Summary: (AU) 16 years ago the Potters' faked their sons death, hiding him at an orphanage in France to save him from the prophecy. But when the effects of a thirty year war prove too much for the world, the search for Harry begins and an unsuspecting teen finds himself subject to the lost fate.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Duh.

Italics on emphasis, thoughts or past tense.

A/N: Just two little things: Most importantly, I made a huge blunder with the male name Louis (Norman and French), a big thanks goes to those who pointed this out. Please excuse me - there have been appropriate edits. Secondly, I did have Louis' accent marked, but it disrupted flow and made the dialogue messy - if anyone feels it is necessary, I'll change it back, but for now, would you rather imagine? Let me know. Thanks.

…The Lost Fate…

Chapter Two: Homecoming

When Louis had been in his fifth year of school the French Ministry had folded, collapsed, and Beauxbatons closed. He had been popular among his peers, mostly quite well liked, though not always for the better reasons. But then, suddenly, Louis had nowhere to go, no connections, no proper qualifications, and no family to help him. And so he did what he had to, to live at a standard he believed acceptable; he stole, he lied, he cheated. He cared nothing for rules or laws - they were weighed far below him, under respect only to the stupid, to the falling righteous. He used his charm and looks to buy friends and win acceptance, approval, admiration.

When that didn't work magic did the trick.

He had never paid for anything. He lived in luxury. He ate with the rich, slept with the beautiful, and there was only ever himself to face afterwards - which he did gladly. It was a time in which death passed fast and frequently, and Louis went by the motto of making the most of his life, of having as much fun as he could in whatever time was given to him.

Party hard, die young, bury a good looking corpse.

To keep the authorities happy he had gotten a part-time job as a bartender at a club he had regularly visited.

No-one ever asked any questions.

But Louis wasn't in the best of moods as he returned home to his flat on that first chilly morning of November, wanting nothing more than to curl up in his large bed and sleep away the upcoming week. He was tired, hungover, and completely unprepared for what awaited him. Louis was so buggered he didn't notice that his intricately crafted wards had been torn apart, shredded to uselessness, or that the usually tightly secured door was unlocked, welcoming him unprepared. It took a moment longer still, standing in the open plan living-room-joint-kitchen, for the teen to realize that he had company - company he could definitely do without.

"Qu'est-ce que vous faîtes!"

The man on the couch - the one that, quite strangely, did look rather familiar, somehow - yelped, standing quick to his feet. Louis couldn't place exactly what was so odd about him, but he decided instantly, without question, that he did not like the man at all.

The other, by the fridge - who had, before his entrance, been ogling a particularly peculiar shaped watermelon on the counter - was the first to answer, his voice edgy with uncertain English. "You're Louis? Louis Ackart?"

Louis glared, crossing his arms against his chest. He was never one to cooperate, given the option. And English accents did grate terribly on his nerves. "And what's it to you if I am?"

The man grinned, slightly, attempting to look friendly, approachable.

Trying to trick him, to deceive him.

Louis wouldn't fall for it. Not this time.

"I'm Sirius Black," the man continued, taking Louis' remark as a polite affirmation. "Do you understand me, Ackart? You do speak English, don't you?"

Louis nodded, his glare never wavering.

"Well, I'm Sirius." He pointed to the other, still gaping at Louis in bewilderment. Louis knew he was extremely good looking - but no-one had ever stared for that long, that blatantly. He was, quite understandably, rather creeped out by the display. "And this is James Potter. We need to talk to you, Louis. You don't mind if I call you Louis, do you?"

Louis did. He glanced quickly to his wrist watch, bloodshot eyes sleepy, thick and slow. He was caught for a moment on how to answer - whether to get it over with as quickly as possible, or to be as difficult as he could manage - it was what he did best, after all. He decided between a delicate mix of the two. "Mr Ackart will do fine, thank you."

The man calling himself Black nodded, moving across the kitchen to seat himself in the living room, seeming perfectly at home, at ease in the awkward setting. Louis didn't think he much liked this man any better than the other. Potter, still standing, still staring, sat himself beside his friend with a loud thump. His eyes never blinked, never desisted in their odious assessment.

Louis shifted, but remained standing. The closer to the door he was - to showing the obtrusive duo out - the happier he felt. He thought if he sat down then he might just pass out, too. "What do you want, then?"

Sirius tried to smile again but faltered, catching Louis' eye. "Maybe you'd like to sit down?"

Louis scowled.

"Or make yourself a drink? Some tea, perhaps? I could certainly do with some myself," Sirius added, though the hint was pointless, and Louis thought he might ramble all morning if he didn't do something - and so, grudgingly, and feeling entirely manipulated by the situation, liking the men less and less each passing second, he did sit - or, rather, leant against the wall farthest from where they sat, closer still to the door - his escape out, away from them.

He raised an eyebrow, waiting.

"Well, then." Black hesitated. It was quite clear that he didn't really know what to say, what to do - that he was making the conversation as fast as each word would form, appearing miraculously in his dimwitted mind.

Louis casually dropped a hand into his pocket, fingering his wand between long, sweaty fingers. It was Potter who broke the silence, speaking for the first time, looking - again a first - away from Louis. His gaze fixed itself back to his stereo system, and Lois read him as easily as he could everyone - wary, apprehensive, nervous. He thought if they didn't reach some level of understanding - surfaced some meaning to their invasion - soon, he would … he'd … do something, anyway. He could probably take them both on without too much trouble, if it came to that.

"Do you know who your parents are, Louis? Do you want to know?"

Louis' interest peaked. He had been readying for many things, preparing himself for several possibilities to the wizards uninvited intrusion to his home - but none of them had come anywhere close to this. He wanted to be angry, livid beyond reason, but all he could feel then was pure curiosity, excitement, intrigue - he wasn't sure who to be madder at, them or himself.

He settled for them.

"I told you to call me Mr Ackart."

Potter looked confused, meeting his eye. He repeated his question, "Do you want to know, Mr Ackart? Who your parents are? Why they left you?" he faltered, his voice softening, guiltily. "I can explain - "

Louis was caught, stranded in his own stubbornness. He could hardly believe that this might possibly be happening - a part of him, a stupidly sensible logical rationing, told him that it was impossible, that he must be dreaming, or high, or perhaps even dead - in Hell, of course. But he had always wanted to find them, fantasizing of the loving parents he had never known, of brothers and sisters he had hated at the orphanage. But he loathed his mother, his father, and he did not want to forgive them, to bring them solace. He did not want to give them the satisfaction of knowing that he cared, that he had not always fared so well without them - stubbornness won out.

"I don't have any parents," Louis spat, interrupting him. "They never cared - why should I now?"

Black flushed. "We don't know what you've been through, Ackart, and we don't pretend to. But I think you should know the full story, I think … I think you deserve to know the truth."

Louis glared. "I don't want to know - I don't give a shit. Leave, now. You're not welcome here."

"I think you do want to know," Potter said, rising again from the couch. "Please, Louis - "

"Bloody hell," Louis cried, bringing his wand from the pocket of his trousers. He poised the thin, shiny wood carefully between his fingers, and continued with the threat, "Leave or I'll make you."

Both of them froze.

"You don't want to do that, Mr Ackart," Black said slowly, drawing his hands above his head as Louis motioned. "You're outnumbered. I'm an Auror - I can arrest you, you do realize - "

"Shut up and get out," Louis spat, leveling his wand between the two, his eyes wide, catching every sly movement, every panicked breath. "You don't know what I'm capable of."

"Don't make this harder then it has to be, Louis," Potter added, taking a lead from his partner and raising his hands too above his head in surrender. He hated to be vulnerable so, to give in so easily without as much as a scratch of fight. But trust was stretched thin - far too thin already - and he did not want to damage it anymore than he had. Certainly they would be best suited to let Louis take control, to let him do with them what he wanted. James carefully pretended that he didn't feel quite relieved that they could so quickly be on their way, that Ackart truthfully wanted nothing more to do with them, but - like always - Sirius had other ideas.

"We just want to talk, that's all. Wont you listen to us, Mr Ackart, for only five minutes? We mean you no harm - "

"No," Louis agreed. "But that's not to say the peace is reciprocated.

"Expelliarmus."

… x …

Malfoy stilled, bowed so low his nose grazed the floor, all pride and dignity forgotten.

Wormtail, in the background, squirmed under the Lord's scrutiny.

It was impossible to tell whether He was pleased or infuriated. Lucius sincerely hoped the former to be directed his way only - it was he who had taken the risk, he who had informed Him of the rat's latest gossip. Really, it was he who should be rewarded.

If Harry Potter really were to be alive, he wouldn't be for much longer, Lucius was sure.

"His name?" the Dark Lord hissed.

"Louis Ackart, my Lord," Lucius supplied quickly.

Riddle's grin beckoned depravity.

… x …

Now that he had them, unarmed and bound to his couch in the cluttered living room, Louis was at a bit of a loss as to what to do next. He wanted to know what they had to say about his parents - but he didn't really want them to know that he wanted to know. He had so many questions - he craved for the answers, his balance split, his desire overwhelming. He needed the bloody answers.

"Why did you come here?" he asked, directing his question to neither in particular.

It was Black again that answered him. "We need you, Louis."

Louis started, surprised.

Oh, really?

"And why should I help you?"

James stirred, fumbling for the right words. "Because, Mr Ackart - Louis - because that's not really your name at all, is it?" his voice cracked, slow, thick with loss. "It's so hard to believe that we've finally found you, we've been searching that long. We're here, Louis, because … because I'm your - "

Sirius interrupted quickly, switching tracks, guessing prudently at what would trigger Louis' benefit more, giving them a ameliorate advantage - using just a pinch of leeway, the slightest amount of fabrication. "We can offer you a lot. More than you might expect. More than you could ever need, I'm sure."

Louis raised an eyebrow. He quite doubted that.

"I want an awful lot."

Sirius grinned. "We have an awful lot to give."

"Do you, really?" his voice came mocking. "What do you need me for, then?"

Potter was clearly not wanting to answer, engrossed again in soaking through Louis' presence, etching to his mind every diminutive detail.

"We want you to save the world," Black replied easily.

Louis sneered - it couldn't be April Fools already, could it?

Sirius continued unheeded. "To be our hero. To triumph over Lord Voldemort and lead the Light to glory, to victory."

Louis laughed - they had to be joking. "Why me, then? Of all the people to choose, why me?"

His prisoners exchanged a look, calculating, weighing the odds. In the end, though, all either was left with was honesty. James didn't really believe any child of his could be as cold, as callous as Louis illustrated himself to be. Sirius didn't really believe that it was right to lie to the boy, his Godson. Both were naive. Both should have thought for a moment longer.

"There's a prophecy."

… x …

Neville Longbottom was dead, murdered long years past, the last of the ancient pureblooded line to be eradicated from existence. He had thought that Harry was dead too, for quite some time, but it had recently come to light that he wasn't at all. A prophecy dictated one to be their savior - the Chosen One. Dumbledore wasn't happy with Lily or James in the slightest concerning their actions to this diligent matter.

He wondered, though, if perhaps they had done the right thing, which would imply that he had been wrong - which was something that did not occur often, and he absolutely did not want to make public knowledge.

Hiding their first born from the world, even themselves - who knew what upbringing graced the child. Though, he supposed Harry had probably lived a better life without them all, without such burdens and tedious, repetitious danger. He supposed, looking back now, that fate might favor them once more, that perhaps whatever happened happened for the best, that there was nothing anyone - even himself - could have done to stand in its way.

He supposed no-one could ever be sure, really.

But Harry was alive. And they would find him - they simply had to. So hope still lingered on, still drifted somewhere aloof - and it would resurface again, Albus predicted. Sooner rather than later. He just had to wait, cut patience and stew.

There was a knock at his door then, rapping anxiously through the thick, old wood.

Before Albus could reply it creaked open, squeaking on its hinges.

He was quite affronted with the sight that bore down on him - a decidedly ugly form as it were.

"Severus!"

… x …

"A prophecy?" Louis asked skeptically, and then he began to laugh, his cackle bitter. "And to what do I owe a fucking prophecy?"

Sirius met his eyes. "You're the only one that can defeat him, Louis. You're the only chance any of us have got. You're the only one."

"But what do I care?" Louis insisted. "What has the world ever done for me?" Shit. Nil.

"Your parents love you, Louis," James told him softly. "They never meant for you to come to any harm - they thought … they knew that you'd be better off without them. And you have been, I promise you. You were given away so that you'd be safe, to protect you - "

"And now they'd throw me back to the Dark Lord's feet? Now they'd ask me to do the impossible, to give my life to a lost cause?" He was not impressed - not at all. "Any such parents are not worth knowing, are not worth anything to me."

James felt his cheeks heat, his insides churn. "Can you forgive them, Louis? Could you ever find it in yourself to forgive the ones who left you, who hid you, who love you?"

Louis glared. "No. I could not."

"We thought it was for the best," James insisted, pleading in his voice.

Louis snarled.

"You were wrong."

… x …

Severus was panting, his breath run short. He still wore the dark robes of a Death Eater, a bone white mask hanging from a shaking, limp hand. But he didn't care who saw him, if anyone were about the castle at that time anyway, and he didn't care about anything at that moment but his own delirious happiness. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so excited, that such taunting adrenaline had pumped through his veins. James Potter would suffer, and there was nothing greater in the world, no better justice to ever reach his hearing.

Severus wouldn't be there then, standing in Dumbledore's disorderly office, if he could have helped it. But the delight it would bring Severus to tattle on his childhood nemesis was too great, too powerful - he would pay for the consequences later, if they ever came to rise. The moment was priceless, worth his own precarious life to Severus. He could hardly wait, he barely had the mind to explain it - it took great strength enough to restrain himself from laughing at such misfortune that would surely befall the damned family, right then in front of his mentor, his 'redeemer'.

"Severus! Are you quite alright? Are you hurt?"

He couldn't smile. No, he shouldn't, he really shouldn't - it would not do to bring such tidings with unhidden joy. But that was easier said than done, for Severus had not felt so giddy, so bloody good in a long, long while.

Revenge was sweet indeed.

Snape bared his teeth maliciously - Dumbledore took it as his usual friendly greeting.

"Severus, my boy - to what do I owe this very early pleasure?"

"I have news," he answered, his voice trying to find indifference. It came to no avail. "Extraordinary news."

Albus didn't ask - he didn't need to. He knew that Severus would come to it in his own time, and he didn't have to wait long. He never did.

Severus took a deep breath, steadying himself. He spoke quickly, precisely, eager to come to his point, to get the boring part out of the way. "The Dark Lord knows where Harry Potter is. There is a group hurrying to retrieve him as we speak."

The color drained from Albus' face, his expression unreadable. "Where is he? Do you know, Severus?"

And here's where it got really good.

"No, but that's not all - Potter and Black are said to be there also. They knew where the brat has been living," here Severus paused for dramatic effect, for his words to soak their rounded meaning, "and they didn't see it fit to inform us! Typical! Consequently, the three of them will be captured."

And, if all goes well, they'll be dead by sunset.

No, Severus shouldn't have smiled. He really shouldn't have.

Dumbledore was furious.

… x …

All three stopped, held still, looking to the door.

"Were you expecting visitors?" James asked politely, his voice barely a whisper.

"No," Louis growled.

The knocking persisted, harder and harder. Then, suddenly, it stopped.

Louis held his breath.

And the door exploded.

Eight caliginous figures stood in the doorway, long black cloaks and luminous white masks held in contrast, marking their signature to the Dark Lord. Death Eaters. Louis blinked - he had seen them in the paper, heard numerously of their description - but he'd yet to ever encounter any. Sirius and James, still bound to the couch, struggled futile in their restraints.

"Mr Ackart?" a woman asked, taking a step inside of the apartment. Heavy lidded eyes flicked behind her mask to the two older wizards, Black and Potter, and she began to laugh.

Louis couldn't move, undecided. He had always thought of himself as somewhat special and somewhere, buried deep in his stomach, he knew that his past would come back to haunt him, one day far far away in the very distant future. He didn't want this now - he had better things to do with his youth. War killed people and Louis did not wish to die. He wanted nothing to do with the war, no matter to the involvement France passed to England, forever increasing. He didn't want to fight, he didn't want to pick a damned side - he wanted no branding classification of either Light or Dark.

But it seemed now he didn't have much choice.

Lord Voldemort or Albus Dumbledore?

Death Eaters or Black and Potter?

Either way he was doomed, fucked - inevitably screwed.

Either way he was dead.

Louis looked again quickly between the groups.

"My, isn't this a lovely little reunion?" the woman spoke again, her voice low and seductive. She looked Louis up and down, appraising him. "You do look a terrible lot like your father now, don't you? Poor thing."

Louis stirred. Did he?

"Shut it, Lestrange," Black said, heated, venomous, full of pent hate.

The woman, Lestrange, ignored him.

"Do I?" Lois asked the Death Eater, probing her.

She laughed again, high and cruel. And Louis made his mind - eight were better odds against two, after all, and especially when those two were otherwise wandless. He stepped towards the Death Eater's. So was his destiny, then.

"What can I do for you, then?" he asked. Perhaps they'd only come after his first guests - he'd be more than happy to pass them willingly both over, even without a price. Hell, he'd pay for them to be taken away.

Lestrange, Louis presumed then she was in charge, raised an eyebrow. She tossed her head back to his ruined doorway, gesturing to the two wizards on the couch. "I thank you for restraining them, it is much appreciated - but now you must come with us also."

"Why?" he asked again, wand in hand, ready.

"The Dark Lord wishes to … speak … with you."

Louis glared at her - so, it was to go with the Death Eaters to almost certain death, or to side along Light (for now, anyway), whom wished him to defeat their enemy, and again face almost certain death. Brilliant.

The duo tied to his couch might buy him a little more time, then, at the very least - it was the best he had. Louis cast a silent disillusionment charm on their wands, hidden in his pocket, then send them towards the couch, back to their owners.

Jaws set, wands raised, spell-fire flew.

Louis dived behind a book case, spitting curses this way and that. The Death Eaters surrounded them, closing in - they would win, they had to. There were too many against the three of them. The morning air filled with red, blue, yellow flashes. Every now and then the woman would fire a jet of sickly green - always aimed at her cousin, Black.

"Louis!" a voice called behind him, and Louis felt a heavy object thrown against his head. He grabbed at it, catching it - a shoe, as it were, that looked to have been Potters' - and instantly felt that horrible tug pulled at his navel, dragging him away.

The image of his flat, wrecked worse than it ever had been after any wild pissup, swam before his sight, fading and spinning, around and around and around. Then, with a final haul to his stomach, he landed. He threw the shoe, the bloody portkey - and how he hated that form of fucking transport - to the ground.

He was in a hallway, Potter and Black appearing in a snap behind him, one panting, one bleeding.

"Where are we?" Louis asked.

James laughed - he couldn't help himself. "You're home."

… x …

When Lily Potter went down to the kitchen table, irked at her husbands lack of residence that night, there was a strange youth sitting there, eating scrambled eggs. Lily thought she might recognize him, though she couldn't place where from.

She stared at him. He stared at her.

Neither said a word.

… x …

Bellatrix screamed, uncontrolled magic spilt, tainting the air. The others quailed in her fury. She looked between them, weighing her options, seeking one to hold the blame. Deep hooded eyes fell lastly on Wormtail, the smallest, the weakest link. He refused to meet her gaze, positively wetting himself.

… x …

When Albus apparated to Godric's Hollow it appeared that the family was out.

The wards detected malice.

The house would not let him in.

… x …

Severus, upon hearing the news, thought he might cry.

Instead he poured himself a generous goblet of firewhisky. Then another. Then another.

…

finis

…

A/N: Thanks for all your support - just about any review is motivating. Do keep them coming, I very much appreciate it. ;)

xxoo