A/N: Okay, to clear up a bit of confusion about the first chapter of this – the chapter title wasn't visible since there was only one, but now that there are two, you will note that the first chapter is titled "The End" meaning that it is about the end of this fic. (Pretty self explanatory, huh?) Basically, I think part of the fun you'll have with this is figuring out how things got to that point. Harry's not just sexually attracted to Voldemort in the middle of the Battle of Hogwarts for no reason. Nor is he buddy-buddy with Lucius Malfoy later on for no reason. Now, as far as what those reasons are – you'll just have to keep reading, won't you? ;)

This chapter is rather MalfoyXRosier centered, but trust me, that pairing isn't here for no reason. It's important to the HarryXVoldemort part of this fic or else I wouldn't bother . My inexplicable obsession with Evan Rosier has almost nothing to do with it... Almost.

-ahem-

Now, back to the matter at hand...

This chapter is dedicated to Lily Short Stuff Uchiha. Happy Belated Birthday, girly!

Enjoy!

Even the beginning was not quite the beginning, because it began before it mattered at all. It began and it began, and it continued to begin, until the beginning of it all was so many things that in order to tell how it had begun, you had to accept the fact that there was no single answer.

Perhaps, the beginning was that moment, just between 1926 and 1927 when Merope Gaunt gave birth to her first and only son. Or maybe, the beginning was years and years after that, when that boy, now a man, entered a cozy home in Godric's Hollow and murdered all but one of the house's inhabitants.

Those who were better informed would say that it began with the life and death of Evan Rosier.

Evan Rosier had lived a rather brief life of luxury and pain. The luxury had certainly come first. Being the sole heir to a wealthy pureblood family was always something of a pleasant existence, at least for a child. Evan was taught that he was better than everyone else, and he grew up so certain of this fact that he never questioned it.

He was sadistic, yes, and moderately insane – but then again, Bellatrix Black was his first cousin so he could hardly be blamed for such a clearly genetic fault, really. His aunt Druella enjoyed his company, and probably would have married him to one of her daughters, if not for the fact that Bella and Cissy were already betrothed and Annie seemed determined to consort with low-born people. She lost her virginity before she was married, which wasn't too shameful as long as you kept it a secret. Unfortunately, she'd lost it to a rather pompous Mudblood who was quick to brag about bedding someone above his own worth.

Evan probably would have felt bad for the poor girl if he wasn't already dealing with so much inner turmoil. You see, although it would have been accepted by everyone for him to marry into the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, cousins or not – he found himself accidentally in love with someone much more taboo than a family member. Well, were he to be honest, they were probably related somehow. The issue was not anything that the others seemed to run in to. Evan wasn't in love with a muggle, mudblood, or blood-traitor. He wasn't in love with a magical beast. He wasn't even in love with someone who disapproved of The Dark Lord and his ideals.

No, Evan was in love with another boy. Worse – he was in love with a boy who was already engaged to be married to someone else. He knew this, because this particular boy was to be marrying one of the Black Sisters, just as Evan would have if Andromeda hadn't shamed herself. Evan was in love with Lucius Malfoy.

The details of this dismal affair were unimportant and insignificant, until Lucius was married to Narcissa, and Evan was drowning his sorrows in firewhisky at their wedding reception, which had lasted hours and hours after the happy couple had sailed off into the sky on a Pegasus drawn carriage, in the direction of their secret honeymoon location. Even Evan's abundant liquor consumption wouldn't have been the problem, if he had been alone. But he wasn't alone. And he wasn't the only one there that night who felt angry and betrayed.

Regulus Black was a very troubled young man.

"Remember when we were in school?" Regulus had asked his old friend, impressing Evan with his lack of a drunken slur. Then again, Evan certainly did not slur either. It was beneath him to do such things.

"Of course I remember when we were in school. It was just last year we got out of the damn place." He responded honestly, not noticing the way that his right hand traced delicately along his left forearm, subconsciously thinking of all that had happened in his seventh year.

"So young and naïve. So quick to follow behind whoever offered to lead..."

"What are you on about, Reg?"

"He almost killed my elf!" Regulus shouted, not caring whether or not he gained the attention of anyone else at the reception. Luckily, in a room full of high-society pure-bloods, no one pays much mind to a phrase as mundane as 'he almost killed my elf.' It would be as uncared for as a person who laughed especially loud at a bad joke. Annoying, yes. Important, no.

Perhaps, if they had all realized who the "he" was that had almost killed Regulus' elf, they'd have had a sharper ear. Evan, even in his drunken state, knew exactly who "he" was, and made quick work of placing a privacy charm over himself and his friend.

"You're questioning our Lord because he almost killed your elf? Who cares about a bloody elf!"

"Even an elf is wasted life..." Regulus whispered, eyes cruel and hard as he stared at Evan, "Next it won't be the elves. What happens when it's decided that one of us should be sacrificed for the sake of some power-crazed half-blood's immortality?"

"Immortality?" Evan had asked, and after he had asked, he had been answered, and after he had been answered, he had asked another question, and by the time the reception was over, he was momentarily distracted from Lucius Malfoy's betrayal, for he had found the fountain of youth. No, not literally, of course, and he wouldn't get carried away like his Lord had gotten.

It was three days after Evan's nineteenth birthday when he managed to successfully create his Horcrux. This was a very fortunate thing, because Alastor Moody didn't let him live to see his twentieth.

XxBxExLxOxVxExDxX

What Lucius held in his left hand was not beautiful. It was not extravagant, nor was it abnormal or glorious in any way. Or at least, not to him it wasn't. It never had been, not even when it was his. Maybe he just didn't see the point. Wizards did not need watches. A simple Tempus would always do the trick if you had to know what time it was, but Evan, in their second year of Hogwarts, had been quite deficient with that particular spell. Lucius had teased him for it often. At only nine years old, Evan and his cousin Bella were already running around with their training wands, seeing who could last longest under the others Cruciatus, and yet Evan was unable to cast a simple spell for time. Crucio, easy. Tempus – impossible.

And so, Lucius, as his best friend, had graciously gifted his fellow Slytherin with an old pocket watch that he'd found lying around in his attic. Evan had been delighted, exclaiming that it was the first purposeless gift he'd ever received. At first, Lucius thought the child was being rude and trying to imply that a watch had no purpose (which, to a wizard, it didn't,) but later on in life, he came to understand that Evan meant it was the first time someone had given him anything without having a purpose for which they needed to present him with something. Lucius hadn't hidden his kindness under the pretense of a birthday party, Yule celebration, or congratulatory award. He had simply noticed that his friend never knew what time it was, and given him a rusty old pocket watch.

Admittedly, the thing didn't seem to be rusty or old now. Even after the boys had disappointingly discovered that the watch didn't work, Evan coveted it. He polished it almost daily, until the silver shone bright, and the tiny emeralds that made up the numbers twelve, three, six, and nine were visible behind once-broken crystal. The Malfoy crest could be seen on the outside, and on the inside, there was a picture of a thirteen year old Lucius, rolling his eyes at the absurd idea that Evan wanted a photo of him. The watch didn't open anymore, it seemed – but the Malfoy patriarch was familiar enough to know the picture and emeralds were there.

Lucius was surprised that Evan hadn't been buried with the damn thing, but instead, he had willed it to Lucius. Evan's will was very short and to the point, but he probably hadn't expected to die before even taking the dreaded "teen" suffix off of his age.

It had read:

"Anything that is mine is now to be given to my aunt, Druella Black nee Rosier, the only person I trust to use my wealth in a way that I see fit. She has all rights to everything with the exception of my pocket watch, which is to be returned to my dearest friend, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, who will always have it when I need it most."

The fact that Evan had willed him the watch wasn't so odd. The part about Lucius having it when Evan needed it most was rather strange, considering Evan was now dead and didn't need for anything. Lucius hadn't cared, though. He hadn't parted with the watch since his mother in law had handed it to him two years ago.

"Lucius,"

His wife's voice pulled him from his thoughts, and he looked up from the old watch in his hand.

"Yes, Narcissa?" He asked formally.

"I'm pregnant," She whispered, in that daintily excited way of hers.

"Again?" He asked with boredom. This was not Narcissa's first pregnancy. Nor was it her second, third, fourth, fifth, or sixth. All dead before she made it through the first trimester.

"Lucius, I'm eight months pregnant. I waited to tell you this time, because I didn't want to disappoint you again..."

Well, now that he looked at her, she was getting rather round at the middle. He realized that perhaps he didn't really spend much time looking at her.

"If it's a boy," He remarked coolly, "I hope you understand that it will mark the end of our … intimacies."

She nodded, having already been expecting that. Narcissa wasn't a daft woman. She knew that her husband's preferences did not sway towards her side of the playing field. The only reason they even had sex was to produce an heir. It was all well and good, really, because they were great friends. They were a great team, as well. Their personalities were mostly compatible, and wherever they weren't, Narcissa did her duty as a woman and amended herself so that it wouldn't cause issue. If she gave birth to the next Malfoy heir, she was free to discreetly seek other lovers who could satisfy her sexually, and she had no doubt that Lucius would do the same.

And come June, Narcissa did have a son. It was at her baby's first birthday party a year later that she first noticed something was wrong.

The Dark Lord himself was at a gathering for a mere child, which was already strange, but the conversation he had with her was even more peculiar.

"Tell me, Narcissa," He had hissed out in that snake-like way of his, "How informed are you of the in and outs of wizarding gossip?"

She puffed up her chest, proud to reply in a way that she knew would please her Lord, "I am the most informed, My Lord. Have you a question for me?"

He smiled, a sick sight, his lips pulled too tightly against his face, as if the effort might split them open. "Your lovely young Draco cannot possibly be the only young wizard turning one this summer, correct? Have you been invited to any gatherings for another child? Late July, perhaps?"

Narcissa frowned deeply, "Not invited, no. There are only two magical children turning one at the end of this July, My Lord, but they're both born into blood-traitor families. I have no interest in them,"

Voldemort seemed giddily thoughtful at this information. "Blood-traitors, you say? Explain."

"The Longbottoms, sir. We always thought they were a good pure-blooded family, but these last generations have proved disappointing. They have a babe, I do not know his name, born late last July. The other would be the Potter boy, child of the Pureblood, James Potter, and his Mudblood wife, Lily."

Voldemort seemed farther intrigued by her response, and made courteous chit-chat with her for a few moments more before excusing himself.

Narcissa didn't feel one single pang of guilt when she learned at a Death Eater meeting that the Potter boy was to be killed. In fact, she quite prided herself in the knowledge that she was the one who'd alerted the Dark Lord of the child's treachery (though she knew not what that treachery was) and she even went so far as to give Voldemort a good-luck charm of sorts when he was leaving that night.

No, the only time she felt bad about any of it was when October faded into November, and with it came the tragic news of her Lord's demise. Lucius, her wonderful genius husband and best friend, managed to make it seem as though their family was totally innocent. No one from the ministry even came to check their home, which was fortunate, because several dark artifacts could have been discovered. She was absentmindedly trying to think up whether or not any of these artifacts might pose as harmful to her son (now toddling about in a way that only good breeding could produce in a baby) when Lucius stormed into the room.

"Narcissa!" He roared furiously, and even her little Dragon flinched, frightened of his Daddy's voice. Now, that just wouldn't do...

"Yes, Lucius?" She responded in an even tone, though her eyes displayed a cruel warning that made it very clear just why she was sorted into Slytherin, and reminded subtly that Bellatrix Lestrange was her sister and they weren't so very different if she didn't want them to be.

Her husband's anger only faltered for a second at the look, before he put on his best face as a powerful pureblood Malfoy, and she started thinking that it was absolutely absurd for them to be silently having a battle over who was crueler than whom before the argument even started.

"My pocket-watch, what have you done with it?"

She stared coolly back at him, calculating how best to respond. "I gave it to the Dark Lord, just before he went to Godric's Hallow." She revealed, not even wincing at the fury her husband was now displaying.

"You did what?" He hissed out, "That was Evan's watch!"

"Honestly, Lucius, with the Malfoy crest on it? I should hardly have been expected to know that." She snapped back, taking a disgruntled Draco into her arms and bouncing him automatically on her knee without even thinking of it. If Narcissa was anything, it was a naturally good mother.

"Maybe if you would spend any of your time listening to what I have to say, or noticing the things that I cherish, you would have known that the watch was very dear to me!"

"Yes, well, coming from the man who didn't even notice his wife was eight months pregnant, I hardly see your point. You're more torn up about losing the watch than the Dark Lord!" She accused, quickly regaining the upper hand as she always did. Lucius was an easy person to argue with, if you knew him well. Which she did, despite her lack of concern for his material things – specifically, Evan Rosier's watch.

Draco let out an indignant screech, not liking that his parents weren't paying him much attention, and Lucius, bitter man that he was, did not go so far as to further upset his son. The argument was over, and they did not mention it again, but from time to time, Lucius would long for the watch in his hands, missing the peace it used to bring him, when he could imagine that it was whispering sweet nothings into his head.

XxBxExLxOxVxExDxX

Contrary to common belief, it was Severus Snape who was the first to arrive at the scene. He had sat there, for precious seconds that felt like hours and days and years, with the corpse of the woman he knew as Lily Evans lying breathlessly against his chest. He had cried. He had cried, and deceived by silence, he had thought that no one was there to see him.

But two eyes, small and searching, and just exactly like the ones that were closed and pressed against him – were watching. Harry Potter had a stillness that a babe should not know how to poses. He had stared at the strange man with the greasy black hair, as he cradled his Mummy, and sobbed agonizingly all over her clothes, dampening the shirt that she had picked out just that morning, when she was alive and well.

Harry's Mummy didn't look any different, only still. But he knew that something was very wrong, because he himself had changed. His forehead was bleeding, and there was a pocket-watch, scorched black and bent up beyond repair, that wouldn't leave him alone. Perhaps, to a muggle, it would seem absurd that a baby would be stalked by a pocket-watch, but that was exactly what was happening.

Even as the man who had cried all over Mummy left, and the big man with the big beard came in and stripped him of all his clothes, clumsily changing his diaper, and inspecting his body for anything abnormal, the pocket-watch was there. He could feel it more than see it, now, but he had seen it before. It had fallen to the floor with a thud, after the flash of green light, and something in him had called to it, commanded it, and now it wouldn't leave him alone.

When the big hairy man, who he recalled was a friend of Daddy and Mummy's put him on the flying motorbike, he could feel the pocket-watch. It had found a way into the blankets that he was wrapped up in, and the touch was strange against his skin, like nothing he'd ever felt before. His forehead burned and he cried, hating the sting of the pain, but it faded, and he slept.

He had dreams that night. Dreams that he didn't understand at such a young age, and by the time he was old enough, wouldn't remember.

A/N: Okay, I know this chapter seems rather pointless, but it's not. The next one's done, I'll have it up after some reviews come in. (Yes, I'm one of those people, lol.)

So with that said, PLEASE REVIEW OMG I NEED IT O.O

I love you guys for reading!

-Beloved