Silk Roads

by GenderlessPerson

When the road you're on is already in the verge of crumbling, you could either choose to foolishly continue onward, or turn back and change paths. Harry decided on the latter. MoD!Harry, Slash, LV/HP, MPreg

2. Chapter 2

Summary: When the road you're on is already in the verge of crumbling, you could either choose to foolishly continue onward, or turn back and change paths. Harry decided on the latter. MoD!Harry

Pairings: Older Harry/Voldemort, other side pairings

Warning: AU, Time-Travel, Universe Hopping, New Identity, Slash (this means Boy/Boy), MasterOfDeath!Harry, Killings/Torture/Child Abuse

Disclaimer: If I were the author of Harry Potter, Dumbies would have chocked on a Lemon Drop and drop dead, not AK-ed. So no, I do not own Harry Potter.

"Speaking"

"Parseltongue"

'Mental telepathy'

---

Chapter 2: Childhood Years

31st July 1944
Location: Wool's Orphanage

A snake with unnaturally intelligent emerald eyes was observing a woman, whom was crouching down in favor of scrutinizing a basket that was surrounded by a flock of butterflies on the doorstep. She gave a sharp inhale of breathe as she spotted a newborn inside. Whilst she turned to shout out for the head Matron, the snake was quick to enter the partly opened door and into the building.

Quick steps were heard heading towards the woman and the snake hid behind a potted plant, completely out of view from the humans. They talked for a few minutes before they accepted that they had to keep the baby.

It didn't want Its Master to be raised in such a place, but It had no choice. Harry had wanted a solid background, even if they were with muggles. Its Master had grumbled for half an hour on wizard stupidity, lack of common sense and magical orphanages.

"The letter says that his name is Marcaunon S. Gaunt." Woman number one stated as she scanned the letter that the baby held.

"What do you suppose the S. stands for? And who in their right mind would name their child Marcaunon? What does it even mean?" Woman two questioned, looking rather annoyed.

They soon decided to leave it as it is and let the boy decide on his own once he was older. The snake shook Its head at the show of irresponsibility but decided that it was better than picking a random name that would displease Its Master. It knew that Its Master would look at It in disappointment when he finds out that It had forgotten to write down Its Master's middle name.

The second woman, Mrs. Cole, instructed her employee to place the newborn in one of the nurseries whilst she wobbled back to the hole she came from. The snake followed and slipped into the room just as the door closed, to witness the woman transferring It's Master roughly from the basket and into the cot. It hissed in displeasure but remained out of view.

Once the woman left, the snake was soon enveloped in a mist, and a figure draped in a black cloak stepped out from within. It glided towards the new resident of Wool's Orphanage and cradled the baby to Its chest; checking for any injuries that he may have received from the rough woman.

When It was sure that Its Master was unharmed, It removed the sleeping spell that It had placed. The baby soon opened his eyes, revealing dulled blue-scarlet. It whispered some words in a language unknown to men, soothing the baby as well as improving his eyesight and hearing.

"Master, the trip was successful and your body is all in working condition. Nothing is amiss." The figure, also known as Death, reported dutifully to Its Master while It placed feather-like touches on the baby's cheek.

Said baby gave a somewhat jerky nod, and whined when his muscles refused to cooperate. Death chuckled and continued to sooth the baby, promising that It would take care of Its Master whilst they were alone.

After much reassurance, the baby boy soon fell asleep, still in the arms of his faithful servant. Death's emerald eyes soften as It returned Its Master to his cot, and disappeared without a sound.

Only a summer azure butterfly was left to watch the newborn sleep.

---

December 1945
Location: Wool's Orphanage

The orphanage was lively with the children's shouts and laughter, all excited with the decorations surrounding the playroom. They were crowded together, both young and old, around a big Christmas tree. The caretakers had smiles on their faces as they pile up presents underneath the tree, much to the children's glee.

In the darkest corner of the room, a toddler was sitting on the floor with a serene expression, his aura practically screaming 'stay away'. Many of the caretakers were wary of this little boy; he was abnormally silent and a few white-winged butterflies would always be present on his small shoulders or within the bird nest he called hair.

He never once cried out in hunger and his diaper was never in need of changing. What the caretakers didn't know was that his servant was the one who fed and changed him on a daily basis.

The orphans avoided him like a plague, knowing that he was not your everyday baby. They believed that he was cursed. Not a single child escaped his ire when they disturbed him. On the other hand, the caretakers left him alone after a few weeks of his diaper clean of any defecation.

The boy's name was mostly forgotten. The adults would normally refer to him as 'that boy', whilst the children would call him freak. He gave it no mind. He remembered once upon a time when he thought his name was Freak. Only when he reached five he understood that he was called Harry, eleven when he found out his family name, and whilst reading, found out that his full name was Harry James potter. He remembered clearly how hateful of his relatives he felt when he found out his full name due to a book.

That boy's name was Marcaunon, and he was not a happy toddler. Being forced to attend a Parasite holiday was not one of his to do list. He would rather celebrate Yuletide with his servant (not that Death wanted to) and ignore such a devastating holiday with snot-covered children running around and screaming their lungs out. He wished they would scream it out literally.

"Now children, gather around so we can sing some Christmas carols!" One of the female caretakers declared, her wrinkled face bright with laugh lines and the children cheered.

Marcaunon was traumatized severely when they sung. His eardrums felt like they were about to burst at hearing tone-deaf singing voices mashed together. He resisted the urge to clasp his ears with brutal force (it was beneath him) and forced himself to tune out the noise.

"Beautifully sang, children!" Not bloody likely; it would even cause corpses to turn in their graves in horror. "Now queue up so you can receive your presents."

The children rushed and pushed one another brutally and Marcaunon was glad that he was alone in the corner that he dubbed as his. He was not about to get pushed and shoved for a mere present that would likely turn out to be second hand toys or clothing.

Whilst he was busy picturing Death tearing the children slowly apart, he missed the head Matron, Mrs. Cole, heading towards him with a scowl on her ugly face. Her face was beyond saving even with plastic surgery.

"Boy!" Said boy snapped his head towards the voice and forced the hate in his eyes to dim. "Are you deaf boy!? Go and line up for your gift. Not that you deserve anything at all."

Mrs. Cole grabbed the boy's skinny arm in an unforgiving grip –forcing the butterflies to fly away– and proceeded to drag the boy towards the other children.

Marcaunon didn't bother hiding his murderous glare whilst he was all but hauled towards the others. The crowd split apart in fear at the look both adult and child wore, not daring to make any noise that could direct attention to them.

She took a random wrapped box and shoved it at the boy, and walked off after sneering balefully at him. Marcaunon toddled away after receiving his gift, and sat back down in his corner.

After a few minutes of silence, the other children went back in line and they continued as if they were never interrupted. The scarlet eyed toddler opened his gift in disinterest and scoffed. He was right; inside was a second hand toy. The positive thing was that it was a serpent.

The toddler observed it for a moment and decided that he rather like his new toy. It was an albino plush, with beautiful ruby eyes and a few stitches littering its body. He would ask Death to clean it before sleeping with it though.

---

August 1946
Location: Wool's Orphanage

The sound of bells could be heard throughout the building, indicating that a family had arrived to look for a child to adopt. The children ran down towards the adoption room in excitement whilst the teenagers walked in a relaxed pace.

A toddler, not more than two winters, was seen staggering towards the room with a badly contained grimace. His muscles were still in the process of developing and he loathed walking –read; waddling. He had always complained to his servant that it made him look like a penguin.

Ever since he re-learnt how to talk, he had been moaning about how his life is unfair. Death said he was whining, but he denied it with venom. It was beneath him to whine.

Inside of the room, there was not one, but two sets of couples that were looking for a child to adopt. They were quick to dismiss the teenagers as they wanted a child that they could still cuddle. The teens just shrug their shoulders in resignation and walked out.

"Jeremy, look! That girl's so cute!" One of the women cooed at a little girl whom had just walked into the adoption room.

"I thought you wanted a boy, Charlet sweetie?" Her husband questioned in amusement whilst she huffed out and slapped his arm playfully.

The girl in question giggled and gave the bint her best puppy dog eyes. The scarlet eyed toddler scoffed softly, knowing that the little girl was a bully. She was always seen holding a stick and hitting it at other children that were younger than her. Said stick closely resembled a smelting stick that was once upon a time used by dear Duddikins.

She had once tried to hit him with that stick of hers. He of course, did not tolerate her presence or actions, and made her sprain her wrist as she fell. She informed the caretakers that he bullied her, resulting in her arm was broken afterwards as he was forced to listen to his main caretaker, Linda, lecture him.

Whilst the first couple was cooing at the bully, the second couple walked and observed the rest with critical eyes. They looked like the strict type of parents than the first but their eyes showed their love for children.

From his observation, the woman was probably a person whom teaches children. A kindergarten teacher perhaps. The man was an office worker, judging from his attire. He probably rushed from work to fetch his wife before coming here.

When they reached Marcaunon, one of them made a move to reach for him.

He was quick to take a step back to avoid the incoming appendage. The owner of said hand startled before she gave him a warm smile.

"No worries, little boy. Just pushing your hair aside."

She made a move once again, and he forced himself to stay rooted. The woman tucked his curtains called hair behind his ear and looked towards her husband.

"What do you think, dear? He will most definitely grow up into a handsome lad." It was quite shallow of her to look for a child that would be handsome or pretty once they grow older.

The scarlet eyed toddler knew that his looks were his selling point, and usually uses them to his advantage. He had dark messy shoulder-length hair that usually covers his doe like scarlet eyes, which was enhanced by dark long lashes. A straight nose, high cheekbones that were still engulfed in baby fat, pinkish cupid bow lips, sharp chin, and a pale skin tone. Overall, his features were quite androgynous.

He also knew that once he physically matures and reach the age of sixteen, his looks will become more boyish. Patience is the key.

"Handsome? More like beautiful! I do believe that he'll be a heartbreaker once he's older." Her husband replied with a small smile. "What's your name, young man?"

Just as he opened his mouth to reply, a child next to him made a dramatic effort to be cute. This distracted the couple as they cooed at the child's cuteness. Yuck.

Marcaunon closed his mouth, relieved that he would not have to speak with disgusting Parasites. Whilst they were busy, the first couple came and the woman –Charlet was it?– rudely snatched his spectacles from his face. This made him freeze and seethe on the inside.

How dare this… this complete waste of oxygen that could be more useful for fertilizer dare take what was his without his consent!?

"Honey! Look at this child! What a beautiful… boy. Or is it a girl?" The woman grinned at her husband whilst waving his beloved eye-wear around. "And you shouldn't wear such an ugly thing on such an angelic face!"

This imbecile had the audacity to snatch his glasses, point at him, called him an IT, and wave said glasses around without a care whilst calling it ugly!? How bloody dare she!

"Now now, sweetheart. You shouldn't–" Her husband didn't get to finish as one of the caretakers screeched and was quick to snatch his eye-wear out of her hand.

The caretaker gave the toddler back his item before reprimanding the adults that the children were possessive over their belongings, and they would do well as to not take anything forcefully –especially from orphans. She kept looking at him as he slowly cleaned his glasses of any fingerprints and placed it back on his face.

Ah sweet relieve. His eyes were used to looking at the world behind tainted glasses. The adults were confused as to where his specs came from back then, but they summed it up to his oddities.

"Why don't you both look at others? This one's a trouble maker…" She whispered to the couple with a worried voice.

Whilst they were ushered to look at other children, Marcaunon called out his magic and placed an accident-prone curse at the bint whom dare call him an it. He was not a genderless person. His magic was quick to respond, almost eager like a puppy, and after a few minutes, the first accident happened.

She had tripped over a toy truck and hit her head –rather hard– on the wall, much to his sadistic pleasure. The children and staff shot nervous glances towards the scarlet eyed toddler, used to people having accidents when he was angry or bored.

The adults were quick to help the bint up. She reassured them that she was alright, and they continued to survey the children.

Soon, three kids were picked in total. He was sadly one of them.

Whilst they were being moved towards Mrs. Cole's office, Charlet felt a force similar to a push and she lost her balance just as she was at the top of the stairs. She cried out and a second before she fell, she saw the toddler that she wanted grin dementedly at her, his eyes glowing molten red behind those rose-tinted glasses. She was suddenly very frightened of that child.

The sound of bones snapping and different voices screaming was heard all throughout the corridors, and this made them all, except Marcaunon, pale.

Paramedics were soon called and Mrs. Cole informed the other adults that they would have to come the next day to settle the adoption papers. Marcaunon was banned from attending future adoptions, and received punishment even without any evidence that point out he was indeed the culprit. It was worth it in his eyes.

As the days passed by, he heard from one of the caretakers how Charlet had died of internal bleeding whilst on her way to the hospital. The news brought a slight upward tilt of his lips.

---

July 1947
Location: Wool's Orphanage

The head Matron, Mrs. Cole, was busy drinking her beloved whisky as she tried to forget her problems. She was stressed and shaken by a memory of a similar boy that once stayed in the very same orphanage and room as the current residence of room 27.

She had repudiated at first, but the signs were hard to miss. The boy was eerily alike another young adult she knew. They are identical as twins (only different in age-wise), and only because of the framed glasses was she able to stand looking at the boy.

Whilst Tom –even his name brought a shiver down her spine– was a neat boy who kept his appearance at top priority, Marcaunon refused to wear shoes and brush the mess he called hair. He wore strings on his toes that coiled –somewhat like a snake– all the way to his ankles. She found out from one of her workers that they were called anklets and toe rings; primarily used for decoration rather than protection. She never did figure out how he kept the soles of his feet from being dirtied by grass and mud.

Other than his appearance, Marcaunon Gaunt reminded her too much of Tom Riddle in personality and demeanor.

He showed that he could hurt the other children just like Tom, and he even demonstrated that by killing an adult. He was worse than Tom could ever be as a child.

She remembered how she and her staff brought the children to attend the usual Sunday Church Service, the Priest had all but banned the messy haired boy from coming in the future. Whispers reached her ears that the Priest had deemed him a devil's spawn.

She had once planned to banish the devil from within Tom Riddle, but that didn't work out too well. The boy became colder and more guarded then ever. Mrs. Cole was a religious woman, and she believed that Marcaunon is a demon, not possessed by one. She was a determine woman as well.

She had tried to bring the toddler to another Church just a few days ago, but he refused and screamed at her; this made her suspect that something was wrong (of course she didn't know that Death hated the church). Whilst she was taking a walk in the backyard, she heard him speaking in a devilish language with many hisses. It made her tremble in fright at the sight, and her suspicions of him heighten.

The head Matron had already called a team consisting of ten exorcists to eradicate the demon called Marcaunon from her orphanage, and she would stop at nothing to see that monster gone from her orphanage.

They promised that they would arrive tomorrow at noon with equipment and would like her to remove the other children from the building, perhaps take them to the park. She of course had agreed whole heartedly.

Now she just had to wait for tomorrow to arrive. For now, she would drink her worries away.

OOOO

Marcaunon struggled as a man forced another bottle of holy water down his throat yet again. He had no idea what had happened. A few minutes beforehand he was sleeping in his room, but then a group of men wearing black robes and crosses came towards him and hauled him non to gently onto a metal table with restrains.

This had brought back unwanted and hidden memories of his captive in his original universe and made his muscle spasm. It was a bad move on his part.

They had restrained him. Reality and memory overlapped. The men in black were slowly morphed into Parasites wearing white lab coats, with green masks on their faces and scalpels in their gloved hands. He screamed in panic, afraid that they would cut him open once again. He didn't want to be their experiment any longer. He thought his life as their test subject was over.

"No no no no! Please no more! Mercy… Please mercy!"

"A demon begging for mercy? You deserve, and we shall offer none!"

With that, the scientist continued to force water down his throat to silence him.

Objects were soon flying around as his magic broke free from their chains. His body trembled in fright as he could only see lab coats and tools meant for cutting brought to him. They shouted at him, demanding that he leave this plane and went back to where he came from.

Why are they shouting? They normally just gag him before cutting him up. He was confused and terrified of the voices. The child in him screaming for him to wail and cry out for his protector.

The men didn't notice a beautiful translucent-winged butterfly in the room had turned into a ball of blue light before disappearing.

Some of them hit and nudge him with silver rods, whilst others would throw salt and water as they mumble incoherent things. He begged them to stop –pride be damned– crying that he was human just like the rest of them.

Of course they didn't.

They tore his clothes, stripped him naked to his birthday suit, and drew symbols on his torso with a silver dagger. Even with his high pain threshold, he cried out as he felt his blood flooding the table and salt entering his wounds.

Why always him? Just because he was the only wizard left on Earth did not mean they could do this to him. Just because he was immortal does not make him less human. Just because his blood could cure any disease does not mean they could use him as a blood bank. He only wanted freedom, why could they not grant him that. To be left alone.

Parasites fear what they do not understand, and because of this fear, they wiped out Magicals.

He felt the sensation of someone using a blunt rod finally stop drawing patterns across his torso. Blood was leaving him and his mind thought back to the time where they drained him till he was nothing but bones.

Just as the scientist (exorcist) was about to plunge a scalpel (dagger) into his chest, the room became extremely cold; this made them all freeze and shiver at the intense feeling. The adult part of Marcaunon's brain analyzed that it was a similar feeling to that of a Dementor. His child part shouted for the adult to shut up and scream for help.

"You dare make my Master cry and bleed …" A soft yet chilly voice echoed throughout the room.

"It came out!"

"Continue the prayers!"

"Hurry!"

"Be gone, Demon!"

They were quick to continue but it made no difference. Nobody can chase Death away but his Master.

Suddenly, one of the exorcist's head flew and the floor was covered in blood.

The sound of Marcaunon groaning drew the attention of Death, and It froze. It turned Its head towards Its Master and the man closest to him.

The man's arms were ripped apart by an unknown force and he screamed just before his tongue was wrenched out, and his eyes gouged from within its sockets. His body was soon littered with holes. His heart was the last to be pulled out and crushed.

One of the remaining eight rushed towards the door, but it was predictably locked. The man's body was split into two from head to groin; painting the door and its surrounding area with blood and innards.

The shouting became louder and two of them ran towards the windows. They were unbreakable.

Death appeared behind them and crushed both their heads with Its bare hands. This made their grey matter splatter all over the glass. The sight would be gruesome to anyone.

Marcaunon's scarlet eyes glossed over as his mind continue to fight, not knowing if this was all a nightmare or if this was reality.

Five were left and they were back to back in a circle, all of them chanting uselessly. One of them was suddenly pulled by his ankle towards Death. The man lost his bladder control in fear.

Death wrinkled Its nose in distaste at seeing a grown man wet himself and decided to emasculate him as punishment. The others that were staring in horror winced when their colleague had his manhood ripped apart and testicles crushed.

The man was then left to bleed to his death whilst Death glided towards the remaining four. They backed into a corner and one of them was suddenly lifted by something invisible. His body started to bend backwards rather slowly and after a minute, his spine was broken and he lay folded on the floor just before his head exploded.

Just as sudden, one of the three remaining man was torn into two, his upper body still very much alive while his lower lay on the floor uselessly. He screamed as he felt his innards slowly being pulled out of his body, and died a painfully slow death as his heart veins finally snapped and plop to the floor, his body following soon after.

"M-m-m-m-monster." One of the last two men whispered.

The second last man's skin started peeling itself and he screamed as salt began to enter his muscles. Soon after his skin was all over the floor, his veins were slowly removed whilst he trashed on the bloodied tiles. His muscles, fat and organs were followed soon after; leaving only a stained red skeleton behind.

"I will see all of you in my Realm soon." Death finally spoke as the last man shat himself, quite literally.

Death pulled out Its scythe and beheaded the man with a clean swipe.

It made Its way towards Its Master in a hurried yet elegant manner, and pulled the dagger out of his chest. This made Its Master cough out more blood while staring at his servant dully.

"Forgive me for my delay, Master." It whispered as It started to heal Its Master's body.

The wounds were all gone, but the symbols carve into his skin remained a thin pale line, yet another reminder for the poor boy. Death extended Its Master's glamour over them –It had lost count on how many scars Its Master had hidden– and wrapped Its Master in a blanket.

It soon cradled Its Master like It had always done during the night and was hugged weakly in return.

"Forgive me Master…" It whispered yet again.

"T-there… is… no-noth… hing… to forgive…" Marcaunon replied slowly as he closed his eyes. "Wh-where?"

"Orphanage. You're free Master. I won't allow them any more lab coats to hurt you." It shushed.

"Sleep. I will stand guard." Marcaunon's half lidded eyes fell heavy and before he passed out, he saw a blue light hovering at Death's shoulder. He would have to repay his sinner afterwards.

OOOO

Mrs. Cole regretted calling professional exorcists over to her orphanage. The room they had used for their failed exorcism was sealed off. The smell of blood refused to disappear. One of her workers had stumbled across a strange rotting smell and went to investigate, only to faint at the sight of what appeared to be a massacre.

Police were soon called to investigate the matter and they had yet to find the murderer, but she knew who it was; the demon. The case was written off as a Cult Ritual since there were symbols drawn around the room by the victim's blood.

After they had removed the body and innards, she had seen the little demon at his usual corner with his arms hugging that creepy toy snake –its eyes were glowing like rubies. He was smiling. A bright smile like he had won the lottery.

It made her blood chill at how a small child could murder these grown man and yet remained unaffected. He was definitely a monster.

---

October 1948
Location: Wool's Orphanage

"Master, since your hand is now strong enough to write –albeit a little shakily, I will be teaching you the duties of being the Master of Death." Death stated solemnly from behind its Master.

"Morgana's tits!" He squeaked as he laid a hand over his chest to calm himself down. "Will you stop doi– wait… duties?"

"Yes, duties. The Master of Death is not just a mere title."

"Hm. What does being MoD have anything to do with being able to hold a pen properly?"

Death didn't answer. It pulled out a stack of yellow folders –with the Hallows' symbol in the middle and the words Confidential just below– from within Its cloak (Marcaunon had to wonder how many pockets It had) and placed them onto his small study table, if it could be called that. He was now old enough –according to Mrs. Cole– to have his own room. Said room was just big enough to put a single bed, a small wooden table and chair, and a wardrobe.

"Please sit here, Master." Death waved Its arm towards the wooden chair.

He sat at the indicated seat and Death stood behind him. Its long fingers placed a bottle of green ink, fountain pen and a slim green notebook beside the stack and It leaned down, just touching the crown of Marcaunon's head with Its chest.

"This notebook has the information required for the completion of these folders. Shall we go through them slowly?"

"On All Hallows' Eve…?"

"Now would be a good time, Master."

He nodded and opened said notebook reluctantly. Today was supposed to be a holiday!

-Master of Death's reference book-

This notebook will be an important item for the newly made Master of Deaths'. It contains all the required information that is somewhat alike a teacher's guide for their student's exam paper grading.

(Marcaunon stared at Death with a raised eyebrow before returning his gaze on the notebook)

When working on the Deathfiles (paperwork), this notebook will show you how many points to deduct or add to a soul's 'test'. You are highly advised to ask Death a completed Deathfile for an example before you start your work. But first, let us go through the point system.

It is important that before you judge the soul based on how many points you will be adding or deducting, read their life's story and the reason as to why they committed a good deed or sin.

Firstly, a soul will have 25 points in the beginning of its life.

To proceed towards the afterlife, or what mortals called Heaven, one must have the minimum of 100 points. The Spiritual Realm is where Team One is posted. If the souls wish to be reborn, they will need the permission of the Marshal and then the Master of Death or Death itself.

("I have Teams that have sub-teams for each country. Team One is the team that takes care of the souls that have not committed a lot of sins in the Spiritual Realm. Team Two is posted inside the Astral Realm, where souls await their rebirth. Team Three is posted to the Nether Realm, where souls of the unworthy go to. Team Four is posted to the Central Realm, where souls that are to await their judgment linger. Team Five is posted here, in the Terra Realm; they work the same as Obliviators from the Ministry. And lastly, Team Six is posted in the Terra Realm as well; they collect the souls and pass said souls to Team Four. Any questions, Master?" Marcaunon shook his head as he continued to read.)

For a chance of being reborn, they will need a minimum of 700 points. Children under the age of five will be automatically placed within the Astral Realm since they are exempted from these rules, where Team Two is posted.

Whilst some are lucky to achieve positive points, there are some unworthy ones. Once a soul's points drop to negative (-1 and below), they will be placed inside the Nether Realm. They will then be punished by Team Three, and once the Marshal of the Team decided that they have been properly disciplined; they will then be brought to the Astral Realm. But before they could have a chance of being reborn, the Master of Death (you), will need to authorize it.

If the soul's points do not reach the minimum number to proceed to the Spiritual Realm, but still remain positive, the Master of Death could decide whether that particular soul could be placed to either the Spiritual Realm or Nether Realm. This is where the biography comes in, and if still unsure, the MoD could interview the soul and decide upon finishing.

-Next Page-

Good Deeds

Sacrificing their life for a stranger: +8
Sacrificing their life for a friend: +7
Sacrificing their life for a family member: +6
Sacrificing their life because they felt it was their duty: +4
Sacrificing their life because they are in debt to them: +4
Sacrificing their life because they are told to: +2
Sacrificing their life unintentionally: +1
Sacrificing their life due to other reasons not stated above: Point addition of your choosing

Saving a stranger's life with the risk of one's own life: +3

..
.

(It continued in that manner for at least another 100 or so pages, much to Marcaunon's growing dread. "I have to memorize all of them at some point of time, am I right?" "Yes Master." "Merlin…")

-100+ pages later-

Sins

Committed genocide: -10
Committed genocide with the intention of saving one person: -9
Committed genocide due to orders: -8
Committed genocide due to peer pressure: -8
Committed genocide because they were forced to: -6
Committed genocide unintentionally: -5
Committed genocide with the intention of saving others: -4
Committed genocide due to other reasons not stated above: Point deduction of your choosing

Committed patricide: -6

..
.

-Skip to the end-

As you may have noted, there are more sins committed than there are deeds, and higher point deduction than the deeds. Killing is sinful and usually comes with a high deduction rate.

It is highly advisable to memorize all the points listed above since this notebook highly doubts that the Master of Death wants to flip through more than half the pages just to find one sin (Sucks to be you).

After adding or deducting points based on the soul's actions (on the column beside said action), proceed to which Realm they will be placed and sign your approval at the bottom of the document. The signature MUST be corresponding, and must NOT BE CHANGED at any given moment or time. Be sure to place the correct document into the correct Deathfile.

Good Luck (you'll need it),
The handy notebook

P.S. If the documents shows a human that died at the age of 5 and below; skim through, sign, and move on. These souls are exempted from the system, even if they were to commit murder or suicide.

P.P.S. Souls with more than negative five hundred points will be damned and remain with the MoD until further notice.

-End of Reference Book-

"Oh Salazar, my points would be more than negative seven hundred." Marcaunon whispered as he closed the notebook.

"Do not fret, Master. You are unable to go to any of the Realms stated other than mine."

"I don't know whether that was supposed to reassure me or not, but forget it. I have a question."

"Yes Master?"

"Aren't souls supposed to be old and recycled? Why do we not count the soul's age?"

"Majority are. Whilst these mortals advance in technology or Magick, they commit more sins and end up in the Nether Realm. The balance would be disrupted if new souls were not made. We do not count the age of these souls, but the age they lived whilst they are alive."

"Who creates the new souls?"

"The Creator."

"There are other… omnipotent beings?"

"Indeed there are, but they do not care of what mortals do. Usually Fate and Destiny are the nosy ones."

"Why are young children exempted?"

"They have no definition of right and wrong."

"… I see… What now?"

"I have already placed one of the completed folders on the very top."

Marcaunon opened said folder –Deathfile– and spread the documents on his table. There was indeed a full photo of the person, their time and date of death, and the reason of their death in one page. The other pages are all and –luckily– organized by the sins and deeds they committed as well as their life details.

"These papers have the name, picture, biography, sins committed, deeds committed, date & time of death, and reason of death."It pointed out each document with its finger. "If you have any questions, do not hesitate to ask."

He bobbed his head and scanned through the documents. Death's signature made him pause.

"Death?"

"Yes Master?"

"Why am I doing the paperwork when you've already been doing them for perhaps, millenniums?"

"I will be out reaping souls together with my minions. After you have signed these papers, I will then send them towards Team Four."

"Why can't you keep doing it?"He asked sulkily with a pout that he would later deny.

"It would lessen my workload if you were to help me with some of the paperwork."

"Some?"

"Yes, some. After reaping, the team's Marshal would be the one to put all the soul's information onto papers and into folders. They will then be passed to you for signing."

He sighed.

"Am I supposed to sign my full name or…"

Death took the fountain pen and dipped it into the ink bottle, before writing down on a blank piece of paper.

Marcaunon S. Gaunt
::Signature::
Master of Death

"Do not mind that your signature would be a little shaky, since you are still four years old. And be sure to sign it on the first document below. Magic is repelled from the paper, so you are unable to copy and paste." There goes that idea.

"I see." He nodded his thanks, arranged the documents and placed it within the folder. "I'll try one now."Death hummed Its agreement and leant closer to look over Its Master's shoulder.

It took far longer than Marcaunon had thought. He had to flip through the notebook for every action the soul committed and write down the exact points. If he made a mistake, Death would point it out to him and he would have to once again flip through the notebook for the correct points. Death was stingy and didn't want to tell the points for each action.

A total of thirty seven minutes, fifty three seconds and seven milliseconds for a folder was not something he would be proud of.

"An acceptable time, but perhaps we will continue this once Master has memorized everything on the notebook?" Death asked drily.

Marcaunon leaned back against his seat with exhaustion.

"Agreed." He hissed tiredly.

---

June 1949
Location: Wool's Orphanage

Time has its own amusing concept. It sometimes slows down or speeds up, depending much on the person in question.

Marcaunon learnt that the hard way as he waited for yet another year to pass. Ever since he was locked inside the orphanage with at least one staff keeping him under close observation, he had taken to watching the wall to pass time –not a very good way to pass, mind you.

Once when he had Death bring him a book about… well, death itself; his guard dog had paled and told him with a rather forced smile that he was not to read such stories, as it was hard for him to understand due to his lack of experience and age, and give said book to the guard.

He was of course, very not amused, but not wanting to antagonize his probation officer –lest he rot indoors till he reaches the age of eleven– gave the book away and continued on with his wall staring.

He had learnt from experience that this applied to all the books he read. Mind, he did read gruesome subjects but he was a bitter old man! All the child stories about princes coming to save their beloved princesses from towers or dragons were disgusting in his opinion. He would rather fight one in real life than read about a hero complex guy saving a worthless lump of meat before they fall in love and engage in making babies. Insert shudder here.

After thinking that books about death or torture methods were not allowed, he had asked Death to smuggle him a few books about Necromancy. He had always been fascinated by them.

That didn't work quite as planned.

His probation officer took note of the title and got this far fetched idea that he would raise the dead. He was not far from the truth, but he was a Parasite. He does not have a clue about the magical world. This had confirmed Marcaunon's theory about the staff being prejudiced about him. The other confirmation was that he saw his book being read by one of the teenagers. Blasphemy!

Whilst he was frustrated, he had told Death to bring him the Tales of the Three Brothers. As he had predicted, it was confiscated as well. This did not bode well for him and he had hit his head for hours with a smelting stick that his cousin was so fond of. The reason for his self-inflicted injury was that he had forgotten that it was possible to change the cover of a book with a spell.

The same staff took the book as well. This made Marcaunon confirmed his other theory that they didn't want him to read anything lest he outsmarts the other orphan children –which he already has.

The conclusion for the overall week was that he was not allowed to read anything remotely knowledgeable. He was only allowed to read brain-cell damaging books such as Snow White for a day or so before they were confiscated as well. Sprouting reasons such as him having ideas about poison apples.

But at least he had an hour or so to read his green notebook in the morning before he was forced out of his room by the guard. He didn't want to lose his beauty sleep reading all night.

The second thing he tried –and failed– was playing with toys. It was mind numbing to have to talk to oneself with different voices for different toys. The ultimate reason as to why it failed wasn't because it reduced his much needed brain cells –anything was better than staring at unattractive grey walls– but him talking in parseltongue for his snake toys. This made the children and staffs alike almost go into cardiac arrest, not that he mind. He had only one snake toy left in his possession because of his judgmental error. This of course led him into another day of wall watching.

Marcaunon has always been a stubborn person. He was not one to give up just because the situation called for it. No, he would have something to do by the end of the month or his good intentions would all be for naught.

He tried different methods of passing time. One of them was helping out in the kitchen. The kitchen lady was first doubtful but after much convincing, she agreed to his help. On the first day of work, everything was going on smoothly… until he had mistaken some sort of chemical or poison for ingredients.

It was not his fault that the lady placed them side by side –he had no idea as to why they even did that– with containers that look exactly the same. The children were lucky that the kitchen lady tried tasting the food he made before distributing it out.

She was on the floor foaming for a minute before another staff called an ambulance to take her away. He was kicked out of the kitchen ever since. He was forced to look at walls for at least three days when others look at him with suspicion in their eyes; like his plan was to supposedly poison the kitchen lady. If he did want to poison someone, it would not be the one whom cooks for them; they had to live off canned food for a week before a new kitchen lady was hired –the previous one quitted after ranting about demon child.

The next plan was to help out with things that do not need consuming; such as cleaning. What could go wrong with cleaning? He had done that when he was but a child whilst under the care of his relatives. This made him make a mental note to kill the Dursleys after Duddikins was old enough to comprehend what torture is –might take a while since his brain was lesser than a flobberworm's.

Back to cleaning; he messed up big time. He thought that the cleaning solution had always smelled foul. He couldn't be blamed since he did his chores with magic for decades. Much to the people living in the orphanage's horror, he had somehow mistaken a flammable liquid as the cleaning solution. Again, it was in the exact same container and was side by side.

Just as he had finished with mopping the entire orphanage with said liquid, a group of passerbys flicked a still lit cigarette through one of the open windows just for kicks. They ran away the moment they saw flames consuming the floors at a rapid pace.

Whilst he was whistling and thinking about how dragon blood is an effective oven cleaner, he was oblivious to the damage he had unintentionally done.

The fire brigade got an unknown call –he assumed from the guilty party– and hurried to the orphanage, which was halfway covered with burning flames. They managed to tame the fire and put it out, but a toddler was unlucky to have gotten locked in one of the rooms and suffered from second degree burns.

Mrs. Cole found out the reason soon after one of the fire brigade pointed out that the floors were covered with high flammable liquid called alcohol. As predicted, she blamed Marcaunon but the police wasn't convinced and said it might be unintentional –which it is– since he was but a little boy. Mrs. Cole threw a fit and locked him in the playroom for a week. The joy of wall watching, once again. He would bet a galleon that the alcohol was owned by the owner of said fit.

Once again, he had to think about the reason as to why a (giant) flask of alcohol –consumable– was next to another (giant) flask of cleaning solution –not consumable– inside a cleaning cupboard.

This made him continue his self-inflecting head hitting for an hour before resuming to glaring daggers in the same wall he had the pleasure of viewing for months.

So for now, he would have to enjoy the greying sight for a little longer before his brain could think of yet another ingenious plan to pass the time, he needed his rest. He should remove all the plans that relates to helping or good will.

Who would have thought that the idiom The Road to Hell is Paved with Good Intentions were indeed accurately true.

---

April 1950
Location: Wool's Orphanage

April fools. The most horrible day the Parasites made. Marcaunon could still remember being pranked by two devil redhead twins; their name had left his mind. He remembered that they were called the Weasel twins or something similar.

He remembered when once upon a time, when his mind was clouded with only a tiny bit of insanity, he made most of his so called friends (insert sneer here) ran away shouting that he was a budding Dark Lord. It was just a prank for Merlin's sake.

He had built a warehouse that was big enough to hold his pranking materials, and after a full day of building it from scratch –thank Merlin that magic made everything faster and easier– he started to paint the outer walls a beautiful shade of emerald green, whilst the roof was a dark brown. It looked somewhat like a treehouse on land.

He took a few days off from work the very next day to complete his ultimate prank. He killed some animals –he apologized whole heartedly before stabbing them– and drained them dry by hanging them from a ceiling, with a bucket that was covered with preservation charm below. There was of course some spells to make the blood drain faster, but he was busy with other things.

He made sure that all the materials needed to build a few golems were indeed present before he started. It took him roughly ten hours to make the golems, before he retired for the night.

The next day, he colored the golems and molds their expression to one of horror. Some were missing a few limbs, and some had holes and slashes. He then tipped a few buckets of animal blood all over the stone hard floor and placed a preservation charm all over it.

Slowly, he began moving and positioning the golems so that they were laid broken, hanging down the ceiling, or chained to the walls. Overall, it looked like a perfect torture chamber with dead prisoners in it.

It took much longer to slowly make the golem's wound look real while applying animal blood splotches over the body. Seeing that everything was in position, he then started to pour some sort of liquid that makes the whole warehouse smell like rotten meat and human waste. He surrounded the whole building with preservation charms once more before he made his exit. He had other things to bring.

The following day found Harry in Knockturn Alley's potion shop. He was searching for some parts needed for his prank, and this place surely had some. He spent an hour or so as he slowly picked all the necessary ingredients.

Afterwards, he went back to his warehouse and started to throw the ingredients at random. It was time for his prank to commence, and just one time as well; 1st April!

He called his (ex)friends over and they all stood outside the warehouse. Some of them were excited since he told them that he found this warehouse full of ancient things inside. The group consists of a family of redheads, bar their parents, a bushy haired woman, a dark haired man and another few that he couldn't remember. It did happen quite long ago.

As he opened the double doors, he heard a sharp gasp from behind him but didn't turn around. The inside of said warehouse was full of mingled corpses, the walls and floor painted with blood and viscera, animal and human carcass hanging from the ceiling; still dripping blood every so often into a bucket. The only spine-shivering thing was that the corpses had a look of horror on their very familiar faces.

Harry had then turned around to shout 'April's Fool!' but what he saw made him frown in confusion. The group was pale and some even looked ill. They each looked at their wives/husband's carved faces onto the corpses', said corpses (golems) mouth opened for a silent scream whilst each eyes were reflected with horror and fear.

Without another word, a few of them retched and dry heaved (some of them even vomited) at the smell and sight that was presented to them. The youngest red head rushed inside, afraid that her husband was tortured, and after reaching noticed that the bodies only looked life like. They were fake.

They had all fled the very next second, leaving a bewildered Savior behind, his shoes covered with bile and undigested food. The next day, they had flooed over to his home and demanded an explanation; which he answered with 'It was my April's Fool prank'. That made them screech and shout at him, calling him an insane psychopath before fleeing.

He had felt hurt and betrayed over their false accusation and actions, and was depressed for a week before they came back and asked for his forgiveness. He was blind and didn't notice that they had an obvious fake smile plastered on their faces. If he had looked for it, he would have seen the disgust, hatred, fury, fear, and terror reflecting in their eyes. Alas he didn't, and he had paid the price for it in the future.

He shook his head to disperse the memory and threw a life-like looking cockroach towards a seven year old girl; it landed right into her hair. She cried in terror as she thought it was real and rolled around the floor like a lunatic. He gave a mirthful chuckle –he denied that it came out as a giggle– as he looked at the scene playing in front of him; children screaming and trying to help her whilst the staff edge away from said girl, afraid of touching such a disgusting bug that was in her hair.

Perhaps he could come to love April's Fool day, after all pranking always made him gleeful.

---

January 1951
Location: Seaside somewhere in London

The staffs had decided that they would take the children out on a trip to the seaside since it was New Year's. The children were excited and were told to pack some spare clothing for swimming. For once, Marcaunon was glad that he was allowed to follow.

After a certain massacre, Mrs. Cole had forbidden him to accompany them to trips. This would usually make him happy, but after four long years of house arrest; he deserved to breathe in fresh air once more.

The reason as to why the Head Matron allowed him was because the staff had gank up on her in telling that she was being unfair; he wasn't even allowed outside in the backyard. They had forgotten all about their feelings of wrongness when they were near to him, his innocence shining.

He didn't mind.

OOOO

A tall hooded figure with his hood up stood in the middle of an empty beach, his unwavering gaze was intent on the waters as he was lost in memories.

The figure was soon forced into focus as the sound of children noises that people call laughter, started to increase. He had a feeling that they were nearing him. He moved behind a boulder and saw something that made him sneer.

Grey familiar uniforms followed by familiar matrons made him show his disgust underneath his shadowed hood. Just as he was about to leave, he felt a magical presence; it made him pause and observed the children once more.

The signature was familiar.

His eyes focused on a dark haired child wearing hideous round rose-tinted glasses with a butterfly resting atop the frame. The child looked to be around seven, his petite frame was drowned by the bigger children near –but still giving him a wide berth– him. The boy –though looking quite gender confusing– looked somewhat familiar, but he couldn't quite place where he had seen it before. The child was holding what looked to be a stuffed toy white snake and the hooded figure hid an awkward smile.

He remembered owning such a toy once upon a time.

The child was soon grabbed by the Head Matron and dragged reluctantly towards the boulder. He already had a habit of surpassing his magic so he was not worried about being sensed.

Both woman and child soon stopped just near enough for the wizard to make out their facial expression, but he was unable to eavesdrop. He spotted a growing hand-shaped bruise just as the woman let the child's arm go. The boy idly glanced at the bruise before returning his attention to the matron.

The woman's mouth started to move at a rapid pace, and he saw the boy's mouth curl into a sneer. Just as suddenly, the woman brought her hand up as if to slap the boy, but hesitated and brought the wayward appendage to her side.

"Admit it!" He heard her scream.

They both talked a bit more before the Matron glared at the boy and walk off.

The boy stood in silence, his back straight and his face showing no emotion. The silence was prolonged and the only background noise you could hear were the sound of waves crashing onto the shore.

Soon the boy trembled. He thought that the boy would start to cry but one look at the boy's face said otherwise. The child was trembling with barely contained rage.

After a few minutes of deep breathing, the child calmed down and turned to stare at the vast sea in awe. Like it was the first time he had seen the ocean –much his amused understanding.

He couldn't quite shake the feeling of familiarity. Was this child's parent one of his former schoolmates? After observing the child's face once again, he turned around and made his way towards a nearby cave; he had work to be done.

If he had stayed for another second, he would have seen the boy's partly hidden face by the mess he called hair, and the somewhat ugly round spectacles.

OOOO

Marcaunon stared at the vast ocean in awe, he had long to see such a sight; the deep blue ocean, with strong drifting waves that push the tiny little cargo ships. He remembered the sandy wasteland and dark green clouds back then, and was quick to take his spectacles off; not minding the disturbance he caused for his companion. His rose-tainted view was soon replaced by beautiful blue and wondrous yellow.

It was the color of happiness, of magic.

He felt the breeze push his hair out of his face and smiled at the cool feeling of his slightly redden cheeks.

His mind cleared whilst he focused on the breath taking sight once more, implanting the image into his memories forever, and perhaps he could recreate it in a form of a mural.

It was amazing. A far cry from the wasteland he called his own world. It was like comparing a basilisk to a flobberworm.

His previous frustrations were erased and he relaxed completely, for once he could break away from prying eyes and let his tears flow freely down his cheeks. He could taste his own salty tears and chocked on a sob.

It truly was a beautiful sight to behold.

---

November 1952
Location: Wool's Orphanage

Today was the anniversary of Araminta Meliflua's Muggle-hunting proposal, and Marcaunon announced to Death that it was an important event that was meant for celebration. Although the Ministry had turned down her idea with their explanation of 'breaching of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy' and considered inhumane –he thought they were just unable to hold their stomachs– in their eyes, Marcaunon wanted to have at least a day to continue is Parasite killings. Why not honor her whilst doing what he enjoyed doing back then?

Killing two hornbills with one spear.

After receiving his weapons –although slightly smaller due to his age– from Death, he sneaked out in the middle of the night after donning on his black cloak with his hood shadowing him from sight. He stalked his way through the streets –far from the orphanage, searching for prey to have some fun with.

His hour long wait was rewarded with a small group walking towards him. It was a family of five; consist of a set of parents, two daughters and a son.

He licked his lips in excitement, and brought out his hand. Five red lights flew out from his palm and hit them straight on the chest. The family collapse as one and he nodded to himself.

He made his way towards the group and placed a stone on the ground. He shifted around until the Parasites all had one of their fingers touching the rock. A soft hissing filled the air and the group disappeared with a pop.

Marcaunon landed on his feet gracefully, not minding the bodies that fell limply on the ground. The rock was soon kicked into a dark corner and transfigured into an armchair. He sat on his newly made chair and crossed his legs.

The location he had chosen was special to him, and perhaps he would continue to use it if the results are great. The manor was enormous. The room –a guestroom– they were in was only dimly lit by a candle-filled chandelier, furnished only with a moderate sized bed and a nightstand. He had made sure to cut the electricity to prevent them from flicking the lights on beforehand.

Perhaps the only lighting they would have outside this room was the moonlight.

Coughing a few times to clear his throat, he casted Enervate on the group. As they began to stir, he put on his Cheshire grin and removed his eye-wear. His eyes glowed eerily in the dark and he made sure that they were slitted.

"Ugh… What… What happened?" The son groaned as he held his head, as if he was having a migraine.

"Caine? Where are we?" The youngest daughter asked as she scooted closer to her brother.

"Is everyone here…?" Father dearest commanded as they all stood up, supporting one another. How sweet.

"Yeah…"

The family soon started looking around and finally, their eyes landed on him. He was hidden by the shadows and he knew that they could only see his whitened teeth and glowing eyes.

"Will you play a game with me?" His made his voice as innocent as possible.

"Who are you?" The father demanded.

"Will you?"

The group shifted uncomfortably.

"W-what sort of g-game?" The younger daughter stuttered.

So the bravest is the daughter? Who would have thought.

"A survival game."

Parasite hunting was his joy, and it would be boring if they were to sit still and wait for their deaths. This was one of the reasons as to why Marcaunon usually offered them a chance of freedom.

"If you survive for seven hours, you may walk out of this place alive."

"Don't joke around, boy! I'll call the bloody police!" The father roared in anger. His face was a dark purple as he moved towards Marcaunon.

Father was rewarded with a tsk and a magical binding. He howled in pain as the invisible binds squeeze him, bruising at least a few ribs in the process.

"There are no rules. You may aim to kill or disable me. You can choose to split up or stay together. You will of course try to survive. Any questions?"

The family were frantically trying to find what was wrong with their father/husband. Marcaunon's grin stretched wider, if that's even possible, and released the man from his bind.

"Wi-will we really g-get out if we s-survive for s-s-seven hours?" The wife asked.

"Of course."

"W-why seven?"

"It's a powerful number."

The family looked at each other with terrified eyes.

"Before we can play, we should get to know one another, so please tell me your names."

"What!? Why? I won't–"

The father was interrupted when a vase exploded, showering the family with cuts. It was a warning.

"Ah… I-uhm.. My name is Caitlin." The elder daughter said in fright.

"C-c-cailyn." The younger sobbed. She looked as if she could wet herself at any given moment.

"Caine." The son stated with confidence.

Marcaunon stared him in the eye and read his outer most thoughts; which was beyond amusing. He was confident that they could overpower a child.

"Calandra." The mother said whilst tears trail down her cheeks.

"Cadmus." Lastly, the father grunted out. He was obviously in pain judging from the way he held his sides.

With their names, Marcaunon would have thought they were Purebloods. Or perhaps an offspring of a squib. He scrutinized them once again to be sure that they had no magical core. It would do no good to hunt Magicals, no matter if they could control their magic or not.

What most Purebloods forget is that Squibs still have a core. Their pathways are just blocked, thus leading them unable to perform Magic.

"Pleased to meet your acquaintance. My name is Marcaunon Gaunt. I'm sure we'll be great playmates." He smiled cruelly.

The son kept thinking him crazy and that made Caine into the first to die list for tonight.

"Now… I'll give you four hundred and twenty seconds of head start. Let's begin!"

None of them moved.

"One… Two… Three… Four… Five…"

They all ran out the door as if their lives depended on it. Well, it actually did.

Marcaunon grinned dementedly as he counted. What sort of method should he kill them using? He didn't want them to have a quick and painless death. Parasites don't deserve an AK to the head. Perhaps he could kill them without the aid of magic? Crucios gets tiring once you used them for so long.

He decided that for this particular day and activity, he would refrain from using any type of offensive magic and only use muggle-means. He made a mental note to start a Muggle-Hunting-Gaunt-Family-Tradition. His future son would definitely enjoy it. This would be a good father and son bonding experience.

"Seven minutes has past, ready or not… Here I come." His demented cackling could be heard all throughout the manor (sonorous is a blessing), making the family member's shiver at the sound.

He hummed and sauntered out of the room, into the hallway. Left or right…? Marcaunon's eyes took in all the details, before he focused on a piece of hair on the floor. Right it is.

The padding of feet could be heard echoing throughout the corridor as he walked none too gently. A few minutes passed by with nothing in sight and Marcaunon grew bored. Just as he was about to give up and use a spell to locate his victims, he heard a gasp from his right.

He didn't stop or show that he took notice, and made his way over. He entered a theatre, much to his revelation. He never once noticed that this manor had a bloody theatre, and by the looks of it for opera.

The ceilings were high and had a few crystal chandeliers hanging from above, the walls were a dark shade of gold, with red curtains and seats. The room had three levels! Marcaunon ignored the stage in favor of staring in horror at the rows of seats littered everywhere. It would take a while to find anybody in this room…

He knew that the father, Cadmus, would insist that his family stay together. If he found one, he would find all. That would be boring so he'll just drag them one by one until they get the idea that staying together is counterproductive, if they are smart enough of course. Merlin knew Parasites have smaller brains and intellect.

Suddenly, he remembered something and grinned dementedly.

Marcaunon took a deep breath and let out a high pitched whistle. The sound echoed and he closed his eyes and concentrated. He continued to whistle and walk. He remembered mastering this technique when his eyes were melted and he was in a facility building that absorbed magic. If he wanted to move around freely, he would have to use sound to see.

Slowly he begin heading towards the second level. He saw a few things moving restlessly and made sure that no sound could be heard from his feet.

As he opened his eyes, he spotted the party of five huddling behind one of the curtains. This is ridiculously easy. He inward sighed at their incompetence and wondered if they were abysmal in Hide and Seek.

With a flick of his wrist, the curtain moved to the corner sharply and the ladies screamed in surprise. Father and son both stood bravely in front of the girls and they had a grim frown on their face, eyes filled with determination.

He raised a perfectly shaped brow at them.

"As much as it pains me to say so, the hiders would usually split up. Finding all in one swoop isn't as pleasing as you would think it is."

They didn't reply. Father –he had already forgotten their names, darn– had a wooden rod in his hands. Seeing that one of the chairs is missing a leg, he's guilty.

"Any closer and I'll bash your head in, boy!"

Marcaunon didn't deem to give him any reply. He raised his left hand –just for dramatics– and closed it into a fist. He blew out a puff of air and grinned at them whilst tilting his head. The fist was then pulled towards his chest and Son was hauled to him like a puppet on strings.

Daughter Two latched onto her brother but it did no good. Marcaunon raised his other hand and flicked it, just as he would a fly, making the others fall to the ground.

Whilst they were disorientated he was quick to disapparated to his favorite room in the manor. The dungeon cell.

Son's face was contorted in a grimace, still dizzy from the trip. He used this time to magically hang the teen. His wrists were chained to the ceiling and his toes were just grazing the floor.

"Hello there."

That seemed to snap the teen out of his daze and he glared at Marcaunon balefully.

"Let me the fuck down!"

Marcaunon tutted.

"Do you remember my name?"

"And why the fuck should I remember the name of a snot nosed shite like you?" Brother sneered haughtily.

"Wrong answer. It's Marcaunon!" He sing-song childishly.

A snap could be heard echoing before a scream followed closely. One finger broken.

"For every wrong answer, some things will break… or rip away!"

"Ha.. haa.. Y-you're… fuckin' sick…" Brother grunted as sweat started to form on his forehead.

"I'll take that as a compliment. How old am I?"

"S-seven.."

"Hmmm… Seven is a brilliant number I must admit…" Brother sighed in relief. "But no, I'm eight."

The teen's face changed into horror and an apology was on the tip of his tongue before two of his fingers broke. He screeched before gritting his teeth.

"Y-y-you said… you'll… haa.. break… one of … my bones."

"Oh you misunderstood. I said that if you answered wrongly, your bones will break. I didn't really specify the number of bones."

"Fuck…"

"Language. Teenagers these days! What time do you think it is?"

"Night time."

"I would take points for cheekiness, but I guess that answer is alright…" Marcaunon hummed as he observed his captive. The teen was panting and using his tippie toes to hold most of his weight. Pain would make his mind unable to focus… So we can't have that can we.

"What does is Voldemort in English?"

"Is… Is that French?"

"Indeed it is. Oh and I forgot to say you have only ten seconds to answer."

"What!? Uhm… ugh… I-.."

With a snap of his fingers, Brother's toes were broken and he screamed as he tried to pull his weight up with his wrist.

"Time's up! It means Flight of Death… but can also mean Theft by Death as well. That was a two answer question! You could've saved yourself from harm if you said either one."

Marcaunon's only reply was panting.

"Burdensome Jailer Dog is an anagram of someone's name. Tell me whose!"

"Err… Julian… haa… Ru–"

All of Brother's ribs were snapped into two and it took a few minutes for him to stop screaming bloody murder. Marcaunon giggled.

"Doleres Jane Umbridge. She's a bitch who loves pink too much. I'll be sure to paint her body red; it's a much better color. Anyway, what does emasculate mean?"

"R-remov-val of.. the… ugh… balls?"

"Correct!" Brother's shoulder relaxed. "But not entirely!" he chirped.

With that, Brother's manhood was ripped brutally apart. The screams bouncing on the walls were heaven to Marcaunon's ears.

OOOO

Humming could be heard as Marcaunon made his way to the dining room. His arms were covered in blood, but he paid it no mind, loving the feel of watery stickiness on his fingers. He wasted an hour playing Q & A. The answers that Brother said were sometimes cute, but not enough for Marcaunon to grant him release. They had played until the teen had bled to death.

Father would have to be last sadly. Mostly, the women would lose their will to live if they do not have a strong figure to lead them. Of course not all, but those three were in the first category. He had seen how a determined pregnant soon-to-be mother had fight till her last dying breath, even after her husband had abandoned her and ran with his tails in between his knees. He could respect that, but not enough since she's still a Parasite. They bred enough.

This place had too bloody many bed rooms to count and remember. Marcaunon whistled a few times as he moved along the corridors.

Suddenly, he facepalmed himself. How could he see through the doors with only whistling!? Damn him for getting distracted. He shook his head and concentrated on finding the Parasites. Better make a move on before the night's over.

A few minutes of silence before he heard the sound of hands rubbing against one another. His face turned slowly towards the direction of the sound and saw a sofa just to his left. He dropped to his knees and hands. His head was tilted to the side, wondering how he had not noticed the human shaped shadow that was painfully hard to miss.

He crawled slowly towards the chair and finally peeked at the side. He came face to face with a petrified face.

"Hello." Marcaunon said softly, as if to not scare her –which failed miserably since she looked as if to faint at any moment. He knew he was an intimidated sight to see, with him crawling towards the girl on his hands and knees, like something akin to Parasite ghosts. "Don't be frightened… I won't kill you… yet."

"AAAHHHH! MUMMY DADDY! HEL–"

A silencing charm was casted at Daughter One to cut her screaming, and he clasps the ankle that was in front of him. He used his magic to strengthen his limbs as he avoided her free leg that kicked at him. He dragged her across the room and headed towards the dungeon.

"Off to the dungeons we go!"

OOOO

"I can't take it any longer… thought that we were stronger! All we do is linger slipping through our fingers… I don't wanna try now! All that's left's goodbye to find a way that… I… can… tell… you…" The last part of Marcaunon's singing was said softly as he saw Mother stiffening at his appearance when he turned the corner.

"I hate this part right here… I just can't take your tears… I hate this part right here…"

The moment was broken when he continued to sing and Mother made a dash towards the other side of the door. Before she could get far, Marcaunon jumped and rugby tackled her to the floor. Her white flowery pattern dress was soon turned crimson with all the blood he had accumulated on his body.

"Please! You don't want to do this. What would your mother think?" She tried as she struggled to get away from his enhanced strength.

"The dead don't speak… or think."

He silenced and turned her so that her back was to the ground. A sticking charm was placed on her wrists and he forced them above her head. Not wanting her to try and kick him, he straddled her waist and licked his lips at the sight.

She was indeed a beauty, with beautiful doe-like blue eyes and blonde hair. Too bad he despised being intimate with someone, even if it's raping them. And his body was eight for Morgana's sake!

"The dungeons would ruin your beauty… we'll just have to make due here."

His only answer was a silent scream.

OOOO

Three down, two to go. Now that's left is Father and Daughter Two. He'll just have to see whom he would cross first.

A full body mirror was in front of Marcaunon, and he tilted his head at how delicious he looked. With his hair that was matted with blood, pale face in contrast to the crimson red mess that was on his cheeks, blood splotches on his clothing, and arms fully covered with unidentified pieces of meat.

He flicked both hands and the meat flew across the floor. Giggling at the mess he made, he continued stalking down the halls.

"Come out come out wherever you are…"

"HAA!" A male's voice alerted him from behind and he turned too late.

His head was bashed by some kind of pole and he was knocked to the floor. Father wasn't discourage and continued to hit his limp body.

After a few more minutes of feeling his bones breaking, organs rupturing and skull cracking, the man stopped. Not at all bothered by the damage done by Father, his upper body sat upright and he gave a demented grin at the startled man.

Father was foolish enough to drop his weapon and took a step back. Seeing a chance, Marcaunon jumped on the man and bind the gorilla with his magic. One has to wonder how someone so obese could be with Mother –a beauty.

"That kind of hurts… Like when you scrape your knee."

"M-m-m-m-mmmonster! Get off me! Get off you devil child!"

"Tsk! Rude. Just like your son."

The man stopped struggling and glared at Marcaunon with fury in his brown eyes.

"What have you done to Caine!?"

"He's with Daughter Two, hanging at the dungeon." Pun fully intended!

"How dare you kill my children! I'll fucking murder you once I get free!"

"The same mouth as your son. No wonder that boy kept on cursing. You're a bad parent."

Marcaunon used his fingers to pry Father's mouth open, and forced his free hand into the wet cavern. With his grip fully on the tongue, he pulled with all his magic induced strength.

"Punishment for teaching children how to swear, Mr. Cadmus."

OOOO

"Tempus."

Marcaunon chuckled when he saw that he was only left with a minute left. Hope was a beautiful thing to shatter.

"Point me… What was her name again… Ah yes! Point me Cailyn."

The wand on his hand swirled around before settling to his left. Carefully, he followed his beloved Elder Wand and was unable to hold a grin back when he saw her waiting at the main entrance of the Manor, looking at her watch with anticipation, hope and desperation.

"Come on… Come on!" She whispered softly to herself as she paced quietly.

Just as a few seconds was left, he apparated in front of her with a loud crack. She screamed in fright and turned frantically towards her wrist watch. One second more and she would have escaped!

"Too bad, isn't it… Miss Cailyn. A second more and you would be home free."

"Please… Make an exception?"

"I'll think about it."

"W-where's my family?" She backed from his slowly, hoping to distract him from noticing her approach to the door. She failed.

"Brother and Sister One are currently hanging at the dungeons. Mother's in the kitchen. Father's near the basement."

She choked a sob.

"D-dead?"

"Don't worry… You'll join them soon enough."

With that, they were both engulfed in black flames.

OOOO

Marcaunon felt as if he was in cloud nine whilst he made his way back to the orphanage. His cloak was covered in blood and gore, and he basks in the feeling of it. He had always had a fascination with blood; ever since his town was turned into a bloodied battle field painted in red.

He grinned as he reached the gates of his current accommodation. A group of teenagers that were making their way towards the gate hadn't noticed his presence and continued their discussion about homework and projects to be done later at school.

They were wearing the typical uniforms that indicate their school, carrying books and bags. One of the boys gave a sudden stop and paled when he spotted Marcaunon. The rest followed his gaze and one of them even fainted when they caught the metallic tang of blood and rotten meat.

Marcaunon gave them an upward tilt of his lips as he brushed past them. Just as he entered the orphanage, he heard their screams when they realized the mess he had left on their clothes.

He chuckled at their dramatics and made his way to his room. Time for a warm bath.

---

March 1953
Location: Wool's Orphanage

Contrary to what the children believed, Marcaunon does not torture poor little animals that stroll into the orphanage doors. He was not a monster to these loveable creatures.

He looked up from the newspaper in his hands when he felt an unfamiliar warmth against his ankle. Whilst he sat in his corner with his legs crossed, a stray puppy had lay down near his feet. He almost wanted to coo at the cute ball of fur right there and then, but resisted as he had an image to uphold.

The other residences of Wool's were giving pitying looks at the oblivious puppy, much to Marcaunon's amusement. He discarded the papers aside to bend forwards and place the puppy in his lap for petting.

It gave a yap of surprise but otherwise remained still.

He sighed in momentary contentment and blissfully thought; animals are so much better than humans.

---

December 1954
Location: Wool's Orphanage

Have you ever heard the concept of Love at First Sight? Yes? Then you my dear friends have been dropped by your caretakers when you were but a babe. A pity.

As many orphans came to know, Marcaunon was a beautiful specimen to the human race. His aristocratic structured face, those silky black yet messy nest he called hair, the pinkish kissable lips that could make anyone's heart race with just a small tilt of it, and not forgetting those devilish scarlet eyes surrounded by long thick lashes behind his –very ugly, not that the orphans would say that out loud– round rose tinted glasses. His body was petite and thin yet not overly so to mistaken him for a girl, but it would take a moment of time to distinguish his gender from appearance alone. He always had a butterfly or two on his shoulders, spectacle or within his crown, and they definitely enhanced his beauty. When he spoke, his voice alone could silence a room full of snot-nosed orphan children; it was too bad that they never heard him laughing whole-heartedly before. His posture was perfect and if one were to put a stack of books atop his head, it would stay perfectly still whilst he walked.

Most girls thought him to be the perfect fairytale knight, whilst guys imagine him to be a damsel in distress –or a person to bully– due to his somewhat fragile appearance. Those were the opinions of outsiders that have never come into contact with him for a prolong amount of time. The orphans and staff knew the real him, the dangerous young man –for he could not be mistaken as just a boy– that hid behind those angelic outer features.

Whilst Marcaunon was ten, there was a new arrival. The teenage boys had hearts in their eyes whilst the little girls announced this arrival as their new idol. Her name was Amanda Wakefield. She was a natural redhead with long wavy hair that reached her lower back, and bangs that cover her forehead. Her face structure covered for her somewhat dull brown eyes and lesser eyelashes. She was tall and her assets were in the process of maturing, much to the hormone filled orphan boys' delight.

Amanda was 13, and she fell in love with a boy three years younger than her.

Whilst this girl was busy making friends with both older and younger children, Marcaunon was locked in his room by Mr. Smith; his probation officer that had wrongly accused Marcaunon of killing the orphanage's pet snake that was brought by Martha for the younger kids to ogle. Insert snort here.

He was insulted that that man would ever think he would kill his own Family and House mascot. Mr. Smith didn't hear his reasons and stated that he could do it in the night when others were sleeping. Marcaunon gave a list of reasons as to why his reasoning was idiotic; his reward was being tossed inside his room. This was his last day of wall-watching and he was filled with a week's worth of energy to burn off. His room was too small to pace around, much less to exercise.

He heard his guard's footsteps even before the door clicked open, and was dragged towards the dining hall. His guard left after placing a bowl of grey matter on his table, much to his relief. He hated Parasites touching –dragging– him.

The somewhat edible substance that they called food was unappealing and he still bemoans the fact that the newer kitchen lady had terrible way of making porridge. Even he knew that porridge was not supposed to be hard.

"Hi!" A cheerful voice greeted from in front of him. It was overly cheerful and his porridge suddenly felt too sweet for his taste.

As always, he ignored the children whom were brave –stupid– enough to even consider talking to him. The lesser species seemed to not understand that she was being ignored and cleared her throat rather loudly.

"Hello!" She greeted once more, with much more enthusiasm as she sat down.

He continued to eat for the sake of it. He would have to tell his servant to bring him some edible food; perhaps Chinese. He suddenly had a craving for–

"Heyy! I know that you're hungry, but a lady is talking to you." She interrupted his thoughts that were much more important than her.

Marcaunon placed his spoon down and wiped his mouth with a piece of tissue elegantly, as if to prolong the inevitable; he drinks a cup of water as well.

The girl waited patiently –while drumming her fingers against the table impatiently– for him to finish before she spoke.

"So… Who are you?"

"It's only proper to introduce yourself first before asking."

She waved it off.

"We're still children. Don't mind don't mind. Now who're you?"

"If you so wish to not introduce yourself, you might as well not ask."

"Ughh fine! You should relax more. Name's Amanda Wakefield. I'm 13 and just arrived a week ago. I didn't see you around… Are you new as well? We could explore this place together."

He sighed under his breath before glancing at the teen –that was forcing her lips into a pout gone wrong that he almost grimaced– and replying with serenest.

"A pleasure, I'm sure."

"Well?" The girl, Wakefield, demanded impatiently.

Marcaunon was not amused.

"Pardon?"

"I already introduced myself, now it's your turn. And I asked you if you are also new." She stated snottily.

He resisted the urge to sneer at her and droned out in a somewhat polite way.

"I have been here my whole life and you may call me Gaunt."

"Gaunt? That's your name?"

"Family name."

"What's your name?"

"You may call me Guant."

"The name your parents gave!" She snapped whilst he hid his amusement by taking a sip from his cup.

"I wouldn't know if my given name was truly the name my parents have given me."

"Then tell me your given name!"

"Given by whom exactly?"

"Stop it! Just tell me your name already!" He could tell that she was on the verge of physically demanding answers from him, if the fists that were clenched are any indication.

"If you insist."

"Yes I do!"

"Marcaunon Gaunt."

"Wha? What does that mean?"

"My name of course."

She let out a huff of air before composing herself and smiled sweetly whilst batting her –non existing– lashes.

"Uhm… Will you show me around the orphanage, Marc?"

"I'm sure you have had enough opportunities to explore, this building could never be considered a labyrinth. And I have not given you the permission to call me by my name, much less a petname." He drawled.

"I –I'm not really good with um.. directions! And don't be so stiff, it's only a name!"

"Then perhaps you are in need of a map and not a tour guide." He smiled politely before he got up and left a sighing teen behind.

He had assumed that she would leave him alone after that conversation. He was of course, wrong. He was sure that the orphanage was cursed to always prove him incorrect.

Wakefield would pop up at unexpected places each day, and babble at him like your average typical teenage girl. She gossiped and tried to start a conversation with him. All was shot down by a typical one respond answer such as….

"Hey Me– Gaunt. Uhm, have you … err do you like anybody?"

"No."

"Really? Are you sure.. I mean, I won't tell anyone."

"No."

Or…

"Do you like books? I always see one with you everywhere."

"Yess."

"Uhm.. What sort of books do you like?"

"Any."

"Oh.. Err.. Ok…"

Or…

"Why don't you want to be called by your given name?"

A shrug.

"Then is it ok if I –" she winked but he interrupted.

"No."

And conversation closed.

She was persistent and it was driving him up his watching wall. He had no such clue as to why she would want to waste his time by talking to him. He could be doing a much more interesting thing such as wall-watching without interference.

He could tolerate her presence fairly enough, but he reached his limit when she decided to drop into his safe haven (room) without an invitation.

She had the nerve to picklock his door –where in Morgana's saggy tits did she learn that– and strode in like she owned the place. He had gotten up from bed and told her as politely as humanely possible to get the fuck out. But of course she played dumb –or perhaps she was indeed dumb– and sat on his bed to continue her useless babbling.

His rage meter reached the top and burst into shards, leading to his door slamming shut on its own accord. She shouted in fright and went to hug his arm, which was a bad move on her part. He locked the door with a twitch of his finger and grabbed her by her neck.

She started to struggle but he made her limp with his magic.

"I have had enough of your fantasies. I am not your knight in shining armor. I am not someone you could demand things from. I am not a patient person, and tolerated you just because you were new and curious. You have now made your presence most unbearable for me and I could literally feel all my intelligence draining away with every action and word you utter. Be honored that I will be the one to end your pitiful existence." He hissed out, his accent was notable when he was furious.

He had spent most of his life speaking in the noble tongue of snakes, even before his time in the orphanage. This made him have a somewhat hissing accent that could be considered quite erotic if you were not looking into his enraged eyes.

He casted a few wards in place before letting her neck go. She was unable to move or form coherent words other than a few wrecked sobs.

Marcaunon took his spectacles off his face and brought out a dagger from underneath his pillow. Just as he leaned closer, his glamours dropped, showing his scarred features and marred skin that were not covered by cloth.

"Shall we begin?" He asked innocently with a cruel smile playing on his lips.

Wakefield screamed, but it went unheard by the other residence of Wool's Orphanage.

OOOO

The next day found Marcaunon in the playroom, reading through the newspaper when he caught sight of an article that made him chuckle under his breath. It indicated that the police had found a teenage girl, kept barely alive whilst her assaulter brutally cut her open and plucked her organs one after another. Her innards was placed in the middle of a symbol and drawn in her blood. The police were mystified as to why she was still alive after they found her, but soon she died on her way to the hospital.

Clergymen were persistently telling the police that this was the work of a demon, since his symbol was drawn beside the teenage girl's body. The officers ignored them and stated that the culprit was the same as another similar case called Cult Ritual. The symbol was indeed identical and was not shown on the news back then. They promised the people that the culprit will be brought to justice soon.

Marcaunon laughed dementedly outright after he had finished reading said article. This made the orphans scatter away and flee from the room he was in. They knew who was last spotted with Amanda Wakefield and they will never reveal anything to the police, lest they find their limbs scattered across the country. They had also learnt to inform newly orphans that Marcaunon was off limits if they didn't want to be buried six feet under.

---

**July 1955 **
Location: Wool's Orphanage

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Armando Dippet

Dear Mr. Gaunt,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begin on 1 September. We await your owl no later than 31 July.

Yours Sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

Deputy Headmaster
Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc, Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards

-Second Page-

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

Three sets of plain work robes (black)

One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags.

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)
By Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic
By Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory
By Adalbert Waffling

A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration
By Emeric Switch

One Thousand Magical Hurbs and Fungi
By Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions
By Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them
By Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection
By Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)
1 set of glass or crystal phials
1 telescope
1 set of brass scales

Students may also bring, if they desire, an owl OR a cat OR a toad.

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS
ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICK

Yours Sincerely,

Lucinda Thomsonicle-Pocus
Chief Attendant of Witchcraft Provisions

OOOO

An old man with greying long beard, floppy hat, orange colored suit and unicorn patterned tie stood outside the high gates of Wool's Orphanage yet again.

Same orphanage, check.

He looked at the letter in his hand, ignored the forbidding feeling of dread, and proceeded to walk towards the familiar building that Tom Riddle once used to live at. He greeted Mrs. Cole with enthusiasm while she sputtered and gapped at him.

"Mr. Dumbesdoor! W-what? Tom doesn't live here any longer." She stuttered.

Same head Matron, check.

"Dumbledore, and I'm actually here for Mr. Gaunt." He said slowly, gouging the reaction from the woman.

She looked confused for a minute before paling. This did not bode well for Albus.

"Is something the matter?"

"No of course not. He has never had any visitors before… And I'll have to assume that you are here for the same reason as Tom?"

"Correct!" Albus replied cheerfully while she led him towards the stairs. "Will you tell me about him?"

"Strange things often happen around him, very nasty things."

Same answer, check.

Before he could question more, she stopped in front of Tom's room, much to Albus's confusion. The confusion left soon after as she knocked and spoke.

Same room, check.

"Marcaunon? You have a visitor." She told the boy, the same words as she had said all those years ago. The boy's name even made the professor's heart race for unknown reasons.

"How are you, Marcaunon?" Albus greeted as he entered and closed the door.

The boy in question just stared at him as he sat at the seat where Albus remembered little Tom sat once upon a time. He made himself comfortable on the bed and faced the child. He ignored the butterflies that were all over the room –and the boy himself; but at least they weren't dead or pinned up.

"You're a doctor aren't you?" He questioned.

Albus's stomach performed some rather complicated acrobatics.

"No… I'm a professor."

"I don't believe you. Mrs. Cole wants me looked at. They think I'm… different."

Albus wanted to retch but held it.

"Well perhaps they're right." Dejavu.

"I'm not mad." The boy announced forcefully.

"…Hogwarts is not a place for mad people. Hogwarts is a school, school of magic."

The boy frowned, but just for a second before it disappeared.

Same reaction, check.

"You can do things, can't you Marcaunon?" Albus nodded once. "Things that other children can't."

The boy observed him. Perhaps to see if he was speaking the truth.

"I can make things move with just my thoughts. I can make animals do what I want without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who're mean to me." This time, Albus almost shat himself at the answers. "I can make them hurt… if I want. Who are you?"

Same answers, check.

Albus gasped softly before he replied, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Well I'm like you. I'm… different."

Albus begged to the omnipotent beings that the boy won't ask him to prove it.

"Prove it." Merlin…

He made the very same wardrobe light up in flames, and the same reaction was followed to the T. The boy's eyes widen behind his glasses as he looked towards the wardrobe in horror.

"I think there's something in your wardrobe trying to get out, Marcaunon." Don't tell me he's a thief as well!?

The boy stepped towards the wardrobe with caution and opened it, revealing a box that was eerily similar to the one Tom once possessed. The flames were extinguished and Albus moved to allow him to lay the items on the bed.

Same bad habit, check.

Albus scanned the items and his heart began to run wild. They were the exact same items; a collection of yo-yos. Trophies.

"Thievery is not tolerated in Hogwarts, Marcaunon. At Hogwarts you will not only be taught how to use magic, but how to control it. You understand me?"

"Of course, sir."

Albus handed him the letter and explained to him how to get to Diagon Alley, the Platform and any questions he had. It was starting to freak Albus out on how similar the boy was to Tom.

Same questions, check.

Albus fled the room with as much dignity as he can. At least he didn't ask if wizards could talk to snakes!

After he made his way out of the orphanage, into an empty alleyway and apparated back home, he choked on the lemon drop he had just popped into his mouth and spat it out quickly. He now remembered why the boy looked so familiar.

He looked exactly like how Tom was when he was younger. This information made the soon-to-be-Headmaster faint right there and then.

Same appearance, check.

---

1st September 1955
Location: King's Cross Station

The walk across King's Cross Station towards Platform 9¾ was a long one. It made Marcaunon, whom had been stuck inside the orphanage building ever since his trip to the seaside, pant and sweat rather inelegantly.

He entered a restroom near 9¾ to regain his breathing, wipe his sweat and fix his appearance.

"Master your stamina is much to be desired."Soft hisses could be heard from within the boy's robes. He ignored his servant for a little as he was busy trying –and failing– to tame his messy black hair.

He gave up and shrugged.

"I was confined by an imbecilic woman, remember?"

"Indeed I do. Is Master… Happy?"

"I am content."

The snake stopped its hissing at its Master's satisfaction. Most people would miss it, but it knows its Master well.

Marcaunon left the restroom and made his way towards the ward-covered pillar. He leaned casually onto it and appeared on the other side. The boy scanned the crowds for any familiar faces but dismissed them for the Hogwarts Express.

The train looked as brilliant as it had been in his memories, albeit having lesser scratches.

It was one of the few things that the Parasites disposed of whilst the Wizarding world was still trying to negotiate a peace treaty. This magnificent piece of art was bombed, killing young wizards and witches along with it.

Marcaunon was saddened over the fact that the train was destroyed more than the lives that were lost. Years of prolong war exposure does that to people.

Before he could go sentimental over a train –of all things– he went onboard to search for an empty compartment. After finding one in the middle, he sat down; not bothering to un-shrink his trunk only to place it elsewhere. He would rather have it on his person.

Come to think of it…

"Are snakes even allowed at Hogwarts?"

"They never did write anything about not being allowed to bring other pets other than the three listed."

"Hmm, true."

Marcaunon gave a small wave of his hand to place a locking and silencing charm on the door.

"Now that we won't be interrupted…" He mumbled as he pulled out a book and opened the window partly for his little sinners to enter.

Death slithered off of him and onto the windowsill. It hissed in contentment, much to Marcaunon's amusement. They both ignored the others that came knocking on the door and continued to do their own thing.

OOOO

After a peaceful train ride, Marcaunon walked a millimeter above the muddy ground; making it seem as though he was gliding rather than stomping through the muddy ground. He had learnt this little trick whilst he was trying to cross a field full of mine-bombs without his broom (it was destroyed when he crashed landed).

"Firs' years! Firs' years!" A familiar voice boomed and all the firsties turned towards the half-giant, before they made their way to him.

"Four ta a boat!"

Whilst others wobbled onto their unsteady boats, his didn't move while he boarded it; much to his boat-mates' jealousy. They could suck on boogers for all he cared. They weren't the one whom almost lost a leg due to some bombs. Not that it would be permanent, but the pain wasn't worth it.

Marcaunon placed his fore and middle finger on the lake's surface, not minding when the giant squid started to play with him –wrapping a tentacle around his wrist. The other first year mudbloods and half-bloods stared in horror whilst the purebloods hid it partially well.

Soon enough, they all arrived without a problem –except for one student falling into the lake– and Hagrid introduced Dumb-as-a-door. The old man smiled happily at the amount of mudbloods attending the school.

Don't get him wrong, he had no problems with mudbloods –except for their parents being Parasites– but in the olden days, the word Mudblood was not used as an insult. It was like calling a species of a cat. All cats can't just be cats can they? So of course they're called differently. Burmese… Himalayan… Munchkin… Sphynx –he wished Death was one, this IS his favorite animal– but he digressed.

Bumblybare continued to babble the usual speech of sorting and etcetera. Marcaunon kind of tuned him out after seeing his wrinkly face.

A thousand years or more ago
When I was newly sewn,
There lived four wizards of renown,
Whose names are still well known:

Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor,
Fair Ravenclaw, from glen,
Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad,
Shrewd Slytherin, from fen.

They shares a wish, a hope, a dream,
They hatched a daring plan
To educate young sorcerers
Thus Hogwarts School began.
Now each of these four founders
Formed their own house, for each
Did value different virtues
In the one they had to teach.

By Griffindor, the bravest were
Prized far beyond the rest;
For Ravenclaw, the cleverest
Would always be the best;

For Hufflepuff, hard workers were
Most worthy of admission;
And power-hungry Slytherin
Loved those of great ambition.

While still alive they did divide
Their favorites from the throng,
Yet how to pick the worthy ones
When they were dead and gone?

Twas Gryffindor who found the way,
He whipped me off his head
The founders put some brains in me
So I could choose instead!

Now slip me snug about your ears,
I've never yet been wrong,
I'll have a look inside your mind
And tell where you belong!

Marcaunon snapped out of his daze when he heard the end of the sorting hat singing, and clapped along the other students.

"Now when I call out your name, please come forward and sit on this stool." Dumberdoor cheerfully stated as he began to call out the names in alphabetical order.

The scarlet eyed boy tuned out Doublebone's voice yet again. He couldn't help it. He loathes that man enough to freak said man out by imitating Tom Riddle's posture, tone of voice, questions and reactions. Let's not forget the items he had stolen just a day before Bumblyburp came, and he made sure that all were frighteningly similar.

"Gaunt, Marcaunon." Said student focused back once his name was called and glided towards the stool. He noticed that there were … none of Voldemort's followers' children at the Slytherin table. How lucky!

He sat gracefully onto the stool, straight back and waited for the old man to place the sorting hat on his head, which he did a second later.

'Oh my, I have never sorted out the Master of Death before.'

'Hm, I would think Death would be picky when choosing someone to bond to.'

'Indeed he must be, but you are quite interesting yourself, young world hopper.'

'My, you're making me blush.'

'Even atop your head, I could tell that your cheeks are not red.'

'I have good control over my body.'

'Indeed. Well, shall we begin the sorting?'

'Take your time. I rather enjoy seeing Dundledone sweat.'

'I imagine so. Hmmm you used to be Griffindor… You are indeed brave, but you would rather push a person in front of you to save your own skin; too much self-preservation for being a noble martyr."

'Yess… I admit that I would rather throw everyone into the sea than let the boat sink. Everyone betrays; its human nature.'

'Your quote of Knowledge is Power definitely fits Ravenclaw. If you were to become Ravenclaw, your housemates would constantly be jealous of your vast collection of unworldly knowledge.'

'Because I've lived long enough to surpass Doodiedums's age, I could say I have spells that are unknown or undiscovered to this world. Knowledge comes with experience. And with experience comes power.'

'You are indeed a hardworker… Actually you're quite lazy without Death persisting for you to do paperwork.'

'Nobody likes paperwork.'

'Your loyalty to yourself is remarkable… albeit self-centered, and if I could roll my eyes, I would. The badgers would be eaten alive with you in their garden. Especially with someone with such a bothered mind.'

'Ah but you forget that I am polite. If you do not love yourself, you cannot love others (here the hat snorted). And my mind is perfectly sane, thank you very much.'

'And that is what worries me, both with being polite and actually sane enough to think. You could build an army of loyal hardworking people who do not even know the word betrayal!'

'True.'

'Lastly… Slytherin. You are of course cunning and power-hungry, though you lack the ambition.'

'I do have an ambition that I work hard for!'

'Planning Muggle-genocide when you are bored isn't called ambitious.'

'Perhaps… By the way, did you know that Honey Badgers love to eat Snakes?'

'Ah? Oh! I see I see. Well, I don't want to be the one to ruin your masterplan –and get shredded in the process– so… you will do well in…'

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

'Thank you. Perhaps we could converse some more in the future? A camping or fishing trip would do wonders!'

'Of course, young badger.'

Dumbiedoor looked at Marcaunon with a shocked –and suspicious– expression as he freed his head from the hat. He estimated that he took quite some time but brushed it away and head towards the badgers that were cheering and clapping.

The transfigure professor had assumed that he would be sorted into Slytherin –which was not exactly false– and be the exact copy of Tom Riddle. Marcaunon knew that Dumpleboar was neither blind nor dumb, and no doubt thought him the second coming of a Dark Lord whom came from the very same line as the Heir of Slytherin. He supposed he had played the Riddle role too flawlessly back in the orphanage.

Too bad for Bumbiepoo that Marcaunon had other much more important matters to tend to. And that he is a magnificent actor.

If he were to follow in Tom Riddle's footsteps –tempting but not worth it– just to see Dumbolduck try to dispose a bud in the making... The goat could either get lucky and actually get rid of him or hinder him in staying at his dream home.

But he digressed once again.

His robes and tie changed their colors to match the house of badgers and he felt weird being made to wear them. He knew that green and silver matched him far better than yellow and black.

He shook his head to clear the thoughts of what he would look good in, and buckled his mask in place; smiling at his new housemates. Time to begin his new life in the Magical World.

Finally, a fresh start!

---

A/N:

IMPT: Tom from Harry's original world will be Harry's bio son, and they will not end up together. They will have a normal (as much as two killers can be normal) father/son relationship. As for the pairing, it's LV/HP. Not TMR/HP. I'm pairing up Voldemort from "this" world with Harry. It'll still be long before they meet, so we'll all have to be patient. Heck, even I haven't met him and I have already pre-written future chapters.

The name Marcaunon is Sindarin, an Elvish language from LOTR, and the meaning behind that name is Ruler. The meaning behind the name of Harry is Ruler as well, and I thought that it'll match with the other Gaunts. MaRvolo, MoRfin, MeRope…. MaRcaunon. \(o3o)/

Take note that I am not making fun of any religion. Oh and I don't really know what they do in exorcism other than throwing holy water and chanting/praying… Forgive me for my lack of knowledge.

I'll start calling Older!Harry as Marc or Marcaunon from now on, even in A/Ns. Not to confuse you all… and myself.

**Some lines in the year of 1955 is from Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, where Dumbledore shows Harry his memories of meeting young Tom Riddle. I wanted Marc to repeat what Tom said just to make Dumbles shite himself.**

I want to thank you all for reviewing/favs/follows! Every time I get a notification, I have the motivation to write more (even though editing something this long is a pain).

Rainbows and popcorns,
GenderlessPerson