~Prologue~

Having your weapon turned against you, no, having your favourite weapon turned against you is not fun. Especially when it is being done by a child, a mere teenager of seventeen years of age. Then again Harry fucking Potter had managed to turn his favourite weapon against him all the way back when he was just a baby as well. In the grand scheme of things perhaps it was less humiliating being defeated by a teenager than a baby.

Of course he, the infamous Dark Lord Voldemort had been defeated by...both.

So, Voldemort, once known as Tom Marvolo Riddle died.

Still, he lived a good long life.

No, wait, he didn't. By Wizarding terms he died very young. And he'd spent a good decade as a wraith.

All that hard work becoming immortal, and he still died young.

At the fucking hands of a fucking teenager.

Voldemort could only hope that afterlife didn't exist. He was certain that he would probably be bound while all his former victims would point and laugh and inform him over and over again that he was killed by a seventeen year old.

It appeared his hope was for naught though, as a light appeared in the darkness where he had been held for so long. Lord Voldemort—no he was unworthy of that title now—Tom prepared himself for the torture that was sure to be forthcoming.

…

….

…..

Well, to be fair there was wailing. He couldn't see much though, it was all such a blurry mess. He felt jolts and warmth as if being draped in something and then passed around like a parcel.

"Congratulations Mr and Mrs Granger, it's a boy!"

Oh, oh no. Surely he couldn't be-

"Jean does this mean-"

"Daniel, we are not naming our son Florizel!"

No, Merlin, no!

"Nemo?"

"No."

Surely he wasn't-?

"Uther?"

"No."

They couldn't possibly be-?

"Lestat?"

"I like it," the fleshy blurs moved closer to him and cooed. "Welcome to the world Lestat Quintilian Granger."

The soul that had once been the Dark Lord Voldemort and was now muggleborn Lestat Granger screamed.

...

...

...

"Good pair of lungs on the lad!"