Hey, everyone. This is just an idea I had that wouldn't leave me alone until I got something written. Hope it doesn't turn out as bad as I think it will.

I don't own anything. All rights for ownership of the characters and universes are with JK Rowling, Rick Riordan, and their publishers.

Edit 15/09/2020: I changed a couple details. Nothing too important, but I like this version more than the previous.

Now that the formalities are over with: ENJOY!

The black-cloaked man stalked up the street, his gleaming scarlet eyes set on the now-visible cottage at the end of the street. Excitement filled his veins and he thirsted to unleash his fury upon those who had thrice defied him dwelling within.

The night was wet and windy, but Lord Voldemort paid it no mind. He ignored the two children dressed as pumpkins waddling across the square. The shop windows were covered in paper spiders; all the tawdry Muggle trappings of a world in which they did not believe, that they did not even know truly existed.

How he wished to prove them wrong, but that was against his purpose here.

There was a sense of purpose and power and rightness in him as he glided along that he always knew on these occasions. There was anger, yes, for the way that this family had so long defied and escaped him, but now it was pushed aside and replaced by triumph. He had waited for this day, had hoped for it.

"Nice costume, mister!"

The small boy who had complimented him wore a smile that quickly faltered as he ran near enough to see beneath the hood of Lord Voldemort's cloak. The Dark Lord saw the fear cloud his painted face, and he took great amusement in watching the child turn and run away.

Beneath his robe he fingered the handle of his wand. One simple movement was all it would take, and the child would never reach his mother, but it was unnecessary, quite unnecessary.

Instead he focused his attention on his destination, the Fidelius Charm broken, though they did not know it yet. He made less noise than the dead leaves slithering along the pavement as he drew level with the dark hedge, and stared over it.

The curtains weren't drawn, the fools. Lord Voldemort could see them quite clearly in their little sitting room –– the tall black-haired man in his glasses, making puffs of colored smoke erupt from his wand for the amusement of the small black-haired girl in her blue pajamas. The child was laughing and trying to catch the smoke, to grab it in her small fist.

The Dark Lord was surprised when the smoke actually bent to her will and swirled around her small hand; she was clearly powerful.

A door opened and the mother entered, saying words Lord Voldemort could not hear, her long dark-red hair falling over her face. Now the father scooped up the daughter and handed her to the mother. He threw his wand down upon the sofa and stretched, yawning.

The gate creaked slightly as Lord Voldemort pushed it open, but James Potter did not hear. A white hand pulled out the wand beneath his cloak and pointed it at the door, which burst open.

He was over the threshold as James Potter came sprinting into the hall. It was easy, too easy, he had not even picked up his wand.

"Lily, take Kendra and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!"

Hold him off? Without a wand in his hand! Lord Voldemort laughed before casting the curse that came so easily to his lips ––

"Avada Kedavra!"

The green light filled the cramped hallway, it lit the pram pushed against the wall, it made the banisters glare like lightning rods, and James Potter fell like a marionette whose strings were cut.

Lord Voldemort could hear the mother screaming from the upper floor, trapped, but as long as she was sensible, she, at least, had nothing to fear.

He climbed the steps, listening with faint amusement to her attempts to barricade herself in. She had no wand upon her either. How stupid they were, and how trusting, thinking that their safety lay in friends, that weapons could be discarded even for moments.

The door was forced open, and a lazy wave of his wand cast aside the chair and the boxes that had hastily been piled against it.

And there she stood, the child in her arms.

At the sight of him, she dropped her daughter into the crib behind her and threw her arms wide, as if this would help, as if in shielding him from sight she hoped to be chosen instead.

"Not Kendra, not Kendra, please not Kendra!"

Lord Voldemort always hated the beggars; they were weak.

"Stand aside, you silly girl," he hissed, "stand aside, now."

"Not Kendra," she pleaded, "please no, take me, kill me instead ––"

"This is my last warning," warned Lord Voldemort, raising his wand.

"Not Kendra!" persisted the mother. "Please! Have mercy… have mercy… Not Kendra! Not Kendra! Please –– I'll do anything ––"

"Stand aside," Lord Voldemort hissed, losing his patience. "Stand aside, girl!"

He could have forced her away from the crib, but it seemed more prudent to finish them all.

The green light flashed around the room and she dropped like her husband. The child had not cried all this time: She could stand, clutching the bars of her crib, and she looked up into the intruder's face with a fury in her sea-green eyes that Lord Voldemort had thought impossible for a child so young; and he could have sworn he saw lightning crackle across her irises.

He pointed the wand very carefully into the girl's face: He wanted to see it happen, the destruction of this one, inexplicable danger.

And yet, the child still did not cry.

"Avada Kedavra!"

It happened too fast for Lord Voldemort to do anything.

A shield of electric blue energy formed in front of the child, and he broke: He was nothing but pain and terror, and he must hide himself, not here in the rubble of the ruined house, where the child was trapped and screaming, but far away… far away…

The Dark Lord, powerless and weak, fled from Godric's Hollow in disgrace.

Jupiter gazed down upon the ruined house with electric blue eyes that blazed with fury for the man who had just stolen the woman he loved from him; the first mortal to have earned such feelings from the king of the gods in centuries.

Granted, she did not know that he loved her –– he had been disguised as her husband at the time while they spent the night together and James Potter was unconscious in a room down the hall. He just hadn't been able to help himself with a woman such as Lily Evans: She was intelligent, powerful, courageous beyond belief, and more beautiful than Venus herself.

Eventually it would have been figured out that Kendra Potter was not actually the heiress of James Potter, but no one would know she was his; no one except those in tune with the magicks of the gods, and they would never reveal his secret.

Jupiter squeezed his master bolt tighter in one hand while the other brushed through his black and grey hair that so closely resembled a thundercloud. He pleased that his claiming of his daughter had managed to rip apart that foul monstrous excuse of a mortal who dared to temper with Fate and save her life in the process.

Chanting from his side caught his attention, and Jupiter turned to see his brother Neptune with a hand outstretched, muttering a ritual the Lord of the Skies had not heard in millennia.

Once the king of the seas finished, Jupiter asked, "Why did you do that?"

Neptune stayed silent, his messy black hair blowing in an unseen breeze as if he was walking down the beach instead of standing in a palace dozens of miles from the nearest ocean. His sea-green eyes were focused on the same destination that Jupiter himself had just been watching, and they seemed to glow against his tanned skin.

"She is the last of the Slytherin line, my line," said Neptune softly, his voice as calm as the waves on a bright, sunny summer day. "That disgrace of a man is no descendant of mine, and I will not have the reputation of my favorite son tarnished so horribly."

"And the oath?" asked Jupiter warily, yet there was a warning in his tone that threatened war if his brother so much as thought about harming the girl.

"I see no harm in helping along the last of such a powerful magical line," said Neptune. "She has power, one would have to be a fool not to see it, but I do not think that the fate of Olympus rests on her shoulders. She already has a burden to bear without our world getting involved."

"Indeed," said Jupiter sadly, returning his gaze to his crying daughter.

"She has permission to enter my realm, should she wish so," said Neptune. At Jupiter's questioning look, he elaborated: "You let her have Lily's eyes –– my eyes. It has been generations since the noble line of Slytherin has inherited the physical traits that Salazar was once gifted with."

"Lily's eyes were a testament to her beauty and intellect," whispered Jupiter. "They were what drew me to her in the first place… They may have had your color, brother, but they were her own in every other way…"

Neptune smiled sadly.

"She has a long journey ahead of her," he said after a moment's silence. "She will need to be prepared if she is to succeed against the Darkness that threatens consumption of all that we know."

Lightning raced across Jupiter's eyes and through his cloud-like beard.

"I have no doubts that she will succeed," he said firmly.

"Nor do I," said Neptune placatingly. "But you know as well as I do that it will not be easy. The Oracles have ordained as much. She will face trials that have felled better men before, and she will not have the support that the heroes of old were so fortunate to possess."

"But she is no man," said Jupiter. "She is her mother's daughter."

Neptune smiled.

"And her father's power," he added. "And my lineage. She will succeed."

"She doesn't have a choice," said Jupiter. "It is her destiny."

He gazed down upon Kendra one last time, and a small smile crossed his weary face when he noticed a small scar on her forehead, the scar for which she would one day become renowned for having, and recognized by all.

A lightning bolt, the symbol of her one true father.

THANKS FOR READING!