Summary: Has anyone ever wondered how the Slytherins first became parseltongues? How did the knowledge on how to create a Horcrux first come to be? What if that knowledge wasn't lost? Harry Potter died that day in the Ministry of Magic, but what if he could get a second chance? What if the knowledge of a spell only used once could give him another chance, one that wasn't doomed to failure? A destiny predicted before the founding of Hogwarts is about to come to play, and the rise of the Third Serpent Lord has only just begun...

Warnings: Character death, sort of.

Key:

"Blah" parseltongue

"Blah" english

"Blah" spells

Number date/year

Salazar Pollux Black

Prologue Part 2

1996 AD

Harry Potter knew that what he was doing was incredibly stupid, risky and had little chance of success. He also knew that there was a high risk of his death. He knew that unless a miracle happened he wouldn't live to see his sixteenth birthday. He would never know if Ron had survived the brain attack, or if Hermione survived the unknown spell. He wouldn't see Neville, Luna or Ginny again, never be a part of the celebrations at Hogwarts.

But he didn't care.

Seeing his godfather fall behind the Veil, his shocked expression as his insane cousin finally bested him, had numbed him. Sure, the anger that pulsed through him now was a reaction of that, but underneath the raw emotion, he felt nothing…nothing beyond the desire to have his revenge on Bellatrix Lestrange.

Harry ran through the passage ways and tunnels that made up the Ministry of Magic, waited impatiently in the elevator for it to take him to the right level, before finally bursting into the Atrium. He raised his wand as he spotted the insane witch and screamed the first curse that came to him.

"Crucio!"

Bellatrix dropped to the ground screaming, though it wasn't for long. When she stood up she was no longer laughing but looking at him in slight shock and pride.

"That's the first time you've used that curse isn't it?" she asked. She had stopped running and was now facing the angry wizard. "You have to mean it; you have to want to cause pain."

"You killed him," Harry stated harshly. Bellatrix nodded, and Harry was surprised to see that she actually looked sad.

"My cousin has always been hot-headed," she explained. "He was supposed to duck but I guess he thought he could handle it. To think, he was the Heir. I was going to…"

Bellatrix cut herself off and shook her head. While she was busy, lost in whatever memory was before her, Harry started to walk forward, his wand raised and ready for use. If he could cast one spell completely effectively, hitting her before she realised what he had done, then he could possibly get out of this alive.

"Expelliarmus."

Someone cast the spell, but it was Harry's wand that flew from his hand to land several feet away, not useless to him.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," Bellatrix muttered as she lowered her wand. "We can't have that now, can we? My Master will be here shortly, and I know exactly what he wants. So, Baby Potter, give me the prophecy."

"Can't," Harry replied cheekily. "It's been destroyed already."

"WHAT?!!" Bellatrix screamed. "You lie!!! Accio Prophecy! Accio Prophecy!"

Harry started to laugh. It was a completely logical reaction in his mind. Bellatrix was waving her wand around, and if there had been anyone standing around her they would have been in danger of losing an eye. The witch became more and more furious the louder and harder Harry laughed.

But Harry didn't care.

He'd just lost the one person who he thought he could see as a father, the one person who could have taken him away from his relatives. A man who had escaped from prison with the intention to make sure that he was safe. And now he was gone. He was gone and the person responsible was waving her wand around furiously. Tears fell down Harry's face as he thought about it. And it was then he realised, he didn't care what happened to him, as long as he could be with Sirius again.

"Well Potter," Bellatrix stated as she leveled her wand at the boy steadily. "No one is here to help you. No one around to hear your screams. Do you have any last words?"

Harry looked up at the witch and was distantly satisfied to see her flinch at his lost and haunted expression. He raised his eyes to the statue in the middle of the Atrium. To him, something just seemed wrong at how magical creatures were portrayed, and disgusted at how witches and wizards were viewed as.

"There is so much wrong with this world," he said finally. "So much wrong. Why should anyone fight for such a corrupt world?"

Bellatrix didn't think much of his words, more the lack of emotion in them, and the tears on his face. She had never liked children, and children had never liked her. It was one of the reasons she had never had any children of her own. But in that moment she saw a lost child, one who didn't know what to do anymore. However, she was first a foremost a Death Eater, and she also saw a chance to give the "Dark Side" a chance at winning the war. So with only a little regret she focused intently on the spell and cast it.

"Avada Kedava," she whispered. The deadly green light erupted from the end of her wand and quickly engulfed the stationary boy. For the briefest second the two locked eyes and Bellatrix imagined that she could see the gratitude in them. Then it was gone.

Harry Potter fell to the ground dead.

Bellatrix knew that it wouldn't take long for someone from the Order to come looking for their now dead saviour, so she quickly turned and ran to the nearest fireplace. Quickly dropping a handful of floo powder she stated her destination and disappeared in a burst of green flames. Moments later Albus Dumbledore burst into the Atrium.

Albus Dumbledore was an old man and had seen many things. He had graduated from Hogwarts with the highest NEWT scores to date and aspired to travelling around the world looking for many new and wondrous things. His adventures had taken him to Egypt to study the pyramids; China to behold the numerous and powerful runes engraved into the bricks; Rome to walk among the ruins of the once powerful magical community of Romma, a community destroyed first by muggles and then by a powerful earthquake; Australia to marvel the history of the first wizards in that country, painted onto the walls of numerous underground caverns and protected by ancient and powerful wards; and finally the country side of wizarding London.

It was in London that he made his most significant and horrifying discovery.

In 1923 Albus Dumbledore had come across an abandoned manor, its wards falling after centuries of no one updating them. The faded crest painted above the broken doors depicted a snake, curled around itself with its neck stretching up. Its tongue was out as if tasting the air around it. To the right was a sword, it was leaning over the snake, half of an arch. The colour was faded but even Dumbledore could tell that the sword had green gems painted on its hilt. To the left, also leaning was a staff with a green gem poised directly above the snake. The green gem was painted as if it had sparks coming out of it.

To Dumbledore, this was a huge discovery. He recognised the crest from his readings. It was of the Fouls. No one knew what had happened to them, only that one day the manor could be seen, and the next the ancient family dwelling was invisible to the naked eye.

Alexander Foul had been a well respected wizard during his time, despite having died young. His apprentices had retained what they were taught and in turn taught their own children. There were rumours, however, that Alexander had dabbled in some very Dark magic and died insane. Others stated that the man had been surrounded by his friends and apprentices when he finally did pass on. Perhaps the only ones who knew the truth were the snakes that lived around the Foul Manor.

Albus Dumbledore had spent a year going over the Manor and its surrounding lands, writing down his findings of any wards, charms and runes that he uncovered. Many areas in the manor he was unable to enter, no spell he could think of would allow him access. He noted his findings of the rooms he couldn't enter and continued his search.

It was in the last few months of his research that he uncovered a cave near the edge of the property. It was hidden with a range of runes, but time had lessened their power and this allowed the wizard access. Dumbledore then spent close to two months recording everything he could find in that cave. The runes were archaic and very difficult to decipher. Many of the runes looked like they had been either made up, or forgotten about in history.

And then Dumbledore found the hidden box.

His elation at finding such a prestigious manor, and all that was in it, dimmed immediately as he read the notes that had been hidden away for centuries. The detailed workings of such a dark spell, the creation of the first Horcrux, was almost enough to send Dumbledore scurrying from the cave. As it was, the wizard merely read over everything, committing it to memory, before burning everything.

Three days later he left the Manor, never to return again.

Everything he had learned prior to becoming a teacher at Hogwarts rushed back to the now old man as he stared down in horror and sadness at the dead child in front of him. It was extremely dark magic, and Dumbledore had never tested it out before, didn't know if it would work. But he was desperate. He needed to have a saviour, needed this child to save them all.

So delving deep into his mind to find the exact spell, Albus Dumbledore knelt down beside a child he had come to care for deeply. He had seen how hard it was for the boy to do what was expected of him, and he couldn't be prouder. Harry Potter had shown that he was capable of doing what was right, not what was easy. But now he was dead, and Dumbledore was the only one who knew how to change it.

"Good luck, my boy," the old man murmured as he brushed the boy's hair from his scarred forehead.

"Animus per Animi."

There was a bright burst of light as the spell was uttered, before everything went dark. The universe shifted as it had done only once before, before righting itself. A single soul was thrust back through time violently, seeking out the most important person to it. Time and space meant nothing. All that mattered was getting to the right place.

There was one thing Albus Dumbledore hadn't remembered from his time in the Foul Manor. After casting the spell he would have no memory of ever finding the spell, reading it, or casting it. As he had destroyed the only copy of the spell every written down, and then successfully erased it from his memory with the casting of the spell, Alexander Foul's greatest work was forever lost to time.

The year was now 1959. History was about to be rewritten.

To Be Continued...