Warnings: Graphic Depiction of domestic abuse and character death

Origins

July 31st, 1987

Lady Annabelle Polos had the traditional French Pureblood features: doe eyes with green irises, blonde and beautiful, delicate facial structure. Her family had been strong supporters of Grindwald's reign of terror and had their wealth seized by the French magical government. With only fading beauty and an heiress to a side branch of Ravenclaw to her name, she was not wealthy by the British pureblood standard. Yet, she had been lucky enough to be wed to the notorious Traitor of the Light, James Potter. She hadn't known much about Lord Potter's previous wife, but it was rumoured that it was a love match – deeded by magic herself.

She had planned everything according to what her mother and her pureblood tradition had pushed towards: bear an heir to keep your husband close. Yet on her wedding night, Annebelle was left with a reddening handprint on the cheek and an empty bed. Her desperate search for an answer to Lord Potter's scorn of her womanly body had led her to the horrible conclusion: Lord Potter married her as a pale imitation of his late wife. The humiliation of being unworthy compared to a mere mud-blood was unbearable! The day after Annabelle had married Lord Potter, he had threatened her with blackmail, and worse, divorce if she did not sign a two-year magical contract for the marriage.

The magical contract outline a deadline of two years to bear a heir to the house of Potter. If she was found to be sterile or unable to produce the fruits of their marriage, James Potter would be able to take on a mistress and to produce a heir. Her title as Lady Potter would be a mere crown of false gold; the mistress would be showered in attention if she was able to win the affection of Lord Potter. And Annabelle would be cast out of the house of Potter through a divorce. A divorce with a lord of an Ancient and Noble house meant she was unfit for any other pureblood whom had a sense of dignity. The Ravenclaw line would be destined to die completely in the magical world. Rowena Ravenclaw's famed abilities to see and store the knowledge of her ancestors would be lost forever.

During her first year of marriage, Annabelle had consulted many healers specialized in extensive glamours. Her efforts to imitate Lord Potter's beau, Lily Evan, was futile; she could never maintain the fiery Griffindor nature of the red-head beauty. Each time she tried to seduce her wayward husband had ended in harsh insults and physical violence. In the end, she had tried love potions and compulsion spells, but Lord Potter was hopelessly in love with his mudblood wife's memory – even after he had presented her corpse to Lord Voldemort along with the remains of what was assumed to be his unborn child. None had dared to check the infant's corpse; a magical child was considered to be precious in the world of pure-bloods – even one that was tainted by the blood of an impure.


She had to get sperm from another source: by masturbating her husband in his slumber and impregnating herself via a corrupted medical healer and Lord Potter's seed. However, all best laid plans would eventually go wrong. She had not planned for the boy in the attic. James Potter had secretly switched his son with a recently-proclaimed stillborn child and raised his son in secrecy. Her child would never be the heir of the Potter fortune - always the spare.

Her curiosity got the better of her and she had went up to the attic. Amidst the highly-piled clutter of old relics of the Potter family, there was an innocuous wooden door hidden among the large stacks. The door had clicked, and with an eerily creak from the door, Annabelle laid her eyes upon a dirty and disheveled little boy playing in a far too small bed. A locked window let in the only source of light and showed the skinny figure of the child. Black hair almost covered his eyes, and yet, the boy's eyes burned a malicious green. The devilish pale lips spoke with a bare whisper and answered her accusations of treason:

"Papa?"

Her hatred of Lily Potter and her spawn muddled her rational mind with thoughts of murder and mindless rage.

She would have her revenge if it meant that she would destroy herself in the process.


The nursery room was painted cherry red with griffins and dragons. Numerous toys and stuffed animals packed the weak shelves, as if to guard the person inside – or imprison. The silence in nursery was eerie. Today was Lady Annabelle Marie Potter nee Polos's day to give birth. Her victory was empty of joy and accomplishment; Healer Maxwell or what used to be Healer Maxwell was sprayed across the wall. Bits and pieces of the healer dyed the walls of the nursery's cherry red walls into a dark crimson colour. A disheveled-looking man with his cracked glasses sneered at Lady Annabelle. The pregnant woman was backing into the wall as if to hide herself from the threat. His voice cracked with condemn and disgust as he spoke, "Did you think I would not know?!"

After the crazed man had killed the healer with a quick 'Bombarda', Annabelle shook in silence as the mahogany wand pointed at her.

"Please- James, Not my baby!" She wailed. Her voice was laced with a bit of hysteria as she used her arms as a shield against her husband.

"You thought you had all the chess pieces in your hands, didn't you?" Lord Potter muttered.

"What do you mean?! This is our baby!"

"No, it isn't. Maxwell gladly took all of your jewelry – which I gave you! - and implanted the flower of an all-too-greedy-for-gold half-blood! And he bragged about it all at the local pub. Your reputation and the family name is all tarnished! All. Because. Of. You." A faint coat of red blemished the righteous Potter's face while he had raised his voice in a darker tone. In that moment, Annabelle realized she was nothing to the man - not worth the time or effort to even engage in a conversation. All her efforts were useless. James was, in reality, a pure mad man who chased after the dream of his dead wife.

Annabelle's tears defiled her once graceful beauty as she quietly begged, "Please spare me! Please! I'll do anything. Just don't kill me!" Lady Annabelle's sobs echoed through the room as she grovelled in a desperate attempt for mercy from her stone-faced husband.

"You are lucky that I am proficient in memory charms. No one will find out about your bastard child. But I want one thing in return." Lord Potter growled.

"Papa, what's going on?" A little boy of barely 7 peeked into the opened door.

"Nothing, my little Prongslet." Her husband sung sweetly. "Your stepmother wishes to give your birthday present." His eyes told a different story – one of malice and animosity to the now kneeling woman. He quickly glamoured the walls back to the previously unstained state. His mouth whispered, "You will give your blood to adopt my boy, and in exchange, you shall not suffer for your sins at the hands of Lady Magic."

Unused to long exercise, the boy stumbled into the room with a pair of heaving lungs. "H-hi, my name is Harry. Um- Mum." The boy introduced himself as he braced himself against his father's strong build. He was taller than Annebelle had last seen him in the attic; he looked just like a miniature of Lord Potter complete with the signature unruly hair. Meanwhile, James had already prepared the blood adoption; a potion, a parchment listing the ritual and Annabelle's wand were already in his inner robe pockets.

"Kneel before your mum, Harry." James demanded sharply.

"Okay, papa." The unruly-haired replied.

The little boy kneeled and shuffled closer to the pregnant blonde on the floor.

Harry asked in a timid voice, "Now, what?"

Jame pointed his wand at Annabelle and place the instructional parchment and the wand in the middle of the two. He then stood near the wall as a witness to the ritual. As silent as a stag in the forest, his breath is the sole indication that he was still in the room.

Annabelle quickly glanced fearfully at her stoic husband before skimmed the ritual parchment. Annabelle's voice quivered as she read the parchment, emphasizing each word with magical intent:

"Hecate, Mother of Witchcraft and Goddess of All Magic,

Please give me the strength to bind this child

To my blood and my magic."

With shaking hands, Annabelle used her rosewood wand to 'Diffindo' her left wrist to open a superficial wound. Dabbing her right index finger in blood, she then placed a line of her own blood upon Harry's brow. After a few moments, the streak of blood glowed with unnatural glimmer of golden signifying the tell-tale magic's blessing to this ritual.

She then continued:

"Do you, Harry James Potter, Son of James Charles Potter of the House of Potter, Griffindor and Evans

Do swear to up hold the blood and all the duties

Of the House of Polos and Ravenclaw?"

Harry's voice trembled with awe and replied, "I do."

"Then by Blood and Magic,

You, Harry James Potter,

Shall be reborn as my son,

Haedus Erichthonius Potter."

Lady Annabelle then used the remaining blood from her wound to place two streaks of the burgundy substance onto each of the boy's cheekbones. The room was suddenly filled with speckles of gold and green magic entwining into the young Potter heir. Harry's hair grew tamer and held unearthly green tint to the ebony locks. However, he still held Lily's green eyes and developed a more visible doe eye feature; he looked hauntingly similar to a changeling or a high-elfish prince.

Time stood still for them as the newly-christen son and mother laid in solemn silence. A lone dribble of loud clapping interrupted the two's quiet celebration. Singling out newly-dubbed 'Haedus', James congratulated his son with a grateful smile, "Happy Birthday, m' boy."

"And you, Annabelle, may leave. I will up hold my bargain and annul our magical contract."

"Thank you! Thank you!" Lady Potter grovelled. She dipped her head and pulling herself up again, trying to stand on her swollen ankles. When she finally stood up in front of her husband, James already had his slim mahogany wood out and recited one of his favorite dark spells: 'Sectumsempra'. The spell hit right in the middle of Annabelle's baby bump; invisible swords shredded both the mother and the unborn bastard child. Annabelle choked on her breathe as the spell tore through her lungs. Blood and bits of pale skin painted the nursery, adding to the unsettling artwork of gore which the slowly corroding glamour spell revealed. She fell to her knees with soft thump. Her wand dropped a few feet from her hand as she clutched her stomach in agony.

"Father! What are you doing to Mother!" Haedus screamed, still on the floor. His face was completely covered in Annabelle's blood now. The blood trickled down to his hands as he went to wipe his face in horror.

"Shut up. Take your potion." James snarled. His handsome face contorted as he forced his shocked son to drink the bitter Permanent De-aging Potion. Haedus shrieked for his mother feebly as his body convulsed in unbearable pain. He started to rapidly shrink out of his already small robes. A few seconds later, faint gurgling noises could be hear from the pile of discarded robe.

"Y-you promise." Annabelle gasped. "How could you do this? To us?"

She attempted to crawl to her wand for some protection. But James already had gotten to her rosewood wand first. He smiled viciously as he snapped his wife's wand.

"Oh, Annabelle. Sweet, gullible Annabelle, no one leaves the house of Potter with a divorce. The only way out was death." James answered with grim satisfaction. He gave a swift kick to Annabelle's abdominal wound and was pleased when she dropped to the ground, groaning with pain. As Annabelle laid dying in her own blood, she heard James' voice calling for his young bastard servant: "Willow, clean the nursery room. I will tend personally to my son."

The noise from her villainous husband's shoes faded along with the gurgles from his de-aged son. If Annabelle was not so full of rage, she would have pitied the boy for living a damned life. But the boy – no, her son – would avenge her. Lady Magic would see to that. Annabelle thought with fading strength.

"Avada Kedavra." The young servant whispered with horror. Her unsteady wand was pointed at Annebelle's shuddering form which was in the midst of a miscarriage.

Annabelle's green irises reflected bright emerald just as she died.


July 25, 1998; Present Day

Clank!

Pale eyelids fluttered open to reveal bright green irises. Haedus gasped for air when he awoke in the Room; his mind was still haze from starvation and night terrors. His body was covered in sweat and filth, yet he felt as if he had discovered a terrible secret. He had saw through her eyes and felt her death. He was too accustomed to the nightmares to even scream now. Visions were not uncommon as he grew older; hazy dreams of a red-eyed man filled his nightmares. But it was a first to see into the past – to see his formerly faceless mother.

The metal door had opened. Willow's heels clicked quietly towards him.

"Young Master." The stoic female reached out with her arms to embrace him. "Forgive me."

As if Willow's touch was corrosive, he flinched and muttered, "I'm fine."

"Nonsense." Willow carried Haedus' petite form out of the room, knowing that his legs would have given out from exhaustion.

"A bath, little lord?" she finally addressed in front of the bathroom door.

She then opened the door to display a brown double sink cabinet, white in-set tub, which was able to fit easily four individuals, and a glass shower. The white marble walls were etched with runes to warm the occupants of the room. Willow proceeded to untie the knots on his arms and ankles with motherly care. After undressing the heir, she muttered, 'accio clean towels' and tapped her wand on Haedus' dirty braid to unravel it. White fluffy towels zoomed into the room. The maid then folded them into a neat stack on the counter.

She curtsied with respect and asked, "I hope you are not too unwell from the ordeal?"

"I said I was fine. You are dismissed. You can station Hermione in front of the door if you want. I just want some peace." Haedus declared in a bored tone with a wave of his hand. His voice came out as a hoarse and raspy tone, unlike his usual melodious tenor.

"Of course, young Lord. Shall I send for a house-elf's assistance?"

"Just tell Hermione to assist me. I rather not see anyone else." The irritated boy snubbed. He did not have the patience to deal with a moronic elf after his punishment as well as hearing pathetic excuses from one of his captors. The brunette nodded and left Haedus after opening the hot water and bubble-bath taps.

The warm, comforting water rose as Haedus struggled to get into the tub, moving his stiff limbs awkwardly. With a hiss of pain, he inspected his body and was pleased to find less injuries than usual. But still, his neck and parts of his arms were in angry red blisters and welts. His legs were less so.

Haedus suspected that the easy treatment was so because of his upcoming eleventh birthday.

Knock! Knock!

He heard the door open slightly. Hermione's frizzy bob popped into view as she nervously asked, "Do you need any help?"

"Yes. Come in."

The girl was dressed in Willow's old servant garment - a short-sleeved black robe trimmed with faded white lace. She awkwardly shuffled inside and locked the door. She tried to stifle a gasp of shock at Haedus' blemished skin before muttering a polite 'Sorry'.

The ebony haired boy rolled his eyes and demanded, "Get the Bruise and Bumps potion, Aches and Pains elixir and the healing balm. They're in the cabinet and are clearly labeled. Pour the Bruise potion in the bath and give me the elixir to drink."

After a few clacking of potion bottles, Hermione clutched two crystal bottles and a wooden container. The brunette stuttered, "I think these are the right ones."

"Smell them. The bruise-healing potion is supposed to smell strongly of Comfrey; it has a spicy aroma. The healing balm will have a hint of peppermint to it and the elixir has a rubbing alcohol smell. Remember it well." Haedus instructed as he propped himself upright.

"Why are you being so, well, nice to me?" Hermione asked shyly before pouring the bruise-healing potion into the water. The soapy water turns a cheerful shade of lavender. "I mean, Willow just pushes me to do things that either end up badly for me or punishes me."

"Willow's like that. She gets that from my father." The heir said absently. "I treat people better because they are more eager to help me in return. Plus, you're considered my life companion already. And I don't want a stupid one like Crabbe and Goyle."

Hermione's smile shone a tad brighter as he spoke, and replied, "I'm glad that you're the one person who seems like a great chap."

Haedus smirked faintly before asking, "If you really wish to repay me for my services, I would suggest you grab Bathida Bagshot's Bloodlines and Abilities for me. It's downstairs near the foyer and you can't miss the bright red cover on the stand."

Hermione eagerly went away partially because she was unused to seeing a male bathing. The clicks of the brunette's heels faded away and Haedus stretched his arms wide. He felt two pops from his body before starting to add more soap to the tub.

Sometimes it is more helpful to be nice to people. Haedus thought as he lounged around in the therapeutic water.

Hermione had entered the bathroom again and stated that Lord Potter would be having an important guest over at three o'clock. Hence, Haedus would not be allowed to roam the grounds as he pleases. As a consolation, Hermione had then started asking questions about magical theory; she had skimmed through the bloodlines text with much pleasure. Apparently, one of the main ideologies that the school taught them was that: white magic, and subsequently, white wizards was inherently weaker than their dark counterpart. Furthermore, "mud-bloods" had stolen magic from the pure blooded practisers, and thus, doomed to serve the superior race. Dark wizards would keep the light wizards in check less the light wizards are in trouble. That is why modern wizard society caters to the pure-bloods.

Honestly, what do they teach muggleborns these days? The Potter heir snorted mentally before correcting the biased crap of an education that Hermione was raised with.

After getting out of the tub and a long lecture with an eager Hermione on his tail, Haedus had finally gotten to his primary objective: researching his prophetic dreams. He was situated in his personal bedchambers along with the puppy-like woman. As Hermione started on braiding his hair, Haedus opened the ancient tome, "Bloodlines and Abilities" by Bathilda Bagshot, and turned to the labeled 'R' section. He was lucky that Hermione was not well versed in the household rules; Dark Arts books were forbidden to him unless Willow was reading to him. His father hated the Dark Arts but keep a few tomes for presentation.

Ravenclaw's Foresight

It was said that Rowena Ravenclaw was a product of an ingenious love match between a descendant of Morgana le Fay and an unknown male. Lady Ravenclaw had an unusual ability to know a person's past through visions. This clairvoyant ability was one of the main characteristic traits of a true descendant of Ravenclaw. Not much else is known to the House of Ravenclaw because of their hereditary ability.

Although Haedus tried not to be shocked at having a rare ability, he was amazed with this finding. The house of Ravenclaw had little fame compared to the two other founders of Hogwarts, Godric Griffindor and Salazar Slytherin. But the thought of having limitless knowledge and power at his fingertips made the pale boy titter with delight. This would be interesting indeed… perhaps I should pay a visit to Gringotts later.

Hermione gasped and mutter small words of concern as she found a red scar right in the middle of his pale neck. Haedus had to subdue her worries by saying that he had it since his birth. The two kindred spirits then talked eagerly about magical theory before their curfew.


It was past 3 o'clock. A weary old man in formal red robes checked his old watch in his modestly furnished French villa. It was a parting gift from one of his supporters and he still regretted many of what his kinsmen had suffered from the Dark regime to the west. In the past, some thought of him as a vanquisher, and now, they delude themselves into thinking that he was a crazy and dangerous man. When he goes out in muggle wear, the accusing whispers and glances from the magical folk of Bayeux, Normandy had eroded his self-confidence and shined light upon his past errors. The willful blindness which both the wizarding world and their muggle counterpart seemed to suffer from was the true cause of the people's suffering.

Albus Dumbledore sat in an exact replica of his own headmaster quarters at Hogwarts. He gazed upon his many magical instruments and his eyes twinkled at a crushed crown and his beloved companion, Fawkes the Phoenix. For a moment, he pondered about the possibility that Lord Voldemort had fallen before the Dark regime had taken over the British Isles. He had wept tears of sorrow as the Dark army had finally gotten through Hogwarts' ancient wards. Wails and whimpers could be heard from the muggleborn students as Minerva McGonagall and Filius Flitwick was forced to flee to France. Albus knew Tom still harbored an immense hatred towards all things Muggle-related and that included the muggle-borns. Oh, how true his fears were…

The weary man had shaven his beard and took a disguise of a pompous old French Noble for this important meeting. He then used the international floo to get to the Potter Manor. Bits of charcoal ash and dust soared to the air as the former headmaster arrived in the Potter Manor's parlor room. Lord Potter was already there to await Dumbledore's arrival with eager uplifted arms.

Before hugging Dumbledore, Lord Potter greeted his old headmaster with fatigued eyes and a shallow smile, "Hello, Professor."

"James, m'boy. You can call me Albus now. I'm no longer your professor or headmaster." Albus held a fond smile to his lips while he spoke to his former student.

"I'm glad that you're well. It has been a hard 17 years to convince the Dark Lord of my loyalty." James said as he scratched his scalp boyishly. "I already got Willow to prepare the afternoon tea. I couldn't risk the house elves seeing us together."

Lord Potter led Dumbledore to the formal dining room. The former headmaster took his seat at the head of the table while James had taken the seat to the right. The oak table was already filled with warm biscuits, small appetizers and tea for two.

"How is Miss. Tonks? Andromeda has been most worried about her. She keeps calling me on the telephone from Italy." Dumbledore asked with a twinkle in his eye.

"She's better now. Sometimes she still resents her mother for what she had to do."

"I'm glad. I see that Tom has been certain now where your loyalties lie now. Tom has positioned you as the second-in-command of the Dormio. Many of our own have evaded capture, thanks to your help."

James then grinned and replied, "It's all my pleasure. We have been working around the clock for a special occasion. Rumour has it that Voldemort has spawned a heir during these seven years of peace."

"Hm… I see. We will have to send people to scout out that secret."

James' hazel eyes held a distant glance to them before asking, "When I can stop imprisoning my sweet prongslet?"

"M'boy, I have went over this before. It is necessary for Harry to learn Occlumency." Dumbledore reprimanded in a grandfather-like fashion. "Voldemort-" James flinched at the name slightly before taking a cookie onto his plate. "Would harvest his mind and know of our plans to defeat him. The trama-induced protection would allow him to attend Hogwarts without suspicion and get closer to Tom as he is accepted into the Vanguards."

James tapped his cheek with a lone finger before reporting, "Harry has taken on a new muggle-born squire, by the name of Hermione Figg. The girl may hinder Britain's future. Shall I arrange an accident?" As the clouds cloaked the sun, James' face was highlighted in a menacing glow. Albus knew the Dark regime had not treated James' sanity kindly. It was a misfortune that Lily had died during Harry's birth. But it was crucial that Harry had absorbed the horcrux from the Ravenclaw's diadem. Lily already knew she had to die to give Harry a fighting chance against Voldemort.

"No, Arabella tells me that she is definitely not a spy for the Dark. Our agents in the Academy owled me information about her. Hermione may help us immensely if she is able to attend Hogwarts with other squires." Albus stroked his chin, as if in deep thought. "Which brings me to the point, Miss. Nymphadora's special abilities will help on the latest assignment…"

Before the pair conversed in quick, hushed whispers, Dumbledore had erected a strong privacy ward. It would be near five o'clock before Dumbledore would leave for France again.


A/n: Forgive me, faithful readers. I have been piled with homework, and addition to that, my mom is taking her insurance exams via online course work. So, I have not been able to get on my laptop that often to write. But 4500+ words for this chapter! -

Next – An Extended history of New Britain: An Extensive Study of the Blood Wars and the Collapse of Muggle Britain (An interlude).