepped out of the shadows, and cleared her throat.

"Young Master Harry, sir. I is Marrow, your new elf."

Hadrian didn't jump, but he sat up quickly and pierced her with a hard stare.

"Nap was being sent to the kitchens to work, Young Master. Marrow is more suited to Master Harry now."

Hadrian stood carefully and walked over to her with smooth steps, stopping in front of her and crouching sightly. He looked deeply into her wide blue eyes for a long while, and then gently smiled a small smile. Shadows she hadn't noticed before leisurely unravelled from her own, and disappeared back into Hadrian's.

She felt warmth bloom within her at the sight, and smiled gladly back at him. Hadrian gently took her hand and led her to the bed where he gestured that they should sit together, facing each other on the blankets. She did so- determined to make a good impression- and was startled when he spoke.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms Marrow," he rasped.

She tried to speak against the use of an honorific in front of her name, but with a firm slicing motion, he stopped her.

"You are a mother?" he asked.

She nodded.

"A mate?"

She nodded again.

"You work hard, you are loved and you deserve respect. You are Ms Marrow."

She felt tears decades old boil in her eyes and fall over her cheeks, and she began shaking her head and trying to pull her hand from his- but he wouldn't let go. This meeting wasn't going how she had expected at all, and it was distressing. He reached over and gently dried her eyes with the sleeve of his shirt and waited patiently for her to stop.

She felt appalled that she had let the kind words of a child reduce her to tears, but she reminded herself with a quick look into cold eyes that he was no mere child.

Now calm, she whispered her thanks, and patted his knee with a wrinkled hand.

"You are here for a reason." He stated.

She nodded, and felt excitement and anxiety build in her again.

"Young Master Harry has finally accepted his mark," she said. "Marrow is here to help."

Hadrian reached a hand up to rub absently at the scar on his forehead and let his shadows seep out and embrace him, turning his hair into a riotous blaze of flickering, back flames.

He looked over at Marrow when she gasped, and asked her something he had been thinking of for a long time.

"You know what this means?" He said, gesturing at the scar.

She nodded and sat up on her knees, reaching out tremulous hands to touch it gently. The shadows engulfed her in warmth as she touched them, and she smiled a toothy smile.

"Master Harry has been touched by old magic he has. Master Harry is the sun now. He is the day."

Harry looked at her blankly, before turning to his shadows with an ironic expression and raising an eyebrow.

She laughed loudly and sat back down, all but bouncing in place.

"Sig, Master Potter, or Sowilo as the wizards call it, is a rune that promises hope, protection and victory. It is the triumph of day over night and Summer over Winter. Just because you are the sun Master Potter doesn't mean you are of the light. The light wizards already have a sun. It's the dark wizards that need one. And there be other creatures that need one too."

She flushed and avoided eye contact.

"You have been chosen you have, by magic."

Hadrian said nothing, and sat quietly processing all that he had been told. He couldn't do much about his apparent responsibilities now but ensure he lived with an open mind. In time, he imagined he might be able to do something about them if he wished, but currently his biggest worry was his upcoming disinheritance.

Still, if he was marked by magic, why hadn't it been present at birth? He asked Marrow this, and was rewarded by an answer he had not been expecting.

"Mr Dark Lord was chosen first he was. But he was too much ice in an already cold community. Magic gave him you, to melt the cold and make life."

He was beyond dumfounded at the reply, and had no idea what to say or do. He had a vague recollection of surprised red eyes, and tenderness, then horrible, mind rending pain.

It was too much for him to comprehend, even as developed as he was. He began shaking unconsciously, until gentle shadows and old hands lay him down. He heard a voice singing in a strange language and felt fingers stroke his hair, and eventually- he fell asleep.

XxX

In Malfoy manor, an alarm sounded.

Lucius dropped his book in alarm, before realising what it meant, and thanked Merlin that Narcissa had taken Draco to France for a week.

He wasted no time on adjusting his appearance, and ran swiftly towards the blue wing with an anxious heart. He stopped in front of the furthermost guest room, took a moment to brace himself, and opened the door.

On the bed, in the centre of the room, lay the Dark Lord. Ever since That Night he had been comatose. Not even mediwizards could help him, bar fixing the other strange injuries he had sustained. They hadn't been able to locate a problem, and had left frustrated, confused and obliviated.

Lucius had taken him from the Riddle Manor, and brought him to his own home, so that he could better watch over him. He had told none of the Dark Lord's location, and had decided on letting the reassuring sting of the mark speak for itself.

He hurried over to the bed, intent on checking for deterioration before calling for help, when he noticed something astonishing.

The Dark Lord was awake.

A/N

Sensory Portkey: One that goes of in certain situations, not at a specified time.

I'm sure there are different interpretations of the Runes I chose, but below are the explanations I based mine on. I can't remember the site I got them from.

Hagl

Hail is hard and cold and destructive. But unlike the destructive force of thorn this is not a chaotic force but a natural one, part of the order of the world. After the destruction the hail turns to water, nourisher of man and crops alike. This is an important lesson to the athling. Everything is a tool. Everything furthers. Even something so totally destructive and harmful as hail leaves something usable behind. When this lesson is grasped in fullness it can be seen that there is no failure, for every loss is an opportunity for gain. Even a complete failure offers the knowledge of what not to do in the future, and so brings the athling one step closer to success. Striving leads to failure, failure leads to wisdom, wisdom leads to maturity, maturity leads to success. When a thing is broken into pieces the opportunity, which did not exist before, comes into being of being able to build a new, stronger thing in its place.

Tyr

Tyr was originally held highest among the gods, the original sky-father, supplanted in this position by Odin at a later date. He is a warrior god. He is a god of martial skill, moral rectitude, honour, law, social order, bravery, and absolute justice. He is a god who values the letter of one's word as the heart of honour. His unyielding, inflexible nature gives him great power and skill in battle. It gives him high standing in society, honour, and renown. There are disadvantages to this approach as well, though. That which cannot bend can be broken. Great, unswerving focus can bring great strength, but it can bring many missed opportunities. To see only the road ahead is to not see those to the side.

Sig

This rune is the rune of the sun's rays. A guide, a hope, a protector, banisher of the night, destroyer of ice, sig is the active power of the sun. The vikings may also have seen the sun's rays and the lightning bolt as being the same phenomenon. In any case this is a rune of victory for the forces of weal; The triumph of day over night, of summer over winter. As the athling strives towards victory, he or she should know how to obtain it.