A/N: I have changed a number of things, so this may be considered AU. Basic changes that I am comfortable revealing at this stage include these things; Harry's paternal grandparents are Charlus and Dorea Potter. I have changed their ages slightly so as to fit them better within the timeline of the story and its premise. I plan on going into depth at points about magical theory, which may, at times, conflict with J.K. Rowling's statements on the subject. I will not follow many canon pairings, expressly Harry/Ginny. The pairing for the story is as of yet undecided, but rest assured that it will not be Harry/Ginny. More will be revealed as the story progresses. I hope you all enjoy.

Prologue - The Curse

1939

Tom Riddle had just stepped off the Hogwarts express to begin his second year at Hogwarts, and already he had stopped dead in his tracks. Before him stood an absolute vision of beauty, the likes of which he had not seen before. Tom considered himself a noble person, above the normal human emotions of love or infatuation, but the woman who stood before him made him question that immediately. She was beauty incarnate to his eyes, and he stood stock still to watch her until some oaf pushed him forward, out of the way of the train's exit. He watched her walk towards the carriages, her longer strides and height marking her as some upper year to him, but that did not daunt him. He swore that he would find all he could find about the vision before him, and she would be his.


Dorea Black was her name. Tom had seen her with a group of fifth year Slytherins just the week before, and had heard her answer to the name. Her pure family may have set her above his lowly upbringing for now, but, he thought, when he rose to greatness, she surely would have to take notice of his undisputed power and strength. He spent his free time following her from a distance, where he was sure he would not be noticed. That night, he had noticed as she attempted to sneak from the common room unseen, and hurried out after her. Sticking to the shadows, Tom watched as she met with… a boy? His gaze narrowed into a glare as some upstart consorted with his queen! He drew his wand to make the boy pay before he noticed something even worse, the scarlet trim on his robes, and the glint of a silver badge. Tom had, as all intelligent students who wished to sneak about the castle at night had, memorized the prefect's patrol schedule. There was only one Gryffindor male prefect assigned to tonight's roster. Charlus Potter.


1942

Tom Riddle glared at the Daily Prophet in the corner of his dorm. The newly minted fifth year Slytherin Prefect was furious. The wedding announcement was three pages in, but closing the paper did not remove the words from his mind's eye. Heir of House Potter, Charlus Potter to Marry Daughter of House Black, Dorea Black. The bold words flashed again as he slammed his eyes shut to hold back the burning tears. His sadness boiled over inside of him, and he slammed his Occlumency down hard, willing it to vanish forever. He then blinked as the feelings disappeared. He paused for a moment, concerned, before lifting his mental barriers to see if the feelings would return. They didn't. He felt a surge of panic, before he reacted and shut that off too. He lifted them again, waiting to see what came of this new development. All that remained was his cold fury. Without pause, he clamped down on his other emotions, those he found useless, ridding himself of their taint. All that remained in the end was his anger, and his promise to make those who caused him this pain to suffer without respite.


1978

Severus Snape was having a very bad day. This was, in all things considered, very typical for the young wizard, ever since the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year. He had been on his way to the apothecary to replenish his ingredient stores, when he saw them. That horrible Potter, corrupting the perfect Lily Evans, his perfect Lily Evans. Ever since that day he had slipped up, no, he had mistakenly called her that forsaken word. He cursed that blasted Potter and his stupid friends for making him slip. Of course, he reasoned to himself, Lily was of lesser blood, but he could help her make up for that. His attentions would protect her, and give her a higher purpose. He alone would be able to help her survive the war, why couldn't she see that? Why couldn't she understand that he was simply doing this for her? Of course, he expected her to repay him for his efforts, but only with the love he was showing her. His love was true, he repeated to himself as Lily and Potter made faces at each other in front of the Honeydukes storefront, why wouldn't she just realize that?


1981

Severus Snape dropped to his knees, slamming them against the floor of the ruined nursery, his eyes locked on the still-cooling corpse of the only woman he had ever loved. He gently gathered her up in his arms, holding her close. He flinched then, as the sound of a young child crying started up. He placed the body of his love gently back on the ground, drawing his wand as he did so. A malevolent expression of rage crossed his face as he beheld the greatest failure of his life. Laying there was the tainted mixture of his perfect Lily, and that disgusting Potter. Potter is the reason she is dead, isn't he? Severus thought to himself. Potter is to blame, if only she had understood my love, I could have kept her from the Dark Lord. Lily may be gone, Severus thought, but I can cleanse her memory right now…. His wand slowly rose to point at the now silent babe. A familiar incantation rose to his lips as he stared at the disgusting child. Then, a clatter came from the stairs as heavy footfalls approached. Severus glared once more at the child, swearing that the Potter line would feel his wrath one day, in the end, and twisted on the spot, disappearing into the air.


?

The dark figure watched the images play out in the bowl, before waving them away with his wand. The poor young fools would one day be harmed by the same bloodline as he, with their loves stolen like his. He spared only a quick glance at the half completed portrait that sat on the damp stone walls, before returning to the stone basin that held the strange oily water. Another image appeared, this time of multiple people, all men. Each held a similar look in their eyes, even though their clothing and faces were all different. The same look was visible in his eyes, day after day, ever since that cursed Potter had stolen his beloved Leliana. A thought struck him at that moment, and his wand whipped out over the basin. The picture changed to one of a man with messy dark hair, almost distinctively so. The unknown wizard summoned a dark red vial from a side cabinet, pouring it over the frozen image of the man. He sliced his own palm with a charm, letting the blood spill into the basin. He began waving an intricate pattern over the image, words in an ancient language pouring from his mouth.

King of skies, hear my prayer

I have been wronged, beyond compare.

A gift of blood, given freely

In return, I ask a boon for me.

Curse the one who's wrong me so,

And give those like me, those I know.

For each son of Potter, for those they wrong

Let them hear this most ancient song.

When a Potter steals a mate,

Give those wronged something to compensate.

All the knowledge I have to harm,

Gift those souls, to claim that which they lost.

Gift of magic, gift of life

Spread this curse beyond my time.

This final curse, revenge from me,

Grow to be what you need to be.

This final curse, this generational curse, be laid upon the Potter line.

So I say, so mote it be,

And take this price from me that you need.

The darkly dressed wizard dropped to the ground, still and silent as the night beyond his window.