The dark figure looked at the child in the crib

Warning: This story is radically different from most Harry Potter fanfics you've read. If you dislike the idea of people shaping their own destiny (as opposed to growing up solely to avenge the death of their parents), you will not enjoy this story. If you do not associate with anarchist wizards (as opposed to accepting as gospel everything that comes from a white-bearded old stoner's mouth), you will not enjoy this story.

If, on the other hand, you like reading about smart and powerful women who do interesting things, you will like this story. And if you don't like Albus Dumbledore very much, you will REALLY like this story. Eventually.

This story is about the Brezny Principle, which states this truism: "In a battle with two opposing sides, there is never a "good" side or a "bad" side. It is not like black and white; more like plaid and paisley. There is some beauty on each side, but some ugliness too." Wiser words have seldom been spoken.

ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~

The dark figure looked at the child in the crib.

"Poor, poor thing. They didn't even name you, did they?" Lady Voldemort lifted up the sleeping baby girl.

The girl opened her shockingly green eyes and yawned. "Gwah?"

The Dark Lady kissed her forehead, traced a jagged line on it. "You will be safe from everyone," she whispered. "Only I know your true power. Only I can see your potential."

She looked toward the living room, where the bodies of Lily and James Evans were lying on the floor, tangled around each other. "They wanted a boy," she muttered. "Honestly."

"DROP YOUR WAND AND COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP!" came the sonorous, magic-enhanced voice of Peter Pettigrew. He, along with Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and (until a few minutes ago) James Evans, had been the Ministry of Magic's answer to an SAS squad. Which meant, basically, doing the highly dangerous stuff that nobody else had the guts or the equipment to do. Like taking on She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Lady Voldemort sighed. She hadn't had to use a wand since she was seventeen.

"Say goodbye to your parents," she whispered to the girl, showing her the mangled bodies of the red-headed woman and green-eyed man.

The girl waved. "Bye-bye."

ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~

Remus glanced sideways at his lover, who seemed to be entirely too keen on the idea of mangling the Dark Lady. "Do we really have to kill her?"

"She killed James and Lily," Sirius answered through gritted teeth. "She is going down."

Peter jumped from on top of the roof, and spat something out on the pavement. Then he turned back into a human. "Here. I got this."

Remus jumped back. "A gun? We're not allowed to use those. You know that."

"Ask me if I give a fuck," Peter said.

"Do you give a fuck?" Sirius asked.

Peter gave him a withering look. "No. Here, take this." He threw a pistol to Remus, who caught it with an unsteady hand.

"Magnum .44s," Sirius said. "All right!"

Remus brandished the gun. "Peter, where did you get this?"

"Stole it," Peter said, turning back into a rat. "I'll check out the house, see where she is. You guys go in."

He scuttled in through the door.

ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~

Lady Voldemort's attention was diverted by a squeaking sound. A large gray rat sat on the table, cleaning its whiskers.

The Lady smiled grimly. "It looks like your parents weren't exactly the best housekeepers," she said to the child. She produced a piece of bread from nowhere and tossed it to the rat. "Eat up, stupid thing."

The rat sniffed the bread, then jumped off of the table. The Lady reached out lazily with her high-heeled shoe and stepped on its tail.

It scrabbled vainly on the tile floor, trying to break free. Lady Voldemort smiled at it dreamily.

"I believe the term for this is 'trapped like a rat'," she said. "Highly appropriate."

She lifted it up by its tail, rotating it so that it could see her face. "You were spying on me, you bastard. Weren't you?"

"Squeak." The rat gnashed its teeth.

The Lady laughed, then bashed the rodent against a wall. It dropped into the corner and lay still.

ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~

Sirius checked the position of the moon in the sky. "It's been fifteen minutes," he said. "Peter hasn't come out."

"That doesn't mean anything," Remus said. "He could just be…still looking for her or something." Even as he said the words, he felt a cold certainty that Peter Pettigrew was indeed dead.

Sirius scrutinized the house. "Lights are off," he said. "I bet she's just waiting for us in there, like a snake in its den. Waiting for us to barge in and kill her."

"If she's waiting for us to kill her," Remus reasoned, "then she's suicidal and she'll kill herself anyway, so there's no point in us going in. If she's waiting to kill us, then she is, in fact, going to kill us and we shouldn't go in."

"Aren't you always the smart one?" muttered Sirius. "Get behind me, if you're so scared. Bring the gun. Magic doesn't work on guns."

ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~

With every homicide, a small amount of the killer's life energy disappears. The worse the killer feels about it, the more energy is drained.

Lady Voldemort was pretty much amoral. She saw most other people as inferior to herself, either as obstacles that had to be removed or tools to shape her own fate with.

Killing James and Lily had proved to be more difficult than she had originally thought. The Dark Lady had a slight weak spot for things like perfect love, and had originally found their romance touching. Then she had discovered the child…

But she was still slightly drained. She didn't feel like fighting.

ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~

Sirius burst into the kitchen, his gun at the ready. "Drop your weapon and put your hands on your head!"

Lady Voldemort was sitting at the table, with the Evans's daughter in her arms.

She was a thin woman, with black hair pulled back in a professional bun, and mirrored sunglasses. She was wearing a white silk suit and plum-colored lipstick. Around her neck, she had a wispy black scarf held with a jeweled pin in the shape of a scorpion.

Despite looking like a Mafia doña, she was holding the one-year-old in her arms and cooing to it like the most enraptured of young mothers.

She looked up. "I don't have a weapon."

"I told you this wasn't a good idea," Remus muttered.

Sirius said nothing. His mouth was hanging open, and he had completely forgotten about the pistol he held.

He saw why so many thousands of perfectly good witches and wizards had joined her cause. It was the amazing air of, well, competence she generated, as though she was doing exactly what needed to be done in the world.

"My lady," he murmured.

"Oh, gods." Remus slapped him in the face. "Sirius? Sirius!"

The Lady rose, still holding the infant. "You were a friend of theirs?" she asked softly, referring to the dead bodies in the living room.

Slack-jawed, Sirius nodded.

Remus gritted his teeth. "Put the baby down." He aimed the pistol at her, praying that Peter had remembered to load it.

"I will if you tell me her name," said the Lady. "What is her name? Is she Isabelle, or Rowena, or Elena? Or is she nothing at all, a child without a soul?"

"Of course they were hoping for a boy," the Lady said. "They had his life all planned out. Everyone would dote on him. He would look up to his father's friends, idolize them. He would go to Hogwarts, play on the Quidditch team, maybe even be captain. Of course he would get into Gryffindor; not a corrupt bone in his body…He would marry a nice girl and get a job in the Ministry of Magic, have a few children for his parents to dote on in their declining years."

"But the arrival of a daughter changed everything. Girls—especially with powers like these—are unpredictable." The Lady reached out a hand to caress the forehead of the black-haired child she held.

"Let Sirius go," Remus snarled.

The Lady looked up. "Honestly, haven't you heard a word I've said?" She laughed softly to herself. "Tell you what—I will let your friend go if you can tell me the name her parents gave her."

Remus fired the pistol—once, twice, thrice.

The bullets dropped to the floor. "Pathetic," observed the Lady. "Truly pathetic. Magic does work on guns, no matter what your boyfriend says." She flicked a hand in the general direction of the bullets. They rose from the floor, spinning.

"These aren't silver," she added, "but I believe they will work. Three pieces of metal stuffed with gunpowder blowing out your brains is enough to kill even a werewolf."

Remus dropped the gun and rolled across the floor as the bullets hummed millimeters over his head. He came up growling.

The Lady stood up. "Ah? Reverting now, I see. Are you sure this will work?"

The wolf leapt at her. She nimbly sidestepped. "If you're desperate enough to turn into a wolf when it isn't even full moon, I salute you."

"I wonder," she added, "if you can keep your animal instincts from taking over long enough to refrain from eating the one you are supposed to protect."

Remus stopped and looked at her.

She took off her scarf and turned it into a makeshift bag, placed the little girl in it. "The child for your lover. A fair trade, do you think?"

Remus took the carrier and ran like hell into the night.

ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~ù~

Coming up next: Vernon Dursley has an affair and Aunt Petunia goes nuts. Enjoy!