A/N: Thanks to everyone who reads this. (It's my first fic ^_^) Enjoy! Note: the prologue's rather long. Also, *these* are used instead of italics, because I don't know html. *This chapter has been edited by the wonderful Ariel, my new beta. Thanks so much!*

Prologue

Lord Voldemort idly scratched his chin as he waited for his reports to come from his Death Eaters. Stupid fools. The one true follower he had, one who might even have someday earned the right to stand at his side ... that idiot Fudge! He slammed his hand on the arm of the high-backed chair he had claimed for his throne. Another Dementor was welcome, of course, but as a man Crouch had held so much potential ...

Well. It wouldn't do to dwell on the past. But, as he thought of the past, another memory, almost buried, came floating back to him.

He had gone to a bar on one of the nights when he was still Tom Riddle, Head Boy and Perfect of Hogwarts. The boy with no future. He had started his transformation that night, had used the Lithininal curse for the first time. On himself, of course. It had worked, he was stronger, but everything hurt. Killing Riddle would be hard. So he shut the schoolboy up with a spoon full of alcohol. The pain would stop, and Voldemort would be strong. No one could call him Riddle here, no Dumbledore to stop him. Soon, no one could stop him.

He had just put some Muggle-borns in their place. He hadn't realized how much he had missed the thrill of snatching life away, the power coursing through him ... It hadn't been hard to fool them at Hogwarts, obviously, for only Dumledore had any suspicion of him at all. But now he was free of it all, and here in eastern Europe, no one asked too many questions. The wilderness of this place was the perfect place for him to expand his power; there was still so much he had to find!

As he sat with these thoughts, lost in his ump-teenth glass of the strong Romanian liquor, a young woman eyed him from across the room. She knew a good-looking man when she saw one, and Tom Riddle was in his youth, not yet sunken and shriveled from the Dark power that surged through him. It had been so long since she'd had some fun, and he looked like he was drunk enough that he wouldn't mind ... or even remember much. She grinned. That was fine with her ...

It had happened so quickly, Voldemort reflected, there wasn't much he could remember about the woman. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. The rest of his memories were confused, but enough for his older self to sneer at in disgust. Foolish physical desires. He'd have discarded the incident long ago, if it weren't for one thing. When he'd woken the next morning (she was gone hours before, of course,) he could only remember snatches of what had happened. After his hangover had cleared, he suddenly remembered what she had called him. "Beautiful Muggle." A witch, then. Moreover, he cursed inwardly, there was something that quite possibly had resulted from that brief union, something that never should have happened. A mistake.

A son.

And Voldemort never allowed mistakes to mar his plans.

*****

Scott Goodfellow paced anxiously, waiting for his wife and daughter to return. He couldn't have found them, not yet ...

Just as he was about to run over to the door and start looking, it was thrown open. He looked up in sudden fear.

"Gytha! You're all right! I was about to come look for you!"

The woman who had just entered the small room scowled at him.

"Of course I'm all right, I was barely gone fifteen minutes!"

"And Robyn ..."

Gytha sighed. "Yes, she's fine too. But, I have some news." She paused, and took a breath. "He's found us."

"What?!?!"

"He's not walking up the path just yet, don't worry," she said as he ran to the window and tore back the shade.

"How ... how did you know, then?" he asked faintly, sitting down rather suddenly on a stool.

She made a face. "The animals. Or rather, lack of them. I was going to get some news, but none of them are there. That's all the warning I need," she added firmly, as her husband made to protest.

"We have to get her out of here, now," he said quietly.

"Yeah. I know."

Neither moved for a moment. Then Scott got up slowly and walked to the fireplace. He took the small vase of Alucinor powder off of the mantlepiece, and reached in.

He paused. "Do you have the letters?"

She swore. "I'll go get it."

Leaving the bundle she'd had cradled in her arms on the couch next to Scott, Gytha ran into the next room. Scott looked down at his daughter, so frail and light. Already, though, she showed the distinctive traits of his family; the shockingly dark hair, the pale, nearly translucent skin, and the hazel eyes, apt to change from dark brown to flashing green, depending on the mood of the owner.

"Um, honey, are you gonna stand there all day? 'Cause I hate to break it to you, but old Voldie's not getting any farther away."

Scott winced, but threw the powder onto the fire hastily. He'd seen his wife when she was mad, and wasn't eager to repeat the experience.

"The Orphanage for Wizarding children in North America, please. I'd like to speak with the director."

The flames glowed violet for a moment, then a head appeared. "What do you want, I'm really quite busy ... oh. Hello, Scott."

"Hi, Margaret. Listen, we don't have much time."

The head gasped. "You mean he's found you? Just a minute ..."

The couple heard her ordering the other occupants of the room out. Then she turned back to them. "So, do you want me to take Robyn for you? For now, at least?"

He smiled grimly. "It may be longer than that." Margaret blanched. "But yes, that would be a good idea. He'll just follow us to her, otherwise, and we can face him now as well as anytime." Margaret started to protest, but Gytha cut her off.

"He's right, dear. I know you well enough to be sure that you'll take good care of our Puck." The head in the fire grinned.

"I like the nickname. Mind if I call her that?"

"Not at all. Now, I know you can't take this basket in your hands, so you'll have to use your teeth. Oh, and, one more thing. Can you give her this letter? If we don't make it? When she's ready I want her to know about us. And there's one for you too."

Margaret's face had lost all traces of humor. "I'll take them, but I do hope it won't be necessary. Try to beat him, won't you? It would do us all an awful lot of good. And not just you people in Europe, either. We're all suffering."

Scott's face had gone hard. "We'll do all we can."

"Both of us," Gytha added.

"Well, the best of luck to you," Margaret said, blinking back tears. "I'll be waiting for your word, mind, so don't take too long."

"Margaret, one last thing," Scott added hastily as Gytha knelt with the basket. "Tell Dumbledore, will you? I don't think we have time."

"Sure. I'd better get going, then," she said reluctantly. "Just tuck the letters into the basket, and mind they don't fall in the fire."

"Tell Robyn we love her."

"Make sure she doesn't forget us."

"I think you'll be safe from him, but if you need it, I'm sure Dumbledore can offer you his protection. We just figured it would be best if Robyn was out of the country."

Gytha stood and stepped back to stand next to Scott. Margaret blinked once at them, for she couldn't speak with the basket in her mouth.

"Finite Incantatum," whispered Scott.

The two watched their child and friend wink out of sight, and turned to look their fate in the face as he bust through the door.

That evening, the Dark Mark floated clearly in the sky above what was once a small country cottage in the woods.

*****

Harry Potter and The Face of Destiny

By Bronze Eagle

Chapter 1

Robyn Goodfellow grinned. "You're joking, right?"

Margaret shook her head. "Not this time, Puck."

"But who'd want to adopt me? I've got to be the worst-behaved kid here. And it's not like I even want any other family than you."

"Look, you're at an orphanage, for goodness sake, and you've been here for nearly fourteen years. Your parents said in their letter that they wanted you to be adopted when you were ready, and I think you are. Hogwarts is an excellent school, so you'll get a good education. Well, end of an education, anyway."

"But why'd they have to live in England?! That's like a hundred thousand miles away! If I send you an owl, it'll die half way across the ocean!"

Margaret chuckled. "I doubt it. Messenger owls are very well trained."

"But I don't even know these people! What are they like? Do they have kids?"

"As a matter of fact, they do."

"Really?" Puck was so startled that she stopped ranting long enough to stare, open-mouthed, at Margaret. "Why didn't you tell me before? How many? Are they boys or girls? How old are they? What are their names? When will I meet them? And the rest of the family," she added as an afterthought.

"You didn't really give me time, one, a boy, fifteen, Draco, and soon."

"Draco?"

"Yes, Draco. And don't you dare laugh at him to his face. If this is going to be your new family, you should at least try to contain yourself." Puck had gone a brilliant shade of scarlet as she tried, unsuccessfully, to hold in her mirth.

"Sorry," she gasped out finally. Then, "Wait a minute. What did you mean, soon? How soon is soon?"

"The whole family is coming by Floo powder in about an hour."

"AN HOUR?!"

"I suggest you get ready."

"Do I have to leave now?" Puck's voice suddenly sounded small and frightened.

"Of course not. Just make yourself presentable and meet me down in the Green Room."

"Right. Okay. I'll be there."

"And at least try to be on time."

"Don't worry! This is me we're talking about."

"Exactly," Margaret muttered as she left the room.

Puck's grin fell from her face as soon as the door shut behind her friend. Move? Out of the country? To a different continent? Puck swallowed hard. All the people there would have funny accents. Of course, they'd all say she was the one with the funny accent. I've always been different, she thought, but I won't know anyone. That's not true, she scolded, you'll know Draco. She grinned. Draco the Dragon. Heh. She hoped Draco would be the sort of sibling you could tease. She'd need all the confidence she could get, and being familiar with at least one person would be good. Maybe she would like some of his friends.

*****

Draco only barely stifled a shout of mixed rage and surprise. Adopt a sister? Never! He would simply refuse. But his father's next words brought that thought crashing down around his ears.

"My master has commanded us, as a high-standing family with access to Hogwarts, to be the ones to adopt this child."

"But father! The Dark Lord has commanded this?! How ... why would he be interested in this child?"

"It is not our place to question my Lord's commands," Lucius growled, his voice dangerously low. "He will order, and we will obey. I have been too soft with you, boy. I must treat you with harsher discipline. You need to know how things stand in the world, for the wishes of a half-grown boy do not, by any stretch of the imagination, stand higher than those of the Dark Lord."

"Yes, father," Draco murmured hastily. "I did not mean to show disrespect to my Lord."

"Nevertheless, you did."

Draco looked up, eyes wide, in sudden fear.

"You are nearly grown, and it is better I teach you to honor Him now, than let him be cursed with your stupidity when you join him. I do not wish to have you learn as I did." Lucius Malfoy, turned on his heel and, face from his son, said, "Follow me, Draco. Don't try what you did before."

Draco followed his father, feeling numb, barely registering where he was headed. His father hadn't punished him like this, with such merciless discipline, for years. He still had the scars from the first time, when he had tried to run, though. That was part of the reason he always dressed in such privacy at Hogwarts, if anyone found out that his father had beaten him, he would be flogged once the man in question found out. Others may have thought it was vanity, and he was putting attempting to put himself above others; perhaps this was true; but no one but his mother and father had ever seen the scars. He meant to keep it that way.

He scowled. A sister. What could Voldemort want with a girl? She couldn't be used to hurt Potter, he probably didn't even know her. She was American, after all. With the funny accent. He frowned deeper, suddenly. Or was she? Hadn't his father said something about her family being from England? Perhaps ...

"Well, boy? What are you standing there for? Are you afraid? You should be. I don't do this nearly half as much as I used to. You seem to be learning. But you should know, not keep making foolish mistakes."

Draco swallowed hard. He hoped that this new girl might be of some use. Perhaps his father would shift some of his attention to her.

*****

Harry Potter yawned luxuriously, stretched, and slowly opened his eyes. He grinned to himself. Today was the day he was going to Ron's house! No more Dursleys until next summer. He even had managed to work out a ride with Hermione's parents, since she was going to the Burrow as well.

Suddenly he frowned. As he had sat up and looked around, he'd noticed that Hedwig's cage was empty. Surely she wasn't still out? He'd left the window open in hopes that she would come back last night. Evidently not.

He pushed those thoughts aside. She was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. And anyway, she knew how to find the Burrow if she didn't come back to the Dursley's in time.

*****

Harry raced down the stairs, trying unsuccessfully to pull on his socks at the same time. The resulting headlong fall down the stairs didn't faze him for a moment, though. There were more pressing things on his mind. The Grangers would be here in fifteen minutes! He kept checking his watch nervously. (He had gotten a new watch from Hermione on his birthday, since his old one hadn't worked since the second task.) The numbers still read 8:45. I wish I hadn't overslept, he thought to himself. But he'd been so tired, staying up until nearly three last night, too keyed up to sleep.

He checked his watch again, and cursed. 8:46. He dashed into the kitchen, and grabbed some toast from the table. Eating it in one gulp, he looked for more, then choked as he realized he'd just eaten toasted bread, un-buttered. Looking around again, all he saw were pieces of toasted bread lying on the counter, with no butter in sight. Dudley, he groaned to himself. Of course there's no buttered toast.

Dudley Dursley was still on his diet, but his mother had relented somewhat on the toast, as long as there was no butter. Harry found this rather disgusting, but, as in the year before, had managed to survive on food from his friends. Sirius had sent him a really spectacular birthday cake this year, and he had enjoyed it enormously. He suspected that the twins wouldn't be above spiking any food he brought to their house to test their newest inventions, so he had decided to finish it off before he got anywhere near them or their house. He'd have the remainder of the cake on the drive.

*****

Hermione Granger was very cross. Her mother, who was going to drive Harry and herself to the Burrow, had been called into the office for an emergency operation, so she'd had to get her father to drive. No offence to him, she thought, wincing, but I'll be very glad to get my apparating licence in a few years. She had to clutch the edge of the seat as he careened around a corner, narrowly missing a huge truck. "Well, at least we won't be late," she muttered as Crookshanks yowled from his basket in the back seat. She had decided against letting him out on the drive, thinking he'd be safer if he had the extra protection of the wicker basket in case he bounced around.

*****

Harry fidgeted in his seat nervously, glancing at his watch every few seconds. Come on, Hermione, only a few more minutes. Please be early. Uncle Vernon had kicked him out of the kitchen, saying that Dudley needed to eat in peace. Harry's enormous cousin was always jumpy around wizards, and the fact that Harry would be fully qualified in only a few more years evidently bothered him, for he could barely sit in the same room with him for two consecutive minutes.

Harry sighed. He didn't mind, but it got depressing after a while, having someone who avoided you like the plague. Actually, three someones, but at least his aunt and uncle looked at him occasionally.

*Screech* Harry looked up, startled. He had been sitting on his trunk in the hallway, so he was first to open the door. This was rather lucky, since it turned out to be Hermione, looking a bit green, who was walking up the neatly paved path.

At the sound of the door, she looked up. "Harry!"

"Hi! How are you? No, don't come in," he added hastily, as she came towards him. "I can get my trunk alone, and my uncle doesn't like wi-"

"DON'T SAY THAT WORD IN MY HOUSE!" a voice bellowed from inside.

Harry grinned, and dragged his trunk out the door. "He doesn't like wizards."

Uncle Vernon appeared in the doorway, looking as though he had just had an accident with some purple paint.

"I was outside when I said i-" Harry began hastily, but Uncle Vernon, who still towered over him, strode over.

"NEVER say that word in my presence again. If I hear you say that one more time -"

"Oh, hello," said an oblivious Mr. Granger, who had just walked around the car. "I thought Hermione was taking a while, and that Harry might need help with his trunk."

Uncle Vernon stopped abruptly. Smiling cheerfully, Harry said, "That's very nice of you Mr. Granger. Should I put it in the trunk?"

Uncle Vernon, seeming at a loss as he watched his nephew converse with this man, who, as far as he was concerned, was just as bad as a wizard, turned on his heel and stormed into the house, slamming the door behind him.

"Well, that's gotten rid of him," Harry said as he helped Mr. Granger to lift the trunk.

Hermione seemed dazed. "You actually lived with them for ten years?"

"Sure. It wasn't that bad. Once you get used to the hand-me-down clothes, the sleeping conditions, the verbal abuse ..." he trailed off. It had been a lot to put up with. But then, he'd been used to it, he hadn't known any other way of life. Suddenly, he felt very envious of Ron and Hermione. He quickly brushed the emotion aside, and a moment later had forgotten he had ever felt it.

*****

Draco Malfoy was curled up on the floor, breathing shallowly. Every breath he took felt like someone was stabbing knives into his back. He hadn't had a beating this bad in over ten years. He had kept himself kneeling until his father had left, but then had fallen over and blacked out.

His mother would come, eventually, to fix the cuts, but he knew there would be no pain relief. There never was. He grimaced, and sat up. The world promptly spun and tipped over again, causing him to shout out in pain. This time he took it slowly, first raising his head, then stretching out his legs. After nearly a minute, he was sitting, legs stretched out in front of him.

It was the return Dark Lord. It had to be, that was the only thing that could have awakened the awful, cold cruelty that had always been inside his father. Lucius Malfoy was, once again, a Death Eater, at the beck and call of his master. Draco wondered why, instead of feeling elated, (Potter would finally get what was coming to him,) he felt hollow, as though there were some dreadful fear slowly eating him away inside.

*****

A/N: How was that? It's my first chapter, so I'm rather inexperienced, but I'd appreciate any and all questions/comments/constructive criticism in your reviews!