New story! I love writing this story, and as I am pretty awful at writing summaries, here's a quick idea of what you can expect to find in this story: befriending of Marauders, the rise of Voldemort, Dumbledore, Hogwarts, some S. Snape action, action in general, some adventure, maybe romance, conflict, family and brotherly love, scenes between Tom Riddle and his heir... This is mostly about family and the reality of consequence, meaning that being heir of Voldemort will show Harry things he would not have ordinarily seen. It's complicated.

You'll see, and I hope you'll like it! This chapter is shorter than the rest shall be because it is acting more like a prologue.

– CHAPTER ONE –
Once More Unto the Breach

Harry Potter – Boy Who Lived and Master of Death – was once again being reborn.

In his past life, he'd been living as a student at Hogwarts in the time of the Founders, and he was sad to see that life pass – but he eagerly awaited his new one. So far, discounting his first and original life where he had been born as Harry James Potter, he'd lived nine lives that varied greatly from each other; previously, he'd been Muggle-born, pure-blood, half-blood, rich, poor, high-class, middle-class, Slytherin, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, a student of Durmstrang and Salem Academy of Wizards and even home-schooled. In his second life, he was murdered at seventeen as he slept for being a "Blood Traitor", or so much he had gathered. He had also been burned at the stake in one life, much like Wendelin the Weird (whom he'd actually met).

So, he was very much excited to see what challenges awaited him in his new life.

"Push one last time, Walburga!" Harry could hear a woman calling; "One last push!"

Walburga… Now, that was a name Harry remembered. How? He wondered. Could it be possible he encountered this woman in one of his past lives? How very interesting. He may get to meet one of his past selves, if it even worked like that –

The light, even after witnessing it nine times previously, was so startling that Harry cried as all babies did, and the surprise was made only worse by the feeling of being jostled about. He squinted, his small baby eyes attempting to pry themselves open again, and slowly he adjusted to the harsh lighting and blinked slowly. He clenched his hands, wiggled his legs, and tried to get a feel of his new body. Whoever was holding him seemed amused at his antics; looking up, he saw a kind woman dressed in what Harry recognised to be modern Healer uniforms. Was he in the same timeline as his original self, Harry James Potter?

"Spritely little man," said the healer. One finger gently stroked through what little hair he had as he was cleaned and swathed in a blanket, and he stopped crying, feeling a bit more adjusted. "He's very strong."

"He's beautiful," said another; someone behind them. "Have you decided on a name, Walburga?"

The next voice that spoke was deeper, haughtier, and Harry froze upon hearing it with wide-open eyes. "That is for my Lord to decide," said the woman that Harry could now recognise, easily, as Walburga Irma Black. "Bring him here."

Harry felt the healer move; belatedly, he started to sob because oh just what was going on – why, oh why was he condemned to a mother as foul as Walburga? And her Lord? Who the hell was her 'Lord'–?

Oh. Oh, dear Godric and his seven children, no! Not Lord Voldemort, thought Harry hysterically. Dear bloody hell, not him.

And yet, as Harry (he'd never heard of a clinically depressed baby before) was passed into the arms of his new mother and he gazed up at her hauntingly beautiful face, he could not deny it: Walburga Black was to be his mum. And, by the sounds of it, Harry's life had already been given to Lord Voldy-Shorts and his severe daddy issues.

At least this life was going to be entertaining.

"Good lungs," said a smooth, masculine voice to Harry's right; "Good reactions; good strength… Mrs. Black, it seems your infallible blood has performed well in procuring me a strong heir."

"Thank you, my Lord," said Walburga, "It was an honour to be chosen."

"Indeed," said the voice. (Harry was feeling so very sick, all of a sudden, and he wondered if Walburga would much mind him throwing up all over her.) "As for his name, I have, of course, already chosen."

"May I be so bold as to ask what?" asked Walburga.

Now, Harry knew that Walburga and her husband, Orion, were proud people; because of this, he knew that she would not give birth to just anyone's heir, and that she would not lower herself to such an extreme sycophantic attitude for just anyone. And then, there she was, addressing this man as 'my Lord', and being careful as to what she said –

And Harry just knew.

"He is of your blood too, Walburga," said Tom Riddle. It was the Tom Riddle, the Tom Riddle he was before he was resurrected and looked like a snake. "Nevertheless, I am sure you are aware that I shall be raising him – though you may see him periodically, if you wish–"

"I wouldn't dream of imposing upon you and your heir, my Lord," said Walburga, "but I will look after him should you need me."

There was a short silence. Tom, it seemed, was thinking over what she said and apparently found it satisfactory, for after a while he said slowly, "Cadmus. His name is Cadmus Marvolo Riddle, named for my ancestors."

"Traditional," breathed Walburga. "It is a fine name, my Lord."

My Lord… Marvolo… Riddle… Oh, Godric, he truly was of Voldemort's blood and – and sperm. The thought alone was enough to make him gag, but actually living in a body made of Voldemort, experiencing it –

Before Harry himself truly knew what was happening, there was a great blast, and it took everyone in the room a long, startled moment to realise it had come from him – from Cadmus, as he was now known.

"Was that magic?" asked one healer hoarsely. "Accidental magic? At this age?"

"He is strong," said Tom. "As strong as me. That is excellent… Excellent indeed…"

"Did you recognise the spell?" asked the other healer.

Tom seemed to want to Crucio her for not showing him the respect he deserved, but instead he nodded. "Scourgify," he said, softly. "The cleaning charm. How very peculiar."

And if Cadmus started laughing then, well, it couldn't be helped. Apparently he felt so dirty that even his magic agreed with him.

"But magic so strong? That is unheard of–"

"Did you truly expect my heir to be anything less than impressive?" asked Tom scathingly to the healer who spoke; Harry realised, then, that both healers were Death Eaters – perhaps new recruits – and that they were not in the hospital. "Did you doubt the power of my blood?"

"N-No, my Lord," grovelled the healer. "It is just so unusual – even for one of such fine breeding–"

"Yes," interjected Tom with a hiss. "Yes, it is unusual… impressive, indeed…"

Harry heard the footsteps. He knew what was coming, and even braced himself for it, but it still did not prepare him for the moment when Tom Riddle peered over at him through searching red eyes, and smiled sharply.

"I think you will be something, Cadmus, my heir," he hissed.

Harry, for once, wished he was nothing.