Chapter 1 - The Stink of Destiny

Main Pairings: Harry - Fleur/Daphne. (I'm heavily inclined towards Fleur but whether that becomes the final pairing or not, both girls should have a substantial role to play in this fiction) I'm still undecided, I guess I'll just go along with the flow and see how the story progresses. And of course, taking your valuable input into consideration as well, we shall come to a conclusion.

Warnings: Some parts may be slightly graphic for young readers. Viewer discretion is advised (I've always wanted to say that!)

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling; I own nothing you recognize and all the ideas you don't. This is a semi-AU fiction, though I'll try and merge with cannon as much as I can. The story will have a few ideas here and there picked up from other fictions and some parts of it are heavily inspired by the works of Miranda Flairgold.

Plot: This fiction revolves around Harry, who is not the BWL. (I'm sorry, his twin sister is! Whatabitch!) No, he's not hated or ignored —I've always found that plot line rather silly.

I'm trying a different take at this, something I haven't seen so far. A story where Harry is raised by Sirius, his godfather in the House of Black upon the request of his parents. Okay that's been done before, I agree. However, Harry ends up going to Beauxbatons instead of Hogwarts. There…that's a nice idea, I think.

Chapter 1:

It begins as whisper, a promise. The lightest of breezes dances through the trees, rustling of the desperate cries and screams of the thousands that now lay dead. That breeze, a promise, became wind. A wind that had blown across the magical world carrying a message told again and again, of a beacon of hope. A wind of sacrifice. A wind of freedom. A wind of justice.

A wind of vengeance.

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…

It was those very prophesized words brought to him by one of his most loyal followers on that cursed evening that truly instilled in the dark lord, a bone rending chill of dread. A feeling so foreign, his mind wouldn't—couldn't comprehend it. It was on that fateful evening that the man who proclaimed himself the dark lord Voldemort, found himself surrendering to fear for the very first time; the words of the prophecy haunting his mind with a vengeance.

He found it ironic how the very emotion he instilled into the hearts and the minds of those weak men, women and children was now, very slowly taking over him with the mere thought of a child foretold of being born with the power to vanquish him.

His one true weakness, the fear of death developed within him as an emotion so overwhelming, it clawed at his very soul, leaving him in a state of delirium.

The words of the prophecy had whispered the seed of madness that would forever consume him. It gave rise to feelings so perverse, a rage-fuelled unfathomable obsession border lining insanity ravaged his mind, leaving him screaming on the inside; a bellowing crescendo that only he could hear.

Godric's Hollow – October 31st, 1981

The wind rustled through the trees as the air turned cold with midnight's powers. The town of Godric's Hollow seemed to flinch in silence as an undesired figure materialised upon the cobblestone streets.

The shadows themselves seemed to curve upwards to the man, craving an embrace. Yet, forward he moved, not a sound was heard as he departed the spot of his apparition.

Today was a very special day to those in their religious observance of Samhain. The day that marked summer's end and the beginning of winter, the dark half of the year. The time when the veil between worlds was believed to be very thin.

This very evening would mark the date he'd put an end to that cursed prophecy and prove even the fates wrong. For five long months he searched and searched and now his efforts were finally bearing fruit.

Tonight, was about making one final statement. He'd prove to the world that nothing, no one would come—could come between him and the greatness he envisioned. The world was soon to witness a dawn of a new age; the golden age, his reign awaited him.

The man strode forward with a sense of purpose, his eyes blazed like scarlet coals.

Magical blood was to be spilled tonight. The thought didn't ache his heart, it never would. Killing was after all but a second nature to him, however, slaughtering purebloods would anger those that were in favour of his cause. Nonetheless, eliminating one of the pillars of the light did seem rather appealing. He was after all, striking at the heart of Dumbledore's circle.

Tonight, was about making a statement; nowhere was safe, no one was safe. Anyone that dared defy him would fall at his hand.

There were three children born to the end of July. His information was absolute, its source well trusted. The Lady Longbottom had given birth to a baby boy at St. Mungo's. The Potters, twins. The latter, he would never have known were it not for the loyal Peter.

Lady Potter was an intelligent woman no doubt, having given birth in hiding, a valiant attempt at concealing the news of her childbirth. It was however pointless, there was no hiding from him.

He stopped mulling over his thoughts, his destination now in sight at the end of the old-fashioned street.

The Fidelius was broken.

So serene and peaceful it seemed, the two-story cottage that stood a little ahead; its inhabitants happily oblivious of the horrors that awaited them.

A twisted smile graced his lips. It had been a while since he'd felt such exhilaration, such…pleasure at the thought of eradicating another family. Their deaths would serve as evidence to the final testament of his will. No one could oppose him; his power was unparalleled. He was peerless. He was supreme.

Tonight, he would cement that fact in stone.

And as he approached the cottage, his smile was soon replaced by a frown. The magical presences he sensed were not the ones he had been expecting. The entire family it seemed, were not at home. Had they left their children in the care of a stranger? A member of the Order perhaps.

The Potters had now thrice defied him, thrice survived him.

In light of their successive elusiveness, they were growing overconfident; they had grown careless. This carelessness would could cost them their children. Yes, it would cost them dearly.

An eldritch smile returned to his lips. He was but moments away now.

Slowly, he drew his wand from beneath his cloak; the yew stick encompassing the phoenix feather almost as if sensing its master's eagerness, hummed with power. In a flash, anti-apparition and anti-portkey wards were up. There would be no escaping him; not this time.

With a quick jab of his wand, a loud boom was heard echoing across the street. The remaining wards had been breached, crumbling to shreds under the onslaught of sheer power.

To believe they had thought such paltry wards would keep him out only showed how much faith they had put in the Fidelius. Faith they had put in a…friend, one that had so readily betrayed them. They were truly pathetic.

A shrill alarm pierced the night, a stark contrast to his silent demeanour.

Dumbledore and his little order would arrive soon, there was little time to waste.

The old iron fence bore slight signs of rust, only showing further how worn this cottage truly was. The gates groaned in protest as they were forced open, or perhaps they were moaning at the fact that they were betraying their masters? It didn't matter.

The front door was unhinged and blasted away with a fantastic explosion as he smoothly glided in, eyes that quickly scanning the interiors of the room.

A muffled shriek was soon followed by the slamming of a door. Did she not realise she was only stalling the inevitable? It would allow her a minute at most.

He ascended the stairs at his leisure, all the while listening with faint amusement at her feeble attempts to barricade herself. Did she truly believe it would stop him?

With a lazy flick of his hand, the door was forced open, furniture that was hastily piled against it flung aside, scattered all across the nursery. She stood right before the cot, trembling, her wand held with both her hands pointed between his eyes.

"You would die for them?" He asked, his voice barely audible.

"Please, they're only babies! Please don't do this!" The woman appealed; a lone tear streaked down her face.

She stood tall and proud, unafraid in the face of death. He found her behaviour most curious. He had allowed her his mercy, yet such was the fate she chose for herself.

A flash of green encompassed the room; the woman slumped to the floor with a thud, lifeless blue eyes bored into the ceiling.

A sinister smile made its way to the dark lord's lips as he walked past her corpse and stood before the cot. This was the end; it was time.

And as he gazed down upon the innocent babes harmlessly lying before him, a moment appeared; which of the two would he strike down first? The fates would let the dark lord decide. A moment that would ring across the centuries. A moment that would forever go down as a miracle in the histories. A moment, which would raise the babe he now stared down upon from a simple girl, to a revered legend.

Even before the curse struck her, the dark lord realised in his heart that he had made a grave mistake; for it was her brother whose glowing emerald eyes had the stink of destiny about them.

And as he watched in stunned disbelief, the one curse that had never failed him miraculously rebound off the girl, the dark lord knew in his heart, he should have struck down that boy. Little did he know, that his perilous mistake, would forever haunt him.

Author's Note –

The first paragraph of the story is inspired by '300 – Rise of an Empire'

Thank you,

Serenity