Assimilative Adaptation

Ch. 1

An Amalgam of Effort

Across the varying levels of existence, reality, dimensions, or really any other paltry word some mortal or another has thought up regarding their placement in the grand scheme… or even for that matter a grand scheme of any sort, one thing above all is commonly agreed upon. Belief begets reality. As a great many higher thinkers throughout time, space, and… other such things had once or several times stated: I think, therefore I am.

Those leaning towards a scientific persuasion would often quote theories of observation and how it could impact outcomes and existence itself. Those who were more spiritual gave voice in praise to the deities that watched over fate. Those who simply believed in the magic of existence usually tended to simply shrug and say something like "well it's magic, isn't it?".

For our purposes we can boil it down to the idea that the collective belief of every sentient in existence most certainly reinforces or guides that very existence. Of course, many a mortal mind is inclined to press that idea. To debate and attempt to wrangle some sense, some inspiration, or even some power out of that particular quagmire of thought.

In one particular existence, there was a being that was the collective result of a vast number of pantheons over the ages, plus the human psyche's unwillingness to believe in coincidence rather than malicious interference most of the time. Many names were attributed to this being, many faces. Wonderingly enough, nearly all were female. So there she was, fit to chew nails.

"Usurpers! Ingrates! Simple, foolish busybodies!" ranted the being wearing the many names and faces of Fate.

She was, in a word, incensed. Some dozy broad had been faking legitimate prophesy and somehow managed to wrestle a shift in the tapestry Fate had worked so very hard on. Not even for the first time! First there was that Apollo upstart. Oh there were others before the blonde egotist, but not a single one of them had DARED to claim power over her works. None of them had been foolish enough to act as though she were a mere plaything for them to manipulate to their pleasure. Oh how she had enjoyed creating that particular pantheons comeuppance.

After she had managed to seal that idiots ending, others had cropped up, singing a tune of similar make. Some even claiming to have his power reborn or some such nonsense. Now though, a magic user of some pitiable skill was chirping about her "inner eye" and how it was ever so powerful and open to the true weal of Fate. Worse, her latest mark, some Bumble-something-or-another, had run with it!

The old meddler had run off to his secret little cabal and spread word of a prophesy. He had let a spy get loose to his enemy so that the other power-mad fool would drink up the idea of a threat to his growing strength.

All in all, it had started to warp her beautiful work. Now, an unintended prophesy was actually worming its way through the forming picture, ruining her threadwork. She would have to work hard to fix this mess and she was going to make someone pay dearly for the extra effort. Like any worthwhile belief would have you know, Hell hath no fury…

Materializing into a room bathed in early morning light, Fate slowly wound together as though a three dimensional piece of art was being woven together rapidly from rapidly appearing threads. Fate shuddered as she felt herself shift near fully into the physical word.

"Ghastly." She groaned at the feeling of being here on this more physical plane of existence. One such as she was never really meant to walk to mortal worlds, being mostly an amalgamation of concepts taking form than an actual individual. She was complicated, like any good woman.

Yet here she was, in a not-place between moments, outside of time but standing somewhere near it, if one took a moment to try to understand such things. Fate cast her eyes about the room, slowly making sense of the material realm. Fate smirked lightly at the scene before her.

Two mortal adults, a man and a woman, were sprawled across the floor of a nursery in a state that could only be described as utterly exhausted.

The one at fault for their current state stared rather gormlessly around himself. He was obviously trying to figure out why his mother had stopped moving, and why she wasn't paying attention to him anymore. Lily and James Potter had been outlasted by a newborn. Several days and nights of no sleep since bringing Harry home had done them in and they had both fallen asleep trying to convince the little monster to take a bloody nap.

Both parents had been informed, after a very limited fashion, of the prophesy and what it meant for their baby boy. They, and their closest friends, were working all they had to protect the boy.

Fate stared around the room, taking in the various forces and powers at work. Her eyes narrowed as she looked again at the boy, then immediately around him. She looked into the recent past, into the firming set of future possibilities around him.

"Well then, at least I have a little to work with. Pity these people are so limited." Fate grumbled.

Obviously the boy's protectors had been/would be trying their very best to protect him, but it seemed none of them had bothered to bring each other into their individual schemes over-much, either now or in any currently possible future.

From the mother, Fate found an inactive sacrificial ritual. It seemed to call on life and magic itself, using her willing and knowing sacrifice to impart a protection composed of her very life-force and magic, though separate from the boys own magic. This woman was going to use a very strange and unstable mix of spell magic, runes, potions, blood ritual, and even prayer to various gods and concepts of magic to work her enchantment. It might just be effective in stopping the dark man's spell. Perhaps it may even defend the boy later if it wasn't all used up in the first encounter. That is, if it didn't implode violently first. Even Fate wouldn't bet on it without her own tampering.

From the father, a mix of family magics and, once again, a knowing a willing sacrifice. At least these two knew how to pay for the boons they begged from the gods of magic and life. Still, it was only the two of them and they were certainly asking a lot for the cost of two near-non-believers. James Potter seemed to be of the belief that his son would escape any initial contact and needed all the help he could get later in life to overcome his adversary. His ritual, one that would normally be completed in small parts as the boy grew, passed on the family talents and natural skill at learning combative and transfiguration magics. He also seemed to be trying to pass on his own magical recovery and growth rate.

Strange things these mortals thought of. Did mortal magic work like that these days? Magic did change subtly depending on when, where, and how one existed, after all. Fate shrugged and moved on. Ugh, shrugging. She really needed to get off the mortal plane of existence as quickly as possible, she was picking up odd physical habits already.

From Harry's sworn godfather, he too seemed to be sneaking in some family magic rituals. He was using a mix of his own blood and the child's to bridge the thin relationship the boy held to the Black family. Fate could see the extremely few chances it had of working. More than likely it would clash and conflict with anything James was working on. Sirius focused more on the talents with dark magic, on fighting with ice magics and even some of the darkest blending the Blacks had managed in their histories.

Once, a great deal of time in the past, the patriarch of what was once a lowly roman Wixen family had sacrificed several of his enemies' families – down to the last child – to a dark Being of shadow and cold for a sliver of that entity's power. With this came the blessings of its violent nature, which would be passed in perpetuity to any of his main line. It was a very successful trade. Fate did not foresee that power willingly going to one who did not have a natural right to it according to the deal that was struck.

Fate stood over the family, observing the now and might-yet-come, thinking on the nature of the various magics and what she could do with them that wouldn't simply annihilate the child and its entire surroundings. She could tell that the initial works from each member of the boys protective circle was assimilating well, it was just the later portions and the completion of all of that work that would likely destroy him. Once again, short sightedness from the mortals on doing everything secretly in hopes on not upsetting one another.

Coming back to the current moment with a start, a slow and creeping smile slid over the face of Fate itself. Had certain meddlers of different strokes seen such a smile, they would surely be needing a change of robes.

Assimilation. Fate could see a great many possibilities there. The assimilation of magics and power to adapt for his own. Purely for his benefit of course. Not one of those meddlers would see that coming! The busybodies wouldn't understand until it was far too late. A Power he knows not indeed! With that, Fate set to work, making herself known to a few of the other concepts and powers that existed both locally and… further afield, and working out a few deals for the right circumstances to come about.

Work going forward with a will with other instances of her being (again, conceptual existence really did have its perks) Fate began to reweave her threads around the boy, changing the inner workings of both his magics and the way all of the collective rituals and works of his protectors would come together.

No doubt, this would be one to watch with as many of her other aspects as she could gather. They had so few entertainments this side of existence.

Fate unraveled herself from the mortal planes as time began to move on again. The last part to leave was a glowing Cheshire grin that even caught a young babe's eye as it remained for but a moment after time restarted. Harry burbled at the glow for a moment, then refocused on his own hands.

As the months rolled by, Lily, James, and Sirius each continued their clandestine work to protect Harry and Fate's intervention began to show.

"E's got a good grip, e' does" Boomed Hagrid with a laugh. Leaning as far down as he could, Hagrid let the babe grab on to his finger while Harry giggled happily. Visiting the castle was a risk for the family, but James and Lily needed some time outside of that stuffy house.

Lily hovered nervously next to her giant friend. She trusted Hagrid, but he really was too big to be believed. Harry had wrapped tiny hands part-way around the big man's finger and was seemingly attempting to pull himself up without any real success. A frustrated mien crossed the tike's face and, had Hagrid really been paying any attention beyond the joy of playing with a baby, he would have felt the very slightest of tugs on his magic centered around his hand.

As it was, Hagrid was too absorbed in his play and far too used to dealing with the strangeness of magical creatures to notice at all. He did notice Harry's good grip on his hand with a great chortle and a smile.

"Good lad there. Lily, look how 'e's got 'imself almost up on 'is feet already."

Sure enough, after the initial struggle, Harry had indeed pulled his tiny body up slightly, looking like he would try to stand. It didn't last though, and he flopped back down, having let go of Hagrid's finger.

Lily had dived down to catch her baby boy's head before it hit the ground, managing to catch him just in time. She glanced up, trying not to give Hagrid a gimlet eye over something that couldn't really be blamed on him. She was just very protective, that was all.

Hagrid merely gave a small chuckle at the look.

"'Ere now, no need fer tha'. I'll no' let 'im hurt 'isself. 'E's just a curious little fellow inn't 'e."

Lily smiled and let out a breath, laughing internally at her own instincts.

"I know you wouldn't, Hagrid. Would you like to hold him? y?" Lily asked, emphasizing the last word with meaning.

She knew she'd made the right decision when Hagrid lit up like Christmas and moved to take Harry like he was handling spun glass. Lily sat back and let herself just relax at the welcome and seldom had break. With some mild reluctance, she decided to let Hagrid be Harry's pram for the day – A decision received enthusiastically by the gentle half giant.

Elsewhere, Fate smiled wickedly, working a small twist into the blessing she'd given the baby boy.

Such small visits would occur every month or so, often with either Hagrid or a visiting Moony playing chauffeur to Harry while his parents took a break.

When at home, Padfoot would visit when he could get Peter to bring him by. For some reason, Pete was getting more reticent with those visits. Often, the rat animagus would do this by claiming he was unavailable. Dumbledore himself seemed to be encouraging Peter to limit any kind of visits from either Moony or Sirius. Peter claimed it was because Dumbledore was starting to worry about Moony spending so much time with the Packs, yet not wanting to draw attention to it by only excluding Remus. Sirius didn't like it, but still, he thought he had wrapped up most of what he wanted to accomplish with his rituals and blood-rites. Harry should gain at least some of the powers known to the Black family. The fact that Harry was near as good his own son as well at this point was only a plus to Sirius Black. He'd even gone and made the boy his heir, such that it were.

Another frequent visitor, one for more practical reasons, was the family Healer in the form of one Andromeda Tonks. Along with her came her own child, one boisterous girl who hadn't yet developed a distaste for her given first name.

"Careful dear, you must support his head." Lily cooed softly to Nymphadora, showing her how to hold a baby.

The Tonks girls hair oscillated wildly in delight as she held the small boy, control over her powers still a hard won thing on a good day. Right now, her focus was entirely on her arms and hands and the bundle of slobbery baby held there. Her mother had demanded that she be sitting so she wouldn't have to focus on the length of her legs as well in her excitement. They need not have worried.

Sitting there holding Harry, a moment of serene, happy calm settled over Nymphadora. He was so cute and small and he stared at her hair with wide eyes before a sudden burst of giggles overtook him. Harry reached up for her hair and she let him have a handful, purposefully growing it out in a display of control that might have surprised her if she thought about it.

Of course, the first thing that the baby did was put that hair in his mouth.

"EW!" laughed Nymphadora "You gross little monster!" she tried to pull back her hair but Harry had a good hold on it and was actually managing to keep a firm grip. Behind the tugging of her hair, she didn't even noticed the extra tug on her magic as she tried to shrink said hair back to a short and out-of-reach cut.

What she did notice was Harry's own suddenly shifting hair color. Between pulling in some of the magic he was currently being exposed to and the blood-rituals of Sirius, Harry had managed to activate a certain gift of the Black Family blood.

A collective gasp went through the room followed by a stunned silence. Said silence was broken by Andromeda turning to Lily and James with a slight glare.

"You could have mentioned this; I am his healer you know!" her ire swiftly left her at the bewildered look on the Potter's faces.

"He's never done that before!" exclaimed Lily.

"Certainly not!" followed James.

"Well… he does have Black ancestry, I suppose" posited Andromeda with a deliberating look.

"WHO CARES!" crowed a now practically vibrating Nymphadora. Someone like her! Someone younger she could teach all her tricks to and talk about all the sucky parts like how balance was something very difficult to manage! She wasn't alone! Okay, maybe he was nearly six years younger than her, but who cared?

Harry's mane slowly drifted back to the sparse messy black he'd managed to grow by this point.

"Aw, come on little man! Lets see some colors!" Nymphadora encouraged while slowly, purposefully shifting her hair through the rainbow.

Harry didn't change his hair again during the remainder of the Tonks' stay, instead choosing to nap. Andromeda guessed that his talent as a metamorph likely wasn't nearly as strong as Nymphadora's and that his single shift had tired him out.

When Dumbledore heard of the emergence of the gift, he was oddly alarmed. He immediately suggested binding the ability for now, as Harry's core was obviously not up to the task and he had already tired himself with just one small change. Andromeda had scoffed at the idea, stating that doing so may well cause more harm than good. His magic would adjust and he should naturally learn to both control and limit any changes. Wasn't that the advice that Albus had offered after his own research for Nymphadora? Albus was silent on the matter from there forward.

Harry's slowly dwindling time spent with Sirius was largely taken up by a romping big black dog and loud shrieks of laughter. Sirius once noted that he seemed to feel more tired than usual with transforming around little Prongslet, but then he was constantly jumping around and generally making a nuisance of himself for Harry's entertainment.

For James, he was always tired with his son ensuring that sleep only occurred on HIS schedule, so fatigue in any form was the norm.

Lily's own form, a svelte red-coated caracal, seemed to be Harry's absolute favorite. She was soft and, as they discovered, her purr could practically send Harry off to sleep on demand when they were desperate and he was being stubborn. Both could be found sound asleep on occasion. Like James though, Lily found that fatigue was just the new way of life.

Peter avoided changing around Harry, who's alarmingly strong, grabby hands were no place a small rat wanted to be anywhere near.

When Harry came up on his first year and Andromeda dropped in for his checkup, a series of shocks began to clue the small family group to the oddity that was their youngest member.

After a few moments of casting general diagnostic charms, Andromeda frowned. Looking from her wand to the small boy in front of her she shook her head and began casting again, garnering perturbed looks from Lily.

"Odd," murmured Andromeda, restarting her casting again. She seemed to be putting more effort, if the stronger gestures were any indication.

"What is it!?" came the worried voice of James as Lily followed up with "Is he quite alright!?"

Both were concerned for their son and were slightly worried that their secret works were going to either be found or worse, were causing problems for Harry.

"Fine, I think." Responded Andromeda, "but I think he might be… resisting my diagnostic charms?"

That brought the parents up short, each of them privately wondering if they'd somehow made their baby magic resistant.

"Oh. No, there we go. He does seem harder to cast on though. It's taking a little force to make the spells work. Almost like…" Here Andromeda cast a quick glance at both Potters.

"Did you two add anything to the wards here? Anything that might be protecting him?" She asked speculatively.

Both Potters exchanged a glance. Andromeda only knew that they were in hiding because Voldemort was after them. It was why she met them here, having been given a slip of paper with the secret on it by Peter since Sirius was out of town when they had first brought Andromeda into their home as the healer for Lily and the newly born Harry.

"Dumbledore was by the other day" said James. "He did take a look at the wards, so maybe he added something to the works?"

"You don't know about the wards on your own home?" Andromeda asked, askance. As a Black, and as a mother herself, she really could not fathom trusting anyone but herself and perhaps her own husband to keep their home safe from Voldemort and his band of violent idiots. What she couldn't know was the work that Dumbledore had put in to be sure that the Potters did in fact trust him to worry about the wards on the home. Subtle wand work and some wandless voice-magic was certainly involved in that bit of meddling.

Both the Potters looked… constipated at that.

"Well… I mean." Started James

"Dumbledore did say that…." Mumbled Lily.

Both seemed to be trying to think around that particular statement by Andromeda.

For herself, Andromeda just rolled her eyes and moved on. She never really did get the hero worship that followed the old man around. Sure he had power, but that didn't mean that everyone else could use that excuse not to exercise their own power. Their brains too, for that matter.

"That's likely the case then. I'll just have to use more power behind the spell-work. I would recommend that you ask Albus to either key me into those wards or be more careful about their side-effects. Being unable to heal or care for Harry effectively is not something your wards should be risking, I should think."

Andromeda's short lecture brought a bit of color to the parents cheeks.

Harry began to fuss.

Attempting to get the boy to sit still, Andromeda was once again surprised by the amount of strength in his young body. She could hardly keep him still at all! She was getting slightly exasperated when suddenly a sticking charm flew by to hold Harry in place.

"We've been having to do that lately." came Lily's exhausted voice. "When he really wants to wander around, it seems nothing else can keep him there.

Andromeda narrowed her eyes.

"All right, then." She said slowly, her eyes darting between both parents and a suddenly nervous looking Sirius who'd been invited to come by before Andromeda came over. Peter had been reluctant, but had caved to Lily's pleading for a break. He certainly did not want to be stuck watching Harry when Andromeda showed up. That woman scared him.

"Are you three hiding something?" She asked with a warning hint in her voice. "As Harry's healer, I cannot do my job unless I know everything he has been exposed to."

After a few moments where the other three adults in the room refused to look at each other or Andromeda, she sighed with a little heat. "Do you not trust me now?"

"What!? No!?"

"Of course we do, Andy!"

"The bloody hell do you mean!?"

All three had burst out at the same time… then everyone stopped and turned to James.

"What?"

"You DON'T trust me?" An eyebrow was slowly, dangerously rising on Andromeda's face and James was starkly reminded of why the Marauders had known far better than to prank her after the first attempt.

"No! I mean no, I do trust you! Yes!"

Lily rolled her eyes while Sirius snickered at James' blundering.

"All right then, who has been using what I can only guess are empowering rituals on this boy and why!?"

There was a long period of awkward silence while the three other occupants of the room simultaneously cringed and cast their eyes to the floor for a moment. That silence was broken when, again simultaneously, each quietly stated "I was," only to give an almost synchronously choreographed jerk and then stare in shock at each other and shout "What, YOU TOO!?" followed by three voices coloring the air blue with vitriolic swearing at all and sundry. This loud exclamation ended abruptly with each of the trio suddenly staring around in alarm for a moment before focusing on Andromeda with a touch of trepidation.

A pressure came into the room, swelling like a creeping cloud out from Andromeda and laying over the other occupants as an oppressive blanket of righteous anger. Nymphadora slipped over to Harry and picked him up, not even remembering that there had been a sticking charm that was supposed to have been holding him in place. She glanced around to everyone worriedly, not understanding what was going on. What she did know that her mother was already drilling into her head that one should not muck about with rituals. She honestly had never seen her mother so angry before.

A very long, loud, and angry conversation occurred behind a silencing ward as Nymphadora took a very fussy Harry up to his nursery to play away from the oppressive, seething magics that Andromeda Tonks was putting off. In the end, some of the danger was explained and Andromeda had each of them explain what they were doing. A great deal of angry words were shared between the three as well over the sacrificial aspects of the two parents contributions and, hypocritically enough, not sharing their plans with one another.

It was decided that they would not share any of this outside of Andy, as she felt that, should other healers get wind of this, they may want to research or examine the magical interactions. That would likely make sure that the Potters were found and then killed. The blood adoption by Sirius was actually better received than he had anticipated, though there were some heated words over not asking permission… and taking a bit of blood from their baby.

The three adults went and retrieved the children, finding Nymphadora changing her hair with Harry occasionally scrunching up his face and shifting his hair to match hers. He didn't seem to be exhausting himself as much this time. It was a game they played whenever she was over. She had managed to get him to change his nose once, but it had been stuck like that for hours. Lily and Andromeda had not been impressed with the pigs nose on Harry's face, but the occasional, adorable little oinks had sent both James and Nymphadora into hysterics.

"We are going to be going over every odd reading that I find and hopefully, you lot haven't made a mess I cannot fix." Growled Andromeda.

Surprising everyone, the only drastic changes that her spells could find was a nominal magical resistance, far more strength and magic than his body would normally carry, and a certain physical durability that may have been attributed to the increased strength of body and magic. Andromeda suspected Harry's ability as a metamorphmagus was awakened by Sirius' ritual. She couldn't be sure though.

"I cannot stress enough how miraculous it is that you three did not foul up each other's work and harm Harry. Instead, you've somehow altered it and made the boy a lot hardier and it seems you've accelerated his magical growth rate. He will grow in magical power much faster than he would normally, though how much so I do not know. I also do not know if it is permanent, or if it will slow later. None of us know if this will be harmful to him. If his body hadn't been strengthened so much, he would likely be in pain and struggling to contain the amount of magic he now has. If you don't stop now, I cannot promise that this will remain the case. I urge you to cease this work. If someone from the Department of Mysteries got wind of this…" Andromeda trailed off.

Three pale, owlish faces gazed back at her and then shared quick glances at one another.

"We will stop, Andy." Stated Sirius….seriously "Just… lay off the scare tactics a little, yeah?"

"If that is what it takes, Siri, that is what it takes!" ground out Andromeda severely.

"Alright, Andy, alright." James tried to come to Sirius' rescue only to shrink slightly under her glare.

The only one of the three not playing the shrinking violet was Lily, who glared back just as stubbornly

"I will do whatever it takes to keep my son safe, Healer Andromeda." Lily glowered at the other woman. "Including completing the rituals James and I put together with the sacrifices owed for them."

Sirius' sharp look her way did not daunt her in the slightest.

"But, I can agree not to add anything more. We wouldn't want to tempt Fate, after all."

Elsewhere, a grinning conceptual being with many names cackled. "Oh, but you already have, my dear!" Back in the Potter Cottage living room, Lily had an odd urge to shiver run up her spine.

Andromeda had to be satisfied with the promises she had gotten.

Three more months passed before those rituals suddenly became all-important for the Potter family.

Several years in the past

Tom Riddle

During the second great war, Tom Riddle bore witness to a great deal of death and misery first hand. During an outing in his earliest memories at the orphanage, Tom had been caught in an air-raid with the rest of the children and their care-taker. The young woman had panicked and gathered up the children closest to herself, dashing for shelter. Tom and a few others were left to follow in her wake as she barely glanced over her shoulder, shrieking for them to follow but not ensuring they did. By the time the bombing was finished, all others with Tom had died gruesome deaths in fire and thunderous noise. Tom was found bleeding and in shock, huddled under a strangely intact bench staring out at the horrors around him.

While the young caretaker had survived and later apologized profusely for not ensuring that the younger children had kept up, Tom had just stared coldly at her. He had never been a warm or happy child to begin with. She left the orphanage a less than a year later, claiming that she was being haunted and terrorized by the ghosts of those children she had left behind.

Tom's life did not get any easier, as his disposition singled him out among other children who, like most who grow up in foster care, quickly learn to take care of themselves first. At first there were only small troubles, where Tom's stand-offish behavior might see him excluded from a game or perhaps missing out on some of the more social gatherings by dint of not being told or retrieved by those sent for him. Later, as the revolving and sometimes apathetic staff of the orphanage did nothing to curtail such behavior, exclusion became targeted bullying by older orphans looking to lash out at an easy, less guarded target.

Now, Tom Riddle was a very intelligent young boy. This intelligence, however, was not of the bright and curious kind, though he did absorb any form of new information with zeal and relish. No, Tom's mind was ravenous for any kind of new information, especially the secret kind. He was caught several times by nuns and caretakers creeping along the halls and listening at doors, or attempting to read books, diaries, letters, and really anything of the older students and staff that might contain snippets of their lives and the world at large. It did not endear him to anyone at the orphanage.

What worried the staff was that he was never caught the same way twice, quickly learning to avoid any measure used to keep an eye on him. Some of the staff were quite leery of how Tom could seem to just blend into a room even when one started out looking for him. A few times, a conversation would be started after checking that no one was around only for those speaking to suddenly discover Tom staring, listening avidly from a corner of the room or at the door. Some of the nuns had taken to crossing themselves when they passed by the young boys room.

During this time, the orphanage's funds were at an extreme low and many a meal was being missed for lack of money to buy enough food for three full meals per day. Everything came to a head with Tom Riddle and the orphanage when, after a particularly harsh week of only mid-day meals, a nun stood by while an older boy shoved Tom away from the meager portions of food that served as his only meal for the day. The older boy just sneered at the younger orphan staring up at him and proceeded to eat what food was given to Tom as well as his own. Tom slowly turned his head to look at the Nun, who merely crossed herself at his stare and turned away.

Something sparked in Tom Riddle in that moment and as he angrily glared at the back of the thieving older boy, a great heave of accidental magic seared through him. Moments later, nearly everyone in the hall became violently ill, with the worst of it centered around Tom, who was unaffected. He was suddenly very tired though. Tom, as anyone could attest, was certainly, frighteningly, intelligent. He had a very good grasp of causality. Looking around the hall that day, Tom began to have a certain suspicion. One he would go to great lengths to verify. When he finally did, the consequences would eventually be felt throughout the entire world.

Tom Riddle regarded the world largely through two lenses, contempt and avarice. The avarice was for the power and authority he would claim over the whole of Britain. Well, Britain first at any rate. Then he would spread his rule and influence across the world, overcoming all challenges to his power. Tom did not consider this an evil or dark path. He had suffered, plain and simple, at the hands of Non-Wixen. He had suffered again as a fresh-off-the-train firsty at Hogwarts. He had suffered until he had established himself as a power unto himself among the other Slytherins. By then, no one at the orphanage dared his ire.

At that point in his life, Tom came to know respect, awe, and not a little bit of fear. Yet he never forgot or forgave those first few years of suffering. This, in his mind, hard earned and well deserved fear and respect from those around him was proof of his power and superiority over all others around him. He felt all others were dull-witted, unable to keep up with his incredible mind. In point of fact, he was vastly more intelligent than most around him, perfect recall and a mind capable of making great leaps of logic and understanding. He was also devious in his seeking of secret knowledge, something that served him well in rising through the ranks of House Slytherin, as well as later in life.

With his vast intellect and vastly increasing ego, Tom Riddle viewed his early life as proof that the majority of the people of the world needed far stricter guidance and a firm hand to give them purpose and direction in life. Why should the vile Non-Wixen peoples of the world be left to destroy and pillage the planet? Why should they be allowed to ruin the lives of children who were already left to so little? He could see countless ways the orphanages could be supported and not forced to barely feed their charges. It would just take sacrifices to be made by the adults. His continued study of world history, (though largely at the time, history was dictated by a euro-centric understanding of culture and civilization) showed him that Non-Wixen could not be trusted to effectively rule themselves without devolving to destruction and war every century or so.

With Lord Voldemort – and maybe a few select chosen who would answer ultimately to him – to rule and guide the simpletons, he could limit their suffering and prevent another Wixen child from being left in the hands of the beasts.

On the other side, looking at the elitism and blood-bigotry of the British wizarding world, Tom could only scoff in disgust. Inbreeding, social elitism centered around birth instead of power, hoarding of wealth and privilege amongst a few riding the coattails of their earliest ancestors to show magic. Tom was well aware that it was all such nonsense. After all, he had discovered himself to be a so called Half-Blood and he was vastly more powerful than nearly anyone else alive in this day and age, save for a few ancient hold-outs like Dumbledore. Well, and that terrifying fellow in Egypt.

Tom had learned through his research and the reading of well hidden documents accessed through contacts in the magical medicine that what really mattered was the growth rate of one's magic. Everyone, from the lowliest muggle to Merlin himself had magic at the time of their conception. A spark of magic – for what was life but magic? – that brought them into existence. What set the Wixen apart from non-Wixen was the growth rate of that spark. So called Non-Wixen simply did not have any appreciable growth rate of the spark that brought them to life. Once they had developed enough to have that first heartbeat, the magic of their life-force was largely just that: life. Occasionally one might have a burst of small magic; a mother that lifted a car to save her child, a truly unmatchable surge of creative masterpiece. True use of magic would always be beyond them, however.

Wixen simply never stopped growing in magical strength. Eventually, they would be able to use it consciously, reaching outside of themselves to work change and effect on the world around them. For those who could actively use their magic, the difference in power was time, and the rate at which their power grew. A witch or wizards magical core, so to speak, never ceased to grow, building with age at some given rate or another. It was fastest in their youth, slowly settling as they grew until it became a roughly set rate (ever so slightly varying depending on how well they took care of themselves and what environment they were in at any given time) as they reached maturity.

An older Wixen, for the most part, would always be far more powerful than a young one fresh out of schooling. However, just as some Wixen were born from Non-Wixen simply by the dint of being born with an appreciable magical growth rate when such was non-typical in their bloodline, the opposite could be true for those of Wixen bloodlines born with very little to no magical growth. Inbreeding had a way of slowing down magical growth, though that would not be something any of the pure-blood movement would ever allow to be published or even acknowledged. Thus, a young Wixen with a high degree of magical growth can quickly outstrip an older Wixen with a much lower growth rate.

Tom Riddle was among the magical titans born into the world with an extreme magical growth rate that would lead to him having more power by the time he was eight than most adult Wixen had into their late thirties. By the time he attended Hogwarts, he could count himself among the more powerful in the entire world, though he did not realize it that until much later. What he did notice rather quickly was that his supposed peers were laughably weak in comparison to his own capabilities. Even some of the professors could not wield the power he had at his fingertips. This, combined with his mental prowess, led to his own discovery of magic earlier in his life than any other Non-Wixen.

With no one to guide him and all the time in the world to experiment, Tom had taught himself a great deal of wandless, wordless magic. Imagine his disappointment when, after the initial impression by Albus Dumbledore, he found that those still in school were already, for the most part, leagues behind his own magical development and skill. Of course, there was plenty to learn at Hogwarts, even if the useful things were well beyond or outside the established curriculum. Tom spent as much of his time as he could ferreting out the secrets of the castle and any less common tomes available in the library. He also used his burgeoning influence to gain access to knowledge hoarded by pureblood families through the children of those families, either by guile or – when he knew he could get away with it – threats.

Discovering the Chamber of secrets and his heritage changed a great deal for Tom. He became obsessed with unlocking any and every secret his ancestral family may have buried away. He was very successful. In the available tomes of his forefathers, Tom found references to the rituals that would give him even greater power and influence in the Wixen world.

Then, late one evening, he found a vague reference that would spark his curiosity and doom the world to face a monster the likes of which had not been seen in millennia. It was a simple passage referencing information concurrent to a different set of rituals, the source of which was stated to be "an Archon of old, whose horcrux had kept him alive long after the world should have been well rid of the menace." Tom latched onto the idea of something that could extend life beyond the natural means. He spent the rest of the year digging up any other reference until he finally found what he was looking for.

After all, with his power growing at the rate it was, living forever would see him become the undisputed ruler of all the world, Wixen and non. No longer would the masses constantly devolve to violence and create unnecessary misery. He would rule and guide the whole of the world and reign in the foolishly lost creatures that called themselves human beings. He would wash the world of beasts pretending to be superior to wixen and establish the Wixen community in their rightful place at the top echelon of his dream society.

Standing on British land for the first time in several decades, Tom Marvolo Riddle, eventually to be widely known by Lord Voldemort, took in the countryside view with a look somewhat akin to contempt. The contempt was due to the fact that he had needed to travel into the country by filthy muggle means to avoid the detection of a certain busy-body old headmaster as of yet. He knew Dumbledore could likely still be on the lookout for him, if only to be sure that Tom wouldn't interfere with whatever chess game the decrepit fool was already playing with the country. The hypocrite wouldn't like any form of competition, Tom understood.

By this time in Tom's life, he had long surpassed anyone that he had ever personally met, barring Dumbledore and a strange Egyptian wixen whose town that Riddle had stumbled upon while seeking rumors of a hidden library of ancient magics. It turned out that the library belonged to said wixen. This was everything Tom had believed would be possible for himself. The Pharaoh, for that is what he called himself, had been alive since the height of the Egyptian civilization. Though he had never specifically stated how he had accomplished the feat, Tom was sure he knew. He himself had already taken his first steps in the same direction.

What he had learned though, was that much of the jewelry that the Pharaoh wore contained batteries of his own power, instances of his magic that would recharge separately from himself that he could call upon at will. This secret was one shared in trade for some of Salazar's own secrets of Parsel-magic. Although there weren't any Parselmouths in the Pharaohs court, one of Salazar's journals had detailed how he had brought the magic into his bloodline. Of course, similar rituals had been carried out in India, though the information had never been available to this isolated ruler who was content to keep to his own corner of existence. What he never explained to Riddle was exactly how he had accomplished the feat of the batteries. It wasn't until later that Tom Riddle figured out his own, actually far more powerful version.

Riddle had only made it out from that desert city with his life because of his horcruxes. His own natural arrogance had led to friction with the Pharaoh, which meant Tom had discovered, much to his own detriment, what ancient power grown over thousands of years actually looked like up when one was close and personal with it. Luckily for him, his fleeing spirit was not pursued beyond the boundaries of the Pharaoh's territory, and he knew better than to go back again. At least until he knew he could destroy or control the current ruler. His power would grow rapidly until eventually even that would-be god would fall before him.

Now though, he had a different focus. Over the next few years he would reestablish old contacts and build a new network of "friends" that would serve to gain a greater foothold underneath the current governments nose. He had long ago established how he would come to power in Britain, using the old Pure-Blood families as his army, the better to see them killed off slowly. If the new muggle-born wixen had to suffer for a time, so be it. They would continue to be born and he would rebuild Wixen Britain from them over time after the old regime had been done away with. After all, he was playing the long game and he had eternity to achieve his goal.

As he moved forward with his plans, he secretly moved the remaining horcrux that he had already crafted into his planned hiding place, and established his own method of magical battery. He had managed to alter the Horcrux Ritual, enabling him to wear a horcrux on his person and pull from its power. Creating a horcrux did not, contrary to some texts that he had discovered, fracture their creator's power, instead simply building a carbon copy of the power and lifeforce held at that time by draining the creator near to death. As such, the Horcrux was not so much a splitting of one's soul, as was the commonly held belief, but a sort of bleeding off of one's spark of life which would, through the ritual, be able to recover again afterwards from what was left.

After a period of recovery, the life-force, magic, and spirit of the one who created the horcrux would not pass on should their body be destroyed. They would instead be anchored to the mortal plane as an shade that could draw on the power held within a horcrux to build themselves a new body, if needed, through a number of varying rituals.

Some of those rituals were at least somewhat benign, requiring a temporary sacrifice of magic from most any powerful enough source or sources. These would rebuild the body for the spirit to inhabit but would add nothing more to it, as the magic used is generally purified through the course of the ritual so as not to effect the restored spirit, or their own magic as it recovered. The greatest downside to these options is that the horcrux itself would be consumed entirely.

Other rituals to this purpose were depraved, true gruesome works of unspeakable cruelty. Those, though, allowed for an increase in power when one was reborn. By sacrificing and consuming the life and magic of living sentients through horrid means, the newly reconstructed body would assume traits and abilities of the sentients consumed. More, any magic held by those unfortunates that was not consumed in the ritual would empower the restored wixen. Thus, it was most desirable to entrap and utilize powerful individuals or creatures so that the rituals would give a greater advantage once one was restored. This, in fact, was how many ancient, legendary figures with animalistic traits were formed. The practice was particularly popular in ancient Egypt and some South American regions.

What this meant was that Tom could create as many horcruxes as he wanted, though each time would require both his near death and him to risk again the possible failure of the extraordinarily complex set of rituals that went into their creation, which would lead to the destruction of the aborted horcrux and a painful end for his current body. He had learned from the Pharaoh that failing in the ritual even once would make further attempts far more likely to fail, and exponentially more likely to do so with each further failure.

Lord Voldemort had established a modification to the rituals that would allow him to, if crafted into some form of jewelry, access the power contained in the horcrux, a match for the power he held when he created it, as his own, which would recover at the same rate that he was capable at the time of its creation. He had later discovered that he also gained a boost to his magical growth equivalent to his own current growth, an unintended but welcome side effect that would allow him to become far more powerful over all much more quickly.

The change in the ritual required an arithmancy dependence factored on already powerful magical numbers. In order to draw upon the power of the Horcruxes, he needed to use the ones that he had already made to feed the ritual in set numbers. By the time 1980 had rolled around, Lord Voldemort was nearly at the true height of his power with six sets of three horcruxes, with a seventh set in the works to be finished which would give him seven sets of three or 21 horcruxes. He wore one of those sets of three at all times, with the others secreted away in case he needed to reconstitute himself.

With the destruction of his second horcrux during the battle with the Pharaoh, his first was the only one that lay outside of his new version and the number requirements. He'd been carrying that horcrux with him with the intent on hiding it in the library he was searching for. He had also found that his first horcrux was far more sentient than the newer ones, which were designed to hold mostly power and work with him in order to strengthen his current magic.

The new Horcrux Ritual sacrificed the ability to use the more benign methods of resurrection, since the need for a sentient mind being sacrificed to give his own intellect a "house" so to speak would be required in order his full mental capacity to return to life. Otherwise he may not come back with his full mental might, rather having lost something in the death and transference. He was unsure if that would be the case, but even the risk was not acceptable. What he did know was that all of his calculations had shown the need for a sentient, living mind to be consumed by magic during the ritual.

He had given the Diary Horcrux to one of his more capable followers. The man was charged with giving it to his son, or a suitable replacement for his son, in the case that his current body had been destroyed. It would enable him to come back within the same group of supporters very quickly if absolutely necessary and the time for the more complex rituals was not available. A ploy, he felt, that would allow him to rid the world of another line of arrogant inbred purebloods while seeming like a honor for great service and capability.

By this time, apart from the horcrux set empowering him, Riddle had used the power contained in these new versions to vastly overpower several rituals aimed at increasing his already prodigious magic in a large variety of ways. Others had strengthened his physical body and made him vastly more resilient to physical damage. His strength was easily on par with any ten men, his speed even greater. More rituals had gone to further strengthen his mind and even, to a small degree, his magical resistance like that of a giants. Sadly this last was only marginally successful as in order to complete the ritual, magic needed to be able to effect your body. This meant that for most, it would be totally ineffective. For Tom, using the new horcrux sets as a power source, he got some use out of it which was more than anyone else could say.

To his great delight, after his first body's destruction, he found that the reconstituted body not only retained the benefits of those early rituals from before his new horcruxes, but could be granted the benefits anew from performing the rituals again on the new body. He had nearly been tempted to allow his current body to be destroyed just to go through the rituals again. All in good time, though. He wanted to finish his latest set first. Doing the rituals with seven sets of three of his Horcruxes should see him vastly expanding his current capabilities and the speed with which he could grow his power over time, should he then wear them in sets of three, or possible three sets of three. He wasn't foolish enough to keep all of his horcruxes on his person after all.

On October 31st, 1981 Lord Voldemort stepped across the threshold of an enemy's home. This home contained the last of a once powerful magical family, one of the ruling elite that he so despised. Granted, these people were more open minded and certainly didn't seem to take with the inbred traditions of other, darker families. However, if Tom was to rule, they would need to be destroyed. No vestiges of the old crowd would remain by the time he was finished. This particular family had proven to be quite the thorn in his side at any rate. Even with his own power, they seemed to have a knack for combat and controlling the battlefield.

He had certainly been able to force them to flee the field whenever he personally arrived, but not without cost. The woman in particular was likely one of the few that he had met that might even come close to his own intellect. While she didn't have the family magics of the man, her ingenuity on the battlefield was not to be underestimated. He had been asked to spare her by his not one but two of his servants. Seemingly the men had some attachment to her, though Severus had portrayed it as though he wished to punish the woman for choosing another over him by making her his slave, while the other had made no secret of his jealous lusting after his supposed friend's wife. Whatever their reasoning, Lord Voldemort was interested to see if he could turn her to his side and make use of her mind. He rather doubted it, but he would give her the opportunity if he she gave him the chance to do so. The servants would have to contend with fighting over her if she chose to live.

For the very knack these two had for surprising him on the field of battle, Lord Voldemort took a moment of caution and wore only one set of three of his Horcruxes. The other two completed horcruxes of the newest set were waiting to be worked into articles of artistic jewels and clothing when he returned with this final one. No need to risk more than necessary when against a respectably capable opponent.

Of course there was also this prophesy that his new spy had discovered. After being caught in the act, Severus had cleverly used the situation to ingratiate himself with Dumbledore, touting love and regret to get the bumbling fool to make use of him as a spy in Voldemort's court. The Dark Lord was well aware of the conversation, Severus having returned to him nearly gloatingly to show him the memory and requesting the honor of having the Dark Lord make use of him as a double agent. It was masterfully done, and Tom had accepted the opportunity. Of course, not without insurance.

As he ascended the stairs, he shook his head at the strange mans lack of fight. James Potter had simply done his very best to hold Voldemort off until his wife had fled with the boy that was the focus of the aforementioned prophesy. Tom had completely disregarded the pure-blood child as having any chance of being important to him. No, he understood that most of the pure-blooded families could barely keep magic in their blood-lines at this point. It was half-bloods and even the occasional new-blooded Wixen that were far more likely to be the true threat. So he had targeted the Potters and their half blood child.

Coming to the door to the nursery where he could hear frantic muttering and a crying babe, Tom prepared the last portion of the final ritual required for the third horcrux of this latest set.

In a few more moments, decades of work would take a great step forward. Soon he would take his fight directly to the old meddler, who he knew would be unable to face him and live anymore.

Several Decades in the past

Albus Dumbledore

After the Great Wizarding War, Albus Dumbledore had finally achieved what he and Gellert had set out to do all those years ago. Of course, they had separated early in their campaign for a disagreement on how to accomplish the goals they had set. That separation had cost the life of his sister Arianna, and earned the eternal enmity of his brother.

Between Gellert and he, it was hard to determine early in life whose magical growth was the strongest. It was incredibly rare and two people of such prodigious magical capabilities would be born around the same time, as usually it was a once or twice in a few generations for the whole of the Wixen community worldwide. Both of them had outstripped their parents and later their school teachers long before they had ever left their respective homes to see the world at large.

Another aspect of the two young men that brought them together was their incredible minds. Like Tom Riddle much later, both Gellert Grindelwald and Albus Dumbledore were of vast, genius intellect. Each had their specialties, much as Riddle would in years to come.

Albus Dumbledore understood people. He knew how to work them, how to mold them into capable and willing followers and how to bring people to his point of view. He also had a gift for ensuring others only ever saw what he wanted them to see. His talent with people made him a wonder at manipulation, though he never saw it as such and would fervently argue against the idea.

Gellert was a masterful tactician. He too had a talent for people, but more along the lines of instinctually understanding what reactions he could expect from any given action. His abilities were such that it came across as a certain "all-knowing" type of charisma.

The two men met young and gave each other's brilliant minds a sounding board and an equal capable of learning all they could teach and more. From Gellert, Albus learned a certain amount of skill with tactics and predicting reactions. Though his own skills leant more towards the background, building a particular environment in which he could control given outcomes. His plans to recreate the world with Wixen coming out into the open as benevolent all-wise leaders that could guide the non-wixen along the paths needed for the greater good of the world.

From Albus, Gellert learned to read people and honed his tactical acumen to new heights. He learned to play a crowd and win over the affection of those who he believed would aid him in his campaign. For campaign is what he had planned. Gellert bore witness to the first world war and the coming of the second. He believed that the slow change that Albus had planned would be too long in coming. He believed that, if given any more time, Non-Wixen would become too much of a threat to the Wixen community for them to overcome. So he sought out a puppet from among those without magic, and began to guide the non-magical war in the direction he needed while he stormed the Wixen world, seeking to dominate so that they in turn could overcome the weakened non-magicals.

It came to head between the two when Albus' manipulations backfired enough, with Gellert's help, so that he was forced to intervene lest all his plans fall to Gellert's ambitions. There, after many years of competition between the two of them, they at last discovered that Albus did, in fact, have the greater magical growth and strength.

From his prison cell, Gellert lamented that with Albus' capabilities, they would have easily ruled the world outright. Neither knew of a certain Pharoah that may have taken some umbrage at the idea of young upstarts thinking they had the ability to rule much of anything, much less the entirety of the world.

Interestingly enough, he knew he wasn't the only one of his kind. The loud and obnoxious of their members never survived long enough to matter, many even being destroyed by older members of this select community to keep trouble and attention to themselves to a minimum. The quiet and patient ones merely bided their time. Waiting for the opportunity when all else fell to come out and, in many cases, once again live as gods among men.

For Albus, Gellert's fall and the destruction left in his wake was further evidence that Albus' own view was the correct one. His mental might bent to the task of slowly molding the world to be ripe for his own open rule. He had apprenticed under one of the few known immortals and had learned at the man's side how to extend his own life. Later, he would hope to deprive that man of his method as Nicholas was certainly capable of standing up to Albus in a straight fight, for now at least.

Nicholas' magic was slow in its growth, slowed even more by the need to sacrifice that growth bit by bit in the creation of his stones. His magical growth rate would be restored as he used the stone he made until the stone was gone, so long as he only used it to maintain his youth. When he used it to make gold or other precious metals, the power used up would permanently reduce the growth rate that could be returned to him via the use of the Elixir of life made from said stone. All things come at a price, and this is especially true in magic.

The original Horcrux Ritual came at the cost of innocent new life. The younger, the better, and the greater chance of success. It was a dark and despicable act but it was effective. Some would postulate that the early portions of those rituals also cost the humanity of the creators. As to finish the creation of one seemed to indicate a complete lack of humanity.

Voldemort's newer horcruxes required more. Indeed, hearts-blood and the stored magical spark of life from several unborn children were required in all but the last portion of his rituals, where he could choose a child who had been born already for the final act. Had anyone else learned of how he achieved his power, he would likely have already been hunted down by older immortals in the world, though some would have done it just to take the ritual for themselves. After all, they were as gods so it was their right.

Dumbledore worked hard through the latter half of the 20th century, pushing through this or another law, pulling public opinion just this way or that, allowing certain aspects of society to gain traction and create instability, and slowly creating the impetus for his own inevitable takeover of the Wixen world.

He kept his appearance of a wise grandfatherly figure, all the better to have people see him as a wizened leader to be followed and admired. Really, with his own stone (made by using others magical growth as a sacrifice, He did need his own after all to see him grow strong enough to inevitably guide the world for the greater good) he could restore his own physical youth quite easily. It was merely by measuring out the proper rationing of the Elixir of Life that he made which kept his appearance as he wished. Someday, he knew he would finally have the chance to restore his youthful vigor. For now the grandfatherly mien was far too useful to his plans.

What he had not expected was the return of a wayward student that had once nearly thrown a wrench in his plans for the school. He had turned the stubborn, willful, and all too capable young man away from a teaching position, knowing that Tom would have never been one to be led along the path of the greater good. Once Riddle had run off, and stayed gone for over a decade, Albus had written him off and continued with his own pogroms.

When whispers of a powerful new leader among the darker pureblood factions first surfaced, Albus had begun some light investigations in case he would need to intervene. By the time he discovered just who it was, Tom had already outmaneuvered any fast actions that Dumbledore had in place, surprising the Headmaster a great deal. So it was the long game for Dumbledore and he found his opponent just as cagey and capable as he himself.

The first time they had met in a skirmish, young Tom had surprised Dumbledore with his power and magical cunning in battle. Magics that Albus had never seen flashed across the battlefield towards him and his people. Albus was nothing if not capable though and his own experience saw him through and chasing the young upstart from the field. Thus his legend grew and Tom developed a wariness of facing Dumbledore head-on until his power grew even further.

Unknown to Dumbledore, into the mid 1970's Lord Voldemort had enough of his horcruxes created in his first five sets of three to easily overwhelm his old transfiguration professor in a brute force battle. What made Dumbledore so dangerous was his magical control on top of his power. Dumbledore and Grindelwald had sparred endlessly in their youth and then again on the battlefield when Dumbledore finally went to face him down. Though Tom was capable and well learned, Dumbledore was all that and experienced. It made all the difference and usually pushed Voldemort onto his backfoot in a fight.

Dumbledore and Tom began to face off in a chess game featuring live followers, each sacrificing their pawns for attempts at greater gain, each sometimes forcing an allied piece out into the open to be taken in order to further their own schemes. Neither side truly understood this until the beginning of the 80's. A few families on both sides who had long since begun to see the patterns began to quietly make waves amongst the ranks. For Voldemort, those families were ruthlessly and utterly crushed, made out to be blood-traitors to the cause and wiped out by those they believed to be their truest allies and friends. For Dumbledore, he found himself with two "volunteers" for his newest scheme to rid himself of Tom's growing influence.

While Tom had been a useful foil for a short time, he had rapidly displayed a level of capability that could not be borne for too terribly long lest Albus' long term plans be put in jeopardy. Albus strung out the conflict as he could whilst trying to pin his cagey opponent in a place where he could be more easily managed or dealt with as necessary. It was not a simple task, and it was one he was beginning to suspect he would be unable to accomplish. Especially now that rumors reached him of discontent among his own pieces.

It would seem that he had been a little too lax with his methods. Some of the more intelligent among the light side families that made his other long term plans difficult had begun to notice that their families in particular were being killed off in strange, coincidental mishaps. Albus seemed to be able to turn those tragedies to their gain however, more often than not. That alone began to raise suspicion.

Two families, stalwart and long-time allies were at the front of that growing malcontent and scrutiny. The Potters, sadly enough, had needed to be pruned of their older, more influential members. The two elder Potter brothers who had become influential heroes from the Great Wizarding War, had enough pull to begin to chip away at the larger than life image that Albus had built up. The co-leaders of their alliance from the Longbottom family had the financial pull and pure-blood ties to solidify support if Albus were ever called to question.

No, the two would need to be removed from the board if possible. The death of the elder Potters and Longbottoms, save for Augustus (the old she-dragon was tough as anything and twice as mean in a fight) had given Albus room to work, but the younger men would also need to go.

In the midst of his maneuvering, Albus discovered that it was Sirius Black that was whispering suspicion in James Potter's ears regarding the death of the young man's family. He too would need to be removed from the board.

So it was that an opportunity practically fell into Albus' lap. An interview for a useless subject, divination, came up for the school. The descendant of a renowned Seeress wanted the position and there was just enough hype around the Trelawney name that Albus had an epiphany on how to draw out Tom Riddle and also do away with at least one of the families giving him so much trouble, as well as possibly the opportunity to handle the other family as well. It saddened him so to see such young and promising people turning away from the greater good. He wished that he could rehabilitate them and if they were not currently at war he would likely have taken the time to do so. For now though, sacrifices needed to be made for the greater good.

He had heard that both the Potters and the Longbottoms were expecting, which made an easy setup for his little gambit.

One fake prophesy set up through judicious use of the Imperius Curse, compulsions, and charms, wildly creative transfiguration, and Alchemy, and there you have it.

Explaining to the expecting parents the bare minimum of the prophesy and the risk to their unborn children saw them nicely into isolation and hiding. He was unable to control the secret keeper of the Longbottoms, it seemed Augusta was still to wary and cagey for that. However, the Potters were currently the bigger problem, as he coveted a certain family heirloom that he felt James was entirely too unknowledgeable about and thus undeserving. He and Gellert had sought out the Deathly Hallows almost religiously and he found the opportunity to obtain another of the set far too tempting.

More compulsions, a bit of potioning, and so forth enabled him to ensure that the person he chose would become the secret keeper. Sirius and James made this easier with their penchant for pranking, both having a great laugh over their supposed prank on the Dark Lord. Albus almost could have laughed along, though for entirely different reasons.

When the children were born he took an interest in their safety and wellbeing, trying to guide both families on what was best for the children. He was firmly rebuffed on both accounts and felt that pushing too hard would lead to risking his plans. What he did not know was all that the Potters and Sirius had done to prepare little Harry Potter for the worst case scenario. Similar things were being done for Neville, unbeknownst to anyone outside the Longbottom family, but certain conceptual beings had no interest in second choices or very slim possibilities as those futures disappeared the closer it came to the chosen time. Thus, while Neville would certainly hold certain advantages over his the vast majority of his peers if he ever came to realize them, he would not benefit from the wildly improbable outcomes that Harry would.

On Halloween night of 1981, Dumbledore pushed his pawn to act, setting up what he believed would be the fall of one of his sadly straying followers and the beginning of the end for one Tom Marvalo Riddle. Albus was unaware of the horcruxes, though he certainly had his suspicions. He did believe that, even if Tom did have such things, Albus would have the time to put the wizarding world back on the path of the greater good while he sought out these dark anchors and then he could use them to control Tom. Albus did believe that they fractured the soul of the creator and that, once he had the portion of Tom Riddles soul anchoring him to the living world, he would have the perfect, controlled foil with which to continue his work until Tom could be made to see reason, or be done away with when the time was perfect.

As Peter Pettigrew showed his master the path up to Potter Cottage, Dumbledore smiled. Covered under the "Borrowed" Potter (Peverel) Cloak, Dumbledore observed Voldemort's entry into the home before quietly popping away from outside the anti-apparition wards. He would have to be seen rushing about, reacting to the horrible news to come.