Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the other people, places, or things associated with Harry Potter.  They belong to J.K. Rowling.  I’m just borrowing them, so don’t sue me.

Author’s Note: Hello!  I’m back!  And here we go again.  Though, if you haven’t read my fic before this, I don’t recommend you read this one yet.  Some things may not make sense.  This fic, due to the release of HBP is AU, although I do borrow some of the characters mentioned in HBP, because good characters, in my opinion, ought not to go to waste.  Actually, I was sort of shocked when I read HBP because I found a few different things in the book that I wanted to put in this fic.  JKR went and put in stuff I didn’t expect to happen until Book 7!  Oh well, I’m still going to go ahead and write what I want, putting my own little twist on it instead.  For those of you who stuck with me through MoL and were tortured by my evil teasing, I dedicate this story to you.  This is what you’ve been waiting for.  But please note that this fic is first and foremost listed as an Action/Adventure story, and then a romance.  Don’t worry, you’ll get your snogging.  Thank you very much to my wonderful beta, Nitya.  I must dedicate this to you as well, Sis, because, without you, there wouldn’t be any Harry Potter fics written by me on the internet.  To the Wonks who I love so dearly, yeah, this story is dedicated to you too!  Honestly, I think I’ve rambled on for long enough, and jeez, you people have certainly waited long enough to read this, so get started!

Harry Potter and the Destiny of One

CHAPTER ONE

THE CHILD OF DARKNESS

Rain was beating against the old cracked windows of the desolate house on the outskirts of a tiny village in the western portion of Norfolk. The bright sky flashed with light as lightning cracked, followed up by a roar of thunder. The decrepit little house shuddered slightly as the sound waves passed through it, bringing the thunder to the ears of a hooded figure sitting in a lumpy chair at the center of what had been the living room back when the house had been cared for. That was back when a poor nice man with his wife and five children had lived in the tiny house. That was back before tragedy had struck the family.

            On a horribly dark and stormy night twenty years prior, much like the one that the little town was currently experiencing, a horrible looking man walked right through a door marked “The Polstons” and entered the little home. Mr. Polston had demanded to know who the horrible looking man was as the intruder pulled out a carved stick and pointed it at Mr. Polston. With a flash of green light, Mr. Polston fell to the floor, dead. Mrs. Polston and the five Polston children screamed as they each met the same fate.

            When the intruder left the home, he waved his carved stick, muttering something in Latin before walking away. In the twenty years between their death and the house’s current occupation, only twice had someone ever entered the home. The first time was four years later when the intruder had returned on the evening of the night before Halloween. After destroying the bodies that had been left in the home during his last visit, he spent the evening in the dusty, run-down house before an owl arrived with a letter clutched in its talons.  He read it and then, with a loud CRACK, he disappeared.

            The second time was just one short week ago when a wheezing bald man with a silver hand appeared out of nowhere in front of the house. He walked in and inspected the house, poking around with another carved stick, before he disappeared into thin air, looking satisfied.

            The next day was the beginning of the present occupation of the house. Both the intruder and the wheezing man had returned with a CRACK, as did several others, including a woman with dark hair and heavily-lidded eyes who had been carrying an infant. They entered the dank home and never came back out.

            The hooded figure—the intruder—shifted in his seat slightly as two men arrived in the room and bowed deeply. They both had dark hair and looked generally alike with only minor differences. Another man entered the room after them. He had cold gray eyes and white-blonde hair. He bowed even deeper than the other two.

            “My lord,” he murmured.

            Several more people arrived, including the man with the silver hand.  Each of them bowed to the hooded man before them, standing perfectly still and not making a sound. The hooded man waited until everyone had arrived and was standing with their eyes on him before he spoke in a cold, high-pitched voice.

            “These past few weeks have been highly disappointing,” he hissed.  “Many of your fellow Death Eaters have been arrested, most of them from the cemetery in Hogsmeade.” He glared at them dangerously with his ruby eyes. “The cemetery in Hogsmeade…the place where somehow none of those present were able to stop Harry Potter from escaping!”

            The Death Eaters cowered before falling to their knees, groveling before the hooded man.

            “We’re sorry, Master.”

            “Forgive us, Master.”

            “We’re at your mercy, Master.”

            “Silence!” the man hissed. “I am not finished!  Then, just last week, one of you had the nerve to disobey me! One of you had the nerve to go to that small town in Cornwall with a small platoon of my vampires and fall right into the trap that the Ministry had set up! Then you actually thought it safe to return to me. Rutherford, step forward!”

            Bartholomew Rutherford, a man of around forty, with graying brown hair and sunken hazel eyes, stepped forward with a gulp. He bowed deeply. “My lord, I am terribly sorry. I thought that it was what you wanted. I only wanted to please you, Master.  Please, be merciful, I beg of you. I shall never do something like that again.”

            Lord Voldemort raised his wand lazily at Rutherford and said, “You’re right—you won’t. Avada Kedavra!”  Green light shot from his wand and straight through Rutherford, killing him. The Dark Lord stood up and kicked the body over so that he could stare into the Death Eater’s dead eyes. “I hope that was merciful enough for you.”

            With a snap of his fingers, two Death Eaters stepped forward to remove the body from his sight. “Now,” the Dark Lord hissed, stepping towards his Death Eaters, “we have a lot of work to do. We have a lot to clean up. There shall be no more mistakes, no more arrests, no more failures. It is time to stop playing such quiet warfare. Both the wizarding and Muggle world shall feel my wrath. They shall know what happens when they attempt to defy Lord Voldemort. They shall know fear. They shall know death.  It is time for the Dark Mark to fill the sky! It is time for the Ministries to fall—for all governments to collapse. It is time for me to take what a person as powerful as I am should—everything! And nothing, not the Ministry of Magic, not Albus Dumbledore and his pathetic Order of the Phoenix, not the ‘Boy Who Lived’ Harry Potter, and not even death shall stop me! I am immortal and there is nothing that can stand in my way! It is my destiny. As the descendant of Salazar Slytherin, it is my destiny. I will take over the world and purge it of its filth. No more Muggles and no more Mudbloods, half-bloods, or half-breeds. We can use those foul creatures, such as vampires, giants, and werewolves for now, but soon, we will get rid of them too. Then the world will be pure. It will be a safe place for pureblooded wizards to settle and raise their families.  One day, all of you will be able to tell your grandchildren about how you rid the world of its evil impurities.  One day, you’ll look back upon this time with pride, knowing you served your master well, knowing that you have freed this world from all of its contaminations. You will be regarded as heroes and you shall be rewarded well.

            “Tonight is the night we start for our new horizon. These next few weeks shall be long remembered in wizarding history as the weeks when Lord Voldemort triumphed over all. Macnair!”

            A bulky Death Eater stepped forward, before bowing and kissing the hem of Voldemort’s robes.  “Master?”

            “You did well with the giants nearly two years ago, Macnair, and Lord Voldemort appreciates that. While you may have stupidly gotten yourself arrested at the Department of Mysteries, you managed not to do so in the cemetery. I have an assignment for you, Macnair, an assignment that shall reunite you with your big brutish friends.” His eyes gleamed. “It is time to start thinking globally. I want you to split the giants four ways. Take some to the Scottish Highlands. Take another group to the French Alps and let them roam. Maybe they’ll even make it into the Austrian, Swiss, Slovenian, and Italian Alps. Another group shall go to the Pyrenees. That will create chaos between the French and Spanish. Those stupid Muggles will think the other country is attacking them.  The fourth group shall go to the Carpathians. They should upset Poland, Romania, the Czech Republic, Slovakia, and Ukraine. Let them do whatever they want. Let them roam freely. Make them believe that the world is theirs and they may do whatever they like. Tell them that Lord Voldemort has kept his promise of freedom.” A grin twisted its way onto his ghost white face. “Go.”

            “Yes, Master,” Macnair said, jumping up eagerly to do his job.

            “Oh, and Macnair?” he said lazily.  Macnair faced his master once more. “You’re more than welcome to terrorize any Muggles yourself, along the way.”

            Walden Macnair’s grin was sinister. “You are most generous. I thank you, Master. It would be a pleasure to do so.” With a flip of the black traveling cloak he had just fastened, he was gone.

            “Before I continue, I noticed that dear old Lucius has returned. Come forth and give me your report,” the Dark Lord commanded.

            Lucius Malfoy stepped forward and bowed. “My lord, I have returned from spying on the Aurors at Azkaban to decide what is the best way to break our comrades out—again.”

            “I will decide what is the best way,” Voldemort hissed.

            “Yes, Master, of course. I am sorry; it was a poor word—”

            “Get on with it, Malfoy!” Voldemort snapped.

            “Yes, Master,” Malfoy said smoothly and held up a gloved right hand. Clutched in his grasp was a small piece of parchment. “I have here the list of those from the cemetery who need to be broken out. It is a long list—Nott, Mulciber, Flint, Jugson, Dolohov, Crabbe, Goyle, Rookwood, Yaxley, and Avery. Of course, had Mr. Crow decided not to kill himself, he would more than likely be on this list too.”

            Voldemort nodded.  “But he did prove useful before the cemetery. Praise must be given to those who actually managed to escape prison, including yourself, Lucius. The five of you will be rewarded. Macnair has already received his—a personal assignment to bring glory to his master. And now, Lucius, I shall give you the same. Go to London.  Your job is to infiltrate the Muggle government any way you see fit. Wait patiently. When the time is right, I shall send an owl and you will get the pleasure of assassinating not only the Muggle Prime Minister, but also their symbols of power—the monarchy. You will destroy the royal family.”

            “Every last member, my master?” Malfoy asked.

            “Every last one,” confirmed Voldemort with a horrible smirk. “Long live the queen.”

            Malfoy bowed, and with a CRACK, he was gone.

            “My next reward goes to Wormtail,” the Dark Lord murmured, causing the wheezing bald man with the silver hand to scurry forward and kiss the hem of Voldemort’s robes.

            “Master?” he squeaked.

            “You, my treacherous little ratty friend, did such a good job with the vampires that I’m going to send you away for more,” Voldemort said.

            Wormtail gulped. “More, Master?”

            “Yes, more.  Oh, but don’t think you’re actually going to get more vampires. No, I have enough contacts now to keep my supply as fresh as a vampire likes his blood. What I want are more half-breeds. You’re to get in touch with our good friend Fenrir. Do you remember him?”

            “I remember talk of him, Master,” Wormtail replied.

            “Fenrir Greyback is the alpha male of the British werewolves who have…given in to their animal instincts. They are definitely not as peaceful as your old friend, Remus Lupin. Find Greyback and tell him that the Dark Lord shall keep his promise. He’ll understand what I mean.”

            “Yes, Master,” Wormtail said, turning away.

            “But wait, Wormtail,” Voldemort said icily. “I’m not through with your instructions.”

            Wormtail collapsed onto his knees and kissed the hem of Voldemort’s robes again.“I’m terribly sorry, Master. I assumed—”

            “You shouldn’t assume anything at all, Wormtail,” Voldemort said harshly. “Must we go through this exercise again?”

            “No, Master!  I’m sorry, I’m so terribly sorry! I’ll never—”  He squealed in fright as Voldemort pulled out his wand.

            “Enough, Wormtail,” Voldemort snapped. “You’re embarrassing yourself with your blithering. Stay silent and maybe I will not punish you.” Wormtail nodded. “Now, your second task is to go do some…resurrecting.”

            Wormtail looked up, alarmed. He opened his mouth to speak, but the Dark Lord cut him off. “I know, however, that you do not have the brain capacity to resurrect anybody. That is why Addams shall accompany you on this mission. Addams!”

            A squat man with sunken eyes jumped to Wormtail’s side before bowing deeply. “Yes, Master?” the man asked in an oily voice.

            “Your job is to bring me back an army of Inferi so large that the entire wizarding race will tremble,” Voldemort said.

            “Yes, Master.”

            Wormtail couldn’t help himself. “Inferi?” he squealed, alarmed.

            With a roll of his eyes and a wave of his wand, the Dark Lord muttered, “Crucio!” and watched vaguely while Wormtail writhed and screamed in pain. “Perhaps it would be prudent if I cast a Permanent Sticking Charm to your lips, Wormtail.”

            When the curse was lifted, Wormtail sank to the floor, shaking his head vehemently.

            “Inferi, or what Muggles call ‘zombies,’ are very valuable to my army. Their capabilities of killing are truly something to be marveled at, although their intelligence isn’t. Find them and bring them to me. I will require them for my plans.”

            Both Wormtail and Addams bowed. “Yes, Master.” Then, they too, left.

            “Master?” inquired one of the Death Eaters.

            Voldemort looked into the eyes of the one who had spoken. “You wish to know when your fellows will be released from Azkaban,” he said softly. “I do not have immediate plans for it, Carrow, because I’d rather like it if they sat in their cells and suffered for awhile. Let them lose hope. Let them think that their master has abandoned them so that they can be the people the Ministry spits on. Then, when I believe that they have suffered enough, they will be freed. In fact, Amycus, I will let you and Alecto plan and lead the strike force to get our friends back when the time comes.”

            “Thank you, Master. You are most generous,” Amycus Carrow said, bowing. “My sister and I will be honored to do this for you, my lord.”

            “I would imagine so,” Voldemort said. “After all, for you there is no greater pleasure than helping people escape the hell that you endured for me. As you know, I reward those who have been devoted to me greatly. You and your sister shall be rewarded. Now, to attend to other matters…”

            “Yes, Master.  Thank you, Master,” said Amycus, bowing once again.

            The Dark Lord spoke once again. “My final gift goes to the Lestrange brothers. Rodolphus—Rastaban, step forward.”

             The nearly identical men stepped forward before they both got on their knees and kissed the hem of their master’s robes. When they rose, they both bowed and then stood completely still, waiting for Lord Voldemort’s orders.

            Voldemort, however, watched Rodolphus Lestrange. “Your faithful service is admirable, Rodolphus,” he said. “Lord Voldemort has already rewarded you well. I have given you the honor of having your wife chosen to carry my offspring.”

            “I thank you for that honor, my lord,” Rodolphus said, bowing gracefully before the Dark Lord.

            “But now I have a task for you and Rastaban,” Voldemort said. “This will be a large task, broken up into several parts.” He swept over to a table that stood on the left side of the room. On it was a large map. The Death Eaters followed him over to the table wordlessly. “I have all of our previous attacks charted here—some scattered towns including Blair Atholl and Ottery St. Catchpole—Bristol, Canterbury, Southampton, Winchester, and Edinburgh. Now we must hit Britain on a wider scale and more often. And we must also hit other cities around the world.” He pointed to a dot on the map.  “That is where we shall begin.”

            Rastaban looked down to where Voldemort’s white, spidery finger pointed to. His grin was vicious. “The wizards and Muggles in Manchester won’t know what hit them, Master.”

            “I know,” Voldemort said. “The Ministry may have the wizarding world on guard, but no one truly expects their home to be attacked. That has always been our advantage. Their denial and lack of defenses is one of our keys to victory.

            “When I dismiss you, go to Manchester and wait for my signal. After the attack takes place, quickly go to Glasgow—that will be your next target. Wait once again for my signal. After that, we’ll go a bit smaller with Keswick and Westbury. Understood?”

            “Yes, Master,” Rastaban said.

            “Very much so, Master,” Rodolphus said.

            “Good,” Voldemort hissed. “This is going to be a big job, so you will, of course, be able to take Death Eaters with you—Death Eaters that I will choose.” His eyes swept across the room. “I have an incentive for all of you so that you will not get caught if you partake in these attacks. If you get caught and sent to Azkaban, I may decide to free you, but know that I have done so to personally kill you. I will no longer tolerate ineptitude. One mistake and you will die. Do I make myself clear?”

            “Yes, Master,” his followers murmured in unison.

            “Excellent,” the Dark Lord murmured.

            Rodolphus bowed once more, keeping his head low as to show the utmost respect for his master. “My lord, may I ask a question?”

            Voldemort stared at the Death Eater. “What is it, Rodolphus? Did I not make myself clear?” he asked dangerously.

            “You did, Master,” Rodolphus said quickly.

            “Then why do you feel the need to ask questions?” Voldemort inquired, stepping closer to him before hissing, “Look into my eyes.”

            Rodolphus did as he was told, looking up into the Dark Lord’s red eyes. “I-I was—”

            “Just curious,” Voldemort finished for him, gazing into his soul. “The answer to your question is yes. Yes, the vampires will accompany you on some of your missions, and when Wormtail and Addams return with the werewolves and Inferi, you will be able to use them too.”

            Rodolphus bowed. “Thank you, Ma—”

            “However, they will not accompany you on all of your missions, so do not take comfort in the thought, Rodolphus,” the Dark Lord said warningly. “There are some things that pureblooded wizards can handle a lot better than half-breeds and corpses.”

            “Yes, Master.”

            “Do you have any more questions?” he asked icily.

            “No, Master.”

            “Good. Now, you and Rastaban go. Find a place in the shadows of Manchester. It won’t be long until I give you my signal,” Voldemort said.

            Rodolphus and Rastaban both bowed before exiting the room and disapparating with a loud CRACK!

            Voldemort turned back to his followers to address them. He stared at them with his scarlet eyes. “My plans are in motion and it is up to you to carry them through. In fact, I am willing to give three loyal servants a chance to prove themselves. Tell me, who here is up to a trip to Egypt?”

            As he expected, every hand was raised. He stepped forward, scanning them all—judging them to see who were the most willing to go on a mission blindly. Then he came to three young Death Eaters who indeed needed to prove themselves to him.

            He placed his hands on the shoulders of two of them. “These two and Flint, Jr. The rest of you may go.”

            The Death Eaters bowed and left the room, leaving Voldemort and their three young comrades alone. The young men bowed and got on their hands and knees before kissing the hem of the Dark Lord’s robes.

            “Names?” Voldemort asked lazily.

            “Chad Warrington, my lord,” said the one.

            “Graham Montague, Master,” said the other.

            “And I already know Marcus,” Voldemort said. “Your father would be very proud to know that I have selected you for a mission.”

            “I thank you for the honor, Master,” Marcus Flint said, kissing the hem of Voldemort’s robes again.

            Voldemort stepped back. “Enough. Now listen carefully, all three of you. There is a very important wizard in Egypt who I want here. He knows a lot about those old ancient Egyptian curses that their so-called priests placed on a pharaoh’s tomb. He can be very useful to one of my plans that I shall personally execute. His name is Imhotep Rameses. Your mission is to escort him and everything he needs here. Have I made myself clear?”

            “Yes, Master.”

            “Absolutely, Master.”

            “Very clear, Master.”

            “Good.”  He sneered down at them. “You can apparate, can’t you?”

            All three of them nodded. “We passed the test before we came into your service, my lord,” Flint said.

            “I should hope so,” Voldemort said. “Very well. Wait until morning and then you may go. Now leave my sight.”

            The three jumped up, bowed again and scurried out of sight, leaving the Dark Lord alone in the room. He crossed to the other side of the room where a dusty hearth held a small, quiet fire. He stared into the flames as he ran his plans through his head again.

            There will be so much death and destruction, that the world will bow to me just so that they can see it end. No one will challenge me when all is said and done. I will be the most powerful wizard in history and I shall rule—forever.

            Unfortunately, his quest for immortality had proven quite difficult. His attempt to gain the Philosopher’s Stone had been thwarted by his pesky little nemesis, Harry Potter. That boy was only eleven when he somehow managed to kill that pathetic man that Voldemort had been using as a host—Quirrell.

            He had figured out how Potter had accomplished what he had, though. It was something that Voldemort had previously overlooked. An ancient magical protection had been placed on the boy when his filthy Mudblood mother had died for him. It was why he had survived the Killing Curse as a baby and why Voldemort couldn’t touch him as a boy.

            But the Dark Lord had figured out a way to counter that magic. All he needed was some of the boy’s blood.  It worked to his advantage anyway as he had needed the blood of his enemy to be reborn. Harry Potter proved to be quite useful from time to time.

            However, Potter had served his usefulness. He was a downright bloody rash that wouldn’t go away. He had destroyed his prophecy and successfully blocked Voldemort’s invasions into his mind to see what Albus Dumbledore and his precious Order of the Phoenix were up to.

            Dumbledore. How he loathed that old man. He was equally as troublesome as Potter—more actually. The man had his claws sunk into the Ministry of Magic and was able to send its Aurors out to meet any of Voldemort’s attacks. It was Dumbledore’s fault that he wasn’t 100% successful.

            Immortality and taking over the world were on his main agenda, but destroying Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore were his two personal objectives. And he would be successful.

            He continued to stare into the fire. At the moment, his first priority was his desire to become immortal. His old backup plan of having his memory in a diary had failed when Potter destroyed that part of him. His latest idea of securing his bloodline had gone off without a hitch. But still, he wanted more. He did not want to die. Death was the worst thing. He needed to escape death like he escaped fear long ago. But how?

            Recently, he had caught wind of something that interested him. A week ago, his Death Eaters had brought him a drunk and deranged wizard visiting Britain from Greece. That was before they had moved into the smelly little hovel that they were now using.  Before, they were at a location that held some meaning to the Dark Lord, but it was nothing that he would share with his followers.

            The man was named Dionysius Liatos and he loved both olive oil and wine. But in his drunken state, he spouted off something that had his servants turning their heads and listening. After the innkeeper kicked the Greek out, the Death Eaters pounced and captured him so that their lord could hear the pathetic man’s tale.

            The Death Eaters had done a poor job in handling the man’s kidnapping and he wasn’t drunk enough to not feel fear. The Greek had refused to tell Lord Voldemort his tale. It took a couple of Cruciatius Curses, but the Dark Lord eventually got the story out of the weak man.

            The drunken wizard told him about Athanasius Anastasakos, an aging wizard from a village near the base of Mount Olympus, the mythical home of the ancient Greek gods. Dionysius told him how he, a wandering traveler, had arrived in the village when Athanasius announced to his wizard friends that he was going to climb the mountain.

            “He went up a one-hundred and twenty-year-old wizard and came back down looking like a thirty-year-old—a wizard in his prime, yet he was still one-hundred and twenty,” Dionysius said. “He came back holding a flower of sorts and claimed it was ambrosia, the food of the ancient gods. It made him immortal and he is still alive to this day! It’s been forty years! Most wizards are dead at the age of one-hundred and sixty. And he hasn’t changed in looks!”

            Indeed, Voldemort had found the drunken wizard’s story interesting. He thanked the fool for the tale and then promptly killed him. Then they packed up and the Dark Lord sent Wormtail to check their current location out. But the idea of ambrosia intrigued the Dark Lord greatly. Mr. Liatos was right in saying that most wizards never reached the age of one hundred and sixty. The oldest wizard Voldemort knew of was his constant menace, Dumbledore, who was at least one hundred and fifty. Although he knew that there were older wizards, but none of their names sparked his memory at that time. He didn’t care about those old, decrepit men.

            The problem was there was nobody that he trusted to go after the ambrosia. Not even his most trusted Death Eaters. He knew of their greed and realized that they would probably take the ambrosia for themselves. The Dark Lord would not be able to kill them then, so they wouldn’t have to fear his wrath.

            No, he had to discover the ambrosia on his own. He would have to travel to Greece himself and climb the mountain until he found what he was looking for. He wondered if he could trust his servants alone for that long.

            Slowly, he felt a presence watching him. He turned then and stared into the shadows of the next room. “You may enter, Bella,” he said softly, walking over to stand in the middle of the room again.

            Before her years in Azkaban, Bellatrix Lestrange had been a beautiful woman. Her dark hair had once been soft and her now cold heavily-lidded eyes used to be sultry. Her face was gaunt now, after her term at Azkaban. She looked hollow.

            “Is there a reason why you’ve sought me?” the Dark Lord asked one of his most loyal servants as she entered the room, carrying a child in her arms.

            The child was his, born from her womb. As much as Muggles disgusted him, he had to use their “science” in order to create the child without raising the suspicion of wizards that he did not want knowing about his plans. As he stared down at the baby boy, he saw the smooth black hair and the round eyes. Then he noticed that the child seemed to be silently screaming.

            “What’s wrong?” he demanded.

            She shifted the baby in her arms, both a scowl and a distressed look on her face. “It won’t stop crying, Master.”

            He eyed her coolly. “You seem to have quieted him.”

            “It wouldn’t shut up!” she screeched. “I had to do something! I put a Silencing Charm on it.”

            He stared at her for a long time until she finally started to squirm. “I told you to raise the boy until he was old enough to look after himself and follow my lead.”

            “I know, Master, I—”

            He flicked his wand in the air, quietly murmuring an incantation that rendered her speechless. “How do you like having a Silencing Charm placed on you?” he snarled. “You know better than to interrupt me, Bella.”

            She hung her head as the baby continued to wiggle in her arms, throwing a quiet temper tantrum.

            “I told you,” Voldemort repeated, “to raise the boy until he was old enough. Can you not complete a simple task?”

            She tried to protest, tried to voice her thoughts and opinions even though he had Silenced her. She looked bound and determined to tell him what was on her mind. He rolled his eyes and waved his wand again, releasing her.

            “—and that thing is…” she trailed off, bowing her head. “Forgive me, Master, I beg of you. I have forgotten my place.”

            “I’d rather not forgive you,” Voldemort spat, “but killing you would not be good for the child. I need him for the future.”

            She kept her head bowed, but she nodded.

            “It has become apparent, Bella, that you are not cut out for motherhood,” he said softly, turning away from her. “You are a murderous woman through and through.”  Perhaps he could move one of his plans ahead of schedule. He turned back towards her. “Set the child on the chair.”

            She blinked and immediately did as she was told. When she stood back up at attention, however, he noticed the questioning way she gazed at him.

            He held out a pot of glittering powder. “Floo your sister,” he ordered.

            She jumped over to his side without hesitation, grabbed a pinch of Floo Powder, and threw it in the fireplace. When the emerald green flames rose up high enough, she got down on her hands and knees and stuck her head into the fire. Then he heard her shout, “Malfoy Manor!”

            When she was finished, she dragged herself up off of the floor and announced, “Cissy’s on her way.”

            He nodded in satisfaction and waited. A moment later, there was a loud CRACK outside the door that had nothing to do with the thunderstorm raging outside. Then there was a knock.

            “Answer the door,” he commanded.

            She did as she was told, leaving the room briefly to admit her sister before returning. When Narcissa Malfoy entered the room behind her, she bowed deeply. “My lord,” she greeted.

            “I just sent Lucius on a mission. You’ll be without your husband for awhile,” Voldemort told her.

            “If it is in your service, my lord, I do not mind,” she said, stepping further into the room, her white-blonde hair flowing behind her.

            “I’m so glad I have your approval,” he said snidely. “I have a mission for you now, Narcissa.”

            She bowed. “I will do whatever I can for you, my lord.”

            “Good.”  He glanced over at the baby lying in the chair, still silently crying. “Take the boy.”

            “Seth, my lord?  I would be delighted.”  She smiled.

            “Excellent.  Bella,” he snapped, causing her to quickly spring into action. She gathered up the baby and handed him roughly off to her sister.

            “It’s got a Silencing Charm placed on it. Loud thing,” she said in disgust.

            “A child is not an ‘it,’ Bella,” Narcissa scolded softly.

            “Don’t correct me, Cissy,” she snarled.

            “You will take the child,” Voldemort said loudly, interrupting them, “to Malfoy Manor, where you shall raise him just like you raised your own son, Draco. You will keep him there until he is old enough and clever enough to join me.”

            “Yes, my lord,” Narcissa said, bowing. She smiled down at the baby. “There, there, little one. Aunt Cissy’s got you. Shh…”  She peered up at the Dark Lord. “May I take the Silencing Charm off of him?”

            He looked over at Bellatrix, who was scowling. “Yes, you may.”

            She smiled and took out her wand while slowly rocking the infant. When she muttered the counter curse, the baby’s cries filled the room. She put her wand away and bounced him gently. “Oh, what a mighty yell,” she cooed, then looked up at Bellatrix. “When was the last time he was changed and fed?”

            “I don’t know—two hours ago?”

            “And how long has he been up?”

            “The same.”

            “Ah,” she said, smiling down at the baby. “Well then, once I return home, I shall see if he needs any of those things.”

            “You may go,” Voldemort said. “Maybe I will send Lucius by when he isn’t too busy to check on the boy.”

            “Thank you, my lord,” Narcissa said, bowing once more before exiting the room. A moment later they heard a CRACK as she disapparated.

            Bellatrix bowed too. “Thank you, Master.”

            “I have more important things I can use you for than rearing a child,” Voldemort said. “Do not think that I have let you off easy.”

            “No, Master.”

            He turned away from her again. “The Order of the Phoenix has proven to be far too meddlesome. I’m tired of them.”  Then he turned sharply and gazed at her with his scarlet eyes. “Your new mission will not be easy.   I want you to find the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix and find out how to get into it. When you accomplish your mission, the Dark Mark will rise high above it when I demolish it.”

            Bellatrix’s grin was sadistic. “It would be my pleasure, Master. I will begin tonight!”

            “That was the idea,” he replied. “Now go!”

            She fled from the room, leaving Lord Voldemort behind, gripping the back of his chair and laughing.

            Miles away in Surrey, another person was laughing. That person was Harry Potter, who had just woke up from a most peculiar dream.