Mr and Mrs. Dursley of Number Four, Privet Drive were proud to say that they were normal, thank you very much. At least, they were, until that freak came into their lives ! Since then, everyday had been a hassle, taking care of the sorcerous bastard, ensuring that his "magic" didn't get too out-of-control, ensuring that he didn't end up offing himself with his borderline-uncontrollable magicks.

Was it any surprise, then, that when the Black-Clothed Man showed up at their door, they were so willing to pawn him off to whoever was willing to buy. Sure, it was human-trafficking, borderline-illegal and certainly unethical (to the point that Petunia didn't even want to go through with the transaction, saying something about "his last", Vernon had to spend two hours convincing her that whoever "he" was, he wouldn't kill her for pawning off an unnecessary burden), but they had no choice ! What were they supposed to do ? Just let the freak leech off of them because of his inability to blend into normal society ? Of course not !

At least, that was what the Dursleys said when they were inevitably caught red-handed by Albus Dumbledore and his companions. They, of course, had their memories wiped and were sent back to sleep (and if Minerva McGonagall added a spell that caused them horrible nightmares, then, well, no one was complaining). As the Dursleys were taken back up to their bedrooms by Kingsley Shacklebolt and Alastor Moody, McGonagall couldn't help but notice that Dumbledore looked positively terrified.

"What's the matter, Albus ?"
Dumbledore startled, as if Minerva had interrupted his train of thought. A look of pure, unadulterated terror passed over his features for a second, before his face smoothed out and he fixed on an incredible fake, genial smile onto his face

"Wrong ? Nothing, my dear professor ! It's just...", and the smile dropped, his face becoming incredibly grim as he continued, "I have heard of a Black-Clothed Man before, back during the First Blood War. They say he used to kidnap young half-blood and Muggle-borns, cleanse them of their "impure blood" (through a no-doubt horrifying process), and turn them into...into..."
"Into ?"
"Into Death Eaters"
"And you think..."
"Yes"
"We need to start up a manhunt immediately !"
"And tell them to look for what, Minerva ? The Black-Clothed Man has no name, no face, no identity on public record. He quite simply does not exist, as far as the Ministry is concerned. Some say he was raised as part of a coven of incestuous pure-blood-fanatics. Others say that it's a legacy title, seeing as there were rumours that the Black-Clothed Man had been killed at the hands of Alastor Moody years ago. But in the end, the outcome is the same. We cannot start a manhunt. Harry Potter... is gone"

When Harry Potter awoke, it was to the sight of the black-panelled interior of a carriage. Outside, he could hear horses whinnying and there was a strange feeling in the air, almost electric in it's intensity, that made his hair stand on end, and made him feel like insects were crawling up and down his body. Small emeralds were embedded into the ebony walls of the carriage, forming the rough shape of a serpent coiled to form the letter S. Silver markings were made alongside it, right beside it, actually, forming a small phrase, "Puritas est essentialis"

"Sleep well ?", a deep, smooth voice asked from somewhere behind him, "About time you woke up, Scarhead". He turned to look at the source of the voice. It was a man, dressed in a black tailcoat and black trousers, with a black fedora casting deep shadows on his face. The strange thing was, the parts of his face that he could see looked strange and unnatural, almost puppet-like in their artificiality, with skin so pale that it was almost white and lips so red that they looked bloodstained.

"W-Who are you ?", the young boy stammered out, a strange sense of fear filling his heart as he looked upon that artificial visage. The man tilted his head up, revealing more of his face, and Harry was taken-aback. The man could be called beautiful, in a way, in the same way a hurricane is beautiful, in the same way a lightning bolt is beautiful. His eyes were a brilliant, piercing blue, that seemed to glow from within with a dull sapphire gleam. He looked as lithe as a panther, and twice as intimidating

"I am your destiny, Potter. Your beginning and your end. Some call me Draco Perfidus, others call me the Taker, but you can call me whatever you wish," the man said in a soft, almost-reassuring tone of voice that filled Harry with a mixture of calm and dread. The man's eyes glimmered in slight amusement as he looked at Harry, "How young you are, little one, for so grand a destiny"

"Destiny ? What destiny ?" Harry said, still reeling from the mixture of emotions that filled him when the Taker spoke. "The choice is yours, little emerald, if you're willing to choose," The Taker said, "You can return now, and spend your life as a pig destined for slaughter, and serve in the light, or... you can come with me, and yes, you will suffer, but who doesn't ? That suffering will bring you power beyond compare. You will be invincible. You will rule in the dark. So what will it be, Potter ? Serve in Heaven ? Or rule in Hell ?"

Harry merely stared at him for a while, lost in those piercing blue eyes, when the carriage jerked to a halt. The man stood up, "Rule in Hell it is, then". The carriage doors swung open of their own accord, revealing a vast garden of black grass, dotted with white flowers that stuck out like stars against the black fabric of the night sky. Beyond it, lay a beautiful, intricately-made mansion, composed of what looked like onyx and obsidian. The garden was surrounded by a low hedge, and Harry swore that he could see peacocks strutting about in the distance.

The Taker was speaking to a young man, with shoulder-length blonde hair, and every so often, he gestured to Harry, and then back to the blonde-haired man. At last, they seemed to come to an agreement, with the blonde man handing the Taker a small pouch, and turning to Harry, before smiling, a cruel, sadistic smile, that spoke of arrogance and cunning and sadism, and saying, "Hello Potter, I'm Lucius Malfoy. And I ... am your new father".

The Taker walked away from the Malfoy Mansion, his newly-earned coin-pouch jingling at his side. He continued walking for a little while, until at last, he came to a small wooded area. Here, he stopped, and stood for a second. After a few minutes, another figure appeared nearby, this time, a man with piercing green eyes, and a familiar scar on his forehead. The Taker removed his hat, revealing locks of blond hair, and bent down low, taking out his wand and casting a Revelation spell at the forest floor, revealing a corpse lying there, dressed in a black coat, and black trousers. It's face could not be identified, because from the looks of it, it had been blown clean off by a Blasting Curse, which presumably is what killed him.

The Taker placed the fedora on the man's head, covering his destroyed face. and straightened up to look at the other mysterious figure
"Is it done ?", the other man said
"It is", Draco Perfidus replied
"And are you sure this will work ?"
"Trust me"
"I always will. I just... don't want to lose you again"
"You won't. I swear. No matter what, no matter who I am. I will find you again. He will find you again"

Actions