Disclaimer: Neither Mr. Darcy nor Lady Beatrice are published authors, meaning they don't own the rights to anything, anywhere. From this statement, we can draw two conclusions: 1) Nothing we write here is officially canonical. 2) We receive no monetary compensation for this story. If you wish this was canon, or wish we were getting paid, thank you. :)
~~~~~~~~~~ 1976 ~~~~~~~~~~
The Dark Lord Voldemort stood impassively watching his loyal servant, Regulus Black, work with his house elf to complete the protective enchantments surrounding a pedestal, on top of which rested a softly glowing feather. He was very satisfied - finding the remains of the ancient, but long-abandoned dark haven known as Xibalba was difficult - but if it had been difficult for even the great Lord Voldemort to breach the still active defenses of the lair, so it would be for other, lesser wizards and witches. With the addition of the special ward Regulus was adding, the feather, with it's ever changing colors, would be untouchable. He was certain he had chosen his protections well.
Regulus stood back from the section of runes he had just finished inscribing into the floor of the foreboding cavern. He'd been working with Kreacher for hours and he was beginning to feel magical exhaustion lapping at the edges of his mind, but inwardly, he was delighted. All his studying and research had been acknowledged at last - the Dark Lord had noticed his talents and had brought him to this cavern to help protect a rare magical artifact. Regulus glanced back at Kreacher, who had just finished powering the last rune. It glowed a sullen reddish-gold before dimming until it was barely discernible on the rocky floor.
Regulus then spoke to the house elf, "You've done well, Kreacher. Your assistance is no longer needed. Go stand with the Dark Lord."
Kreature happily nodded at the praise and went to stand next to the imposing wizard who was waiting at the edge of the cavern. With a tremor of excitement, Regulus stepped up to the circle and began to carefully carve the last rune. Once he finished, he would have three minutes to leave the circle before the trap sprang into existence.
Kreacher waited with all his attention focused on his master. Kreature was pleased to have been able to help his beloved Master Regulus with such an important spell for the Dark Lord who Mistress Walburga admired so much. But as soon as the last rune started to glow, Kreacher knew something had gone wrong. The magic was building much faster than Master Regulus had planned. With a shudder, Kreacher desperately looked up at Master Regulus as he unsuspectingly walked towards them.
"My Lord, the enchantment is fina..."
Lord Voldemort hissed in annoyance as Regulus stopped dead only a few feet away from the edge of the enchantments. Kreacher rent the air with a high pitched wail as he realized his master was trapped.
"Be quiet, elf! You're giving me a headache." Voldemort snapped as he kicked Kreacher into silence. Voldemort drew his wand and examined the newly formed wards. Finding them as strong as he had hoped, he stepped away satisfied. The loss of the boy was regrettable - his specialty was very rare, and it was inconvenient to lose him before he could truly take advantage of his talents. However, the most important thing was to keep the location of Xibalba secret, along with the treasure.
"Elf! Remember your master's orders - you are to tell no one of this location or what transpired this night."
With a slow nod towards the seemingly unmoving form of one Regulus Black, Voldemort turned away and headed back through the twisting tunnels which had first brought him here. Kreacher remained behind, weeping at the loss of his beloved Master Regulus, his cries echoing unheard through the dark, empty cavern.
~~~~~~~~~~ 1980 ~~~~~~~~~~
Albus sat in a room above the bar of the Hog's Head Inn. It had been a cold, miserable day; the sky seemed to constantly drip, but never quite have the impetus to really rain. That day in turn had become a cold, miserable night with no more inclination to stop dripping than it had when the sun was attempting to shine. The conversation he was completely tuned out of was going no better - one Sybill Trelawney, great-great-Granddaughter to the legendary seer Cassandra, was interviewing for a position as Hogwart's Divination professor. Albus stifled a yawn and decided to go with what his gut had told him when the post fell open - it was time to abolish the subject of Divination. Minerva would be delighted to hear that the 'wooly' subject was at last gone from the curriculum. He held up a hand, already mentally reallocating the Divination budget, to stop the prattle coming from the woman with her face glued to the crystal ball. Then he stood up, vanishing the plush, purple armchair he'd been sitting in.
"Thank you for taking the time to come meet me Ms. Trelawney, but I'm afraid you're not quite suitable for Hogwarts. I wish you the best of luck finding employment elsewhere."
As soon as the words had left his mouth, Albus silently groused at fate's sense of irony. The lights in the room dimmed, and Sybill's eyes rolled back into her head before locking onto the crystal ball; this time unfocused and wild. When she began to speak, it was not with the deceptive modulations previously used. Instead her voice was much deeper, and completely monotone.
"The ones with the power to challenge the Dark Lord will arise: the innocent mother who rides on wings of fire…"
A noise in the hallway alerted Albus to the presence of an uninvited guest, and he hurriedly cast several privacy charms to ensure the rest of the words fell on no ears save his own. It seemed Minerva was going to be disappointed after all.
~~~~~~~~~~ S ~~~~~~~~~~
In the hallway, Snape cursed silently to himself. Of all the inopportune times for an inebriated fool to stumble into the hallway, this had to be the worst. Still, the Dark Lord would want to know of a prophecy identifying potential adversaries. Snape would receive less punishment for an incomplete prophecy than a delayed message. Perhaps, if he couched it properly, the Dark Lord would reward him for his diligence. With that in mind, he quickly apparated away before Dumbledore could discover his presence.
~~~~~~~~~~ Y ~~~~~~~~~~
Daily Prophet - September 8th 1980
You-Know-Who: The Ginger Scourge!
By Thaddeus Skeeter
You-Know-Who has plagued us with terror for the past year, and we never know when or where he will strike next. However, this intrepid reporter has news from the auror office on a new pattern that has emerged in the reign of terror!
You-Know-Who has begun attacking red-headed witches with never-before-seen focus and ferocity. This June, the red-headed wife of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Mr. Barty Crouch, was attacked and killed in her own home. You-Know-Who then proceeded to mount an assault against the predominantly red-headed Bones family during an otherwise peaceful family dinner. The only survivors of this assault were formidable auror Amelia Bones, who was eventually able to force You-Know-Who into a retreat, and her niece, Susan, who is still but a toddler. The rest of the family was slaughtered.
Then, last month, You-Know-Who attacked the Weasley family while the father, Arthur Weasley, was working at the Ministry of Magic. Thankfully, the red-headed Molly Weasley and her seven children escaped due to Mrs. Weasley's two heroic brothers, Gideon and Fabian Prewett, giving their lives to buy her time. The Weasley family is currently in hiding at an undisclosed location. We wish them the best, and send Mrs. Weasley our condolences.
Most recently, there have been a spate of red-headed murders in Northern Ireland, and while we have no proof, this reporter suspects that You-Know-Who may have moved on from Britain to attack the less well-defended, but very red-headed, witches in Northern Ireland.
Why is You-Know-Who targeting these witches? Is it part of some dark ritual?! Has he taken a sudden dislike to the color red?! Did a leprechaun offend him?! We may never know.
Regardless of his reasons, we urge any red-headed witches reading this article to take extra precautions with their safety until further notice. Stay safe, readers.
~~~~~~~~~~ 1981 ~~~~~~~~~~
The green flaring of the fire faded behind the last departing guest as Bathilda Bagshot stared at the chaos that was formerly her living room. Halloween parties with her remaining classmates were always memorable, but some of her friends obviously still hadn't learned to hold their firewhiskey; one of the shot classes looked liked it had been stuck to the ceiling, and several of the butterbeer bottles were dancing a jig around the room. Bathilda sighed and began levitating scattered glasses of firewhiskey and butterbeer to her kitchen before she remembered her plans to visit the Potters and wish them a "Happy Halloween" before they put young Harry to sleep for the night. James and Lily didn't get many chances to get out since they had gone into hiding, but thankfully James' rambunctious friends, Peter and Sirius, had brought her over for little Harry's first birthday, and she'd been visiting regularly ever since.
Levitating a ferret from the corner and transfiguring it back into a glass, Bathilda prepared to leave. Donning a jacket and waving her wand to extinguish the lights, she set out towards the Potter's house. Excited muggle children in ridiculous costumes swirled around her as she carefully made her way towards her destination.
"Mommy! Mommy! Can I be a troll like Timmy next year!?" exclaimed one over-enthusiastic muggle child with candy smeared all over his face. Bathilda followed the child's finger to 'Timmy', and internally scoffed. The boy looked nothing like a troll. Too green, too thin, and the ears were all wrong. Bathilda sniffed; it seemed like the only part that boy had right was the horrible odor. She hoped it was part of the costume and not the boy's usual smell.
As she approached the edge of the Potter's property, she heard a loud crash and felt a shock wave bowl into her. Regaining her bearings, she noticed the smoke rising from the Potter's home. Knowing no muggle would be able to break the Fidelius charm to help, Bathilda, with surprising agility for her advanced age, drew her wand and started running. As she ran through the hole which had once been the front door, she noticed the splintered ceiling letting in the starlight. Distracted by the destruction, she almost stumbled over James Potter's mangled remains in the foyer. Taking a breath as she felt tears welling, she dashed up the stairs, hoping against hope that Harry and Lily were still alive. She burst into the nursery, and then froze, letting the tears fall as she gazed upon Lily's unmoving, beautiful face. Leaning against the wall, she tried to catch her breath as her emotions slipped away from her.
"Baba!" Bathilda's eyes shot up as she at last noticed the sole survivor of this ghastly night. "Baba!" Harry called out again, reaching in Bathilda's direction. Bathilda gathered her wits about her and walked to the crib, stepping over the debris - the result of what must have been a large explosion. She picked up the boy, and noticing the blood flowing down his face, examined him for injuries. She found only a single cut on his forehead and she lifted her wand, sighing in relief.
Touching it to his forehead, she softly incanted, "Episkey". She frowned when the cut failed to close and tried once more. Failing again, her frown deepened. The scar must not have been caused by debris; only dark magic would resist healing charms. A flick of her wand later, and the blood was cleaned off little Harry's face, and a transfigured bandage was winding its way around his head. It wasn't safe to stay in Godric's Hollow; the minions of You-Know-Who who had attacked the Potters would soon be missed, and more would likely follow. She held the boy close to her chest and hurried quickly back to the stairs. As they moved, young Harry's eyes never left his mother's still form.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Bathilda turned the boy's face away from the remains of his father. However, when they exited the house, Harry reached backwards: "Mama! Dada!" Bathilda patted Harry on the back, shushing him, hoping he wouldn't be heard over the sounds of the muggle festivities. Still, the cries continued, and she realized that he probably had never been out of the house before without his parents. As she continued to walk away, Harry's terrified wails got louder and more frantic, "MAMA! DADA!" until he was entirely unintelligible. Bathilda, realizing that Harry wouldn't quiet without his parents, reached up with a flick of her wand and whispered "Somnus", sending Harry to sleep. Her vision blurred with tears, Bathilda then cast a disillusionment charm, crossed the bounds of the Fidelius and apparated away from a street full of oblivious muggles.
~~~~~~~~~~ Author's Notes ~~~~~~~~~~
Lady Beatrice and I have been bouncing ideas around about what we would like to see in a Harry Potter fanfiction for quite some time now, and we recently decided to put pen to paper (Or fingers to keyboard, as the case may be.) We will do our best to write a coherent, entertaining narrative, but please leave us reviews with any suggestions you may have - they may make it into future chapters.
This chapter highlights our major points of departure from canon. In general, you can assume that everything we don't mention happens roughly in line with canon.
Thanks for reading,
Mr. Darcy