Disclaimer: I'm black haired, black eyed and still living with my parents. Do you still think I'm J K Rowling?

A/N: This has been revised and betaed by Azakial. No extra scenes have been added.

Harry speaking using/to magic

Voldemort speaking using/to magic

PROLOGUE

The soul whose latest incarnation had been that of Harry Potter frowned mentally a little, wondering what had he done wrong to deserve this assignment. Sometimes he wondered why no matter what dimension, what time, what world or even which sex of the bodies he occupied, somehow he always ended up having the same type of life every time. He watched expressionlessly as the faceless soul in front of him seemed to tear the upper blob of her body in half, he knew it was a female, her markings proclaimed her as so. He wasn't surprised at the gruesome image presented though. He had held the job of coordinator a few times himself and knew it was simply the mask all coordinators had to wear to protect them from those wishing for a little revenge. He waited patiently as the soul in front of him finished the process of making a mouth appear and then he asked, "Why?"

She gave a shrug before replying in a tinny voice, "There are some souls that simply attract trouble. You are one of them."

"So," he asked mockingly, "This time, I am going to either die before even being born due to some food poisoning that my carrier will suffer out of the blue or die three months after my birth due to an illegal ritual to transfer the magic my body will have to a magic less body?"

She replied calmly, "At least you wouldn't be killed deliberately in the womb, or even have your magic stolen from you for the express purpose of killing you."

"Been there, done that." He stated coolly.

"You wouldn't be tortured as a two month old, nor even have your parents tortured instead."

He simply lifted an eyebrow in a 'you can do better' gesture. And she did. She continued expressing all those gruesome things he wouldn't be going through except he already had in some life or the other, not that he took it personally or anything, till she huffed and said exasperatedly, "You seem to have an even worse luck than Pyroses and he ended up getting gutted in every single life he had till he decided to go through a sex change."

He resolutely didn't smile. It wasn't funny, even though he had laughed at it when he first heard about it. "I want something special," he stated resolutely.

She said in a musing tone, instantly putting him on guard as she hadn't even tried to convince him otherwise, "You could get a soul bond?"

He said, "How droll. Soul bonds don't exist for me. I'm not bonded."

"You could be," she suggested

He simply looked at her. She tried again, "You can get a magic bond."

He sent derision at her, "If I get a magic bond, it will already exist and will have nothing to do with you. It doesn't work like that. We can't meddle with bodies, only souls, and while we can make the magic we possess complimentary to someone else's, true compatibility comes from blood."

She tried another tactic and told him in a sympathetic tone of voice, "Once you're out there, what's meant to happen will happen. It already has in the other dimensions. You've even accepted some of them."

He upped the amount of derision he was sending at her. He knew that. Souls were, after all, something that spanned all over space and time. It was only little pieces of them that ever entered a body. Most of him simply spanned the Astral Plane. Even now, if he concentrated enough, he could feel all his extensions, one sleeping, one crying, one dying and one being birthed. Naturally enough, they didn't remember all this when they were in a body, unless of course, the body was a necromancer, in which case they kept their mouths firmly shut. He knew quite well what had happened to the little baby in the other dimensions. If he tried hard enough, he could even feel it right now. Dying due to a miscarriage, dying due to a magic stealing ritual done prematurely, dying due to being strangled in sleep. He felt all of this and these recollections made him speak up, "I don't want to die this time."

She told him, "I already told you. What happens there is outside of our control. It's not as if one of us out there could help you simply because you wished so. They're all already there. They can't remember, no, they'd go mad."

And then he had a thought, "Then make me remember. If you can't make the souls out there remember, let me. Let me just know."

She said slowly, "You'd go mad. Not to mention this is all quite unorthodox, though it is quite like what we do for the necromancers and the seers. But they are naturally different. The creature blood in them flows extra strong and keeps them from going mad. Yes, we could do something like that." She stated, switching her views suddenly. He knew why she did that. Here she was, a soul that hadn't yet gained the ability to generate magic in the body she entered, and here he was, a magical soul for millennia. It was a status thing.

"The creature blood?" he pointed out.

The mouth like hole stretched into what was no doubt meant to be a smile but came out looking like a grimace. "There's some elven blood a few generations back. If you survive the food poisoning, then I'll bring out the creature inheritance during the ritual. After all, it meddles with the soul as that is what makes someone magical, not just the blood, and everything with the soul is ours."

"And I won't die during the ritual?" he questioned just to be sure.

"You ought not to. Your inheritance will trigger your memories so that the astral filter will be dissolved and that will no doubt cause some sort of backlash. Not to mention, the ritual only works if the soul hasn't yet settled into the body since that is the only way the soul will change the bodies."

He smiled wryly and asked, "It's surprising, isn't it, how we always end up doing the very thing we do now? Deciding which body hosts which soul?"

The soul in front of him said nothing as there was nothing to say, instead imprinting the changes they had decided upon in the group of shining lights in front of him. She then went to make the preparations for him to enter the body of the child. Taking advantage of her preoccupation, he went over to the lights that functioned as paper did in the physical world, containing messages, images, sounds and even thoughts, and sensed what was written, and then he decided to make a few changes. He looked at the soul in front him but she hadn't noticed anything. As he had also been a coordinator, the lights accepted his input.

Newbies he thought derisively as he finished making the changes. Oh well, he thought with a mental smirk, he had always fancied being a seer. It would be so much fun.

October 31 1963

Tom Marvolo Riddle, self-titled Lord Voldemort felt the itch to throw a few Cruciatuses around. He wondered, again, why he had agreed to come to this ball again. It wasn't for the company, he thought sardonically. Those who knew who he was treated him with all the deference he deserved except it inevitably degraded into a bunch of brownnosers. And those who didn't know who he was treated him far too dismissively for his liking. There was simply no compromise, especially since Dumbledore had been poking his nose where it didn't belong again. The man had had his demand to be recognized rejected out of hand simply because he didn't like him, never mind that it was his birth right, he thought with a twist of his lips that made those of his followers who were present, shrink a little on themselves, wondering how they had managed to anger their master this time. Orion Black, seeing how his master had started fingering his wand, hurriedly interjected before the party was ruined because his Master decided to torture one of the guests, discreetly of course.

"My Lord, Walburga and I were discussing baby names and thought that it would be only right that you have a choice in what your latest follower will be called. Indeed, it would be an honour to have your opinion on the names." He murmured.

There, he decided, that came out right. It was respectful enough, showed that they appreciated his thoughts, and didn't pressure him to make a suggestion, or allow him to think up some sort of name of his own. Not to mention it also reiterated that the Blacks would be loyal to him, something very important as none of his part of the family had taken the Dark Mark, though his brother-in-law had. Anything else and he would have been the man under the Cruciatus, a favourite of his master since their school days.

Voldemort debated pursing his lips to show how unfavourable the suggestion had been and then thought of himself and the name he had been saddled with during his childhood. Then his thoughts turned to the fascination that Orion had with dogs and the fact that the only reason the entire brood wasn't named after dogs was because Walburga had put her foot down. But it was none of his business and if it irritated Walburga, all the better. The woman had been one of his firmest opponents in Slytherin House when he first entered Hogwarts, though in later years, as he became known as the Heir of Slytherin, had become much more subtle about expressing her opinions.

He was about to open his mouth and make a scathing and cutting comment about how if he wanted to name a bunch of unborn brats, he would tell them when he saw Bartemius Crouch. And if that wasn't annoying enough, following immediately behind was Alastor Moody. Moody was the quintessential Gryffindor, and while Crouch was still young and cunning enough to be a Slytherin, the man had a hatred of all things Dark, despite the fact that his mother was a Black. He knew quite well the young man would go far, but it seemed that the path he would follow would be the one opposite to his. And both were heading his way. A headache threatened to start behind his eyes. He really would Crucio someone if he had to listen to the little Crouch preach or Moody send out barbs about his reputation. Knowing that Moody's distaste for children ran as deep as his, he graciously nodded towards Orion, in the manner of a king conferring a great honour. And he was, after all, Orion wasn't even marked.

"Canis," Orion announced proudly and promptly.

Voldemort kept his face blank. He was right. The man really had a fascination with dogs. No wonder he married Walburga, his cousin, she looked quite a lot like a dog. Reuben Lestrange, the dark haired pureblood with violet eyes pointed out what Orion should have already known. "I don't think your wife would let you name another of your children after a dog. Isn't your Heir named after the Dog star?"

Orion ignored him and said in a dignified tone of voice, "Volans."

Cygnus Black, the man's own brother in law, though he looked more like a brother considering they both had the classical Black looks, interjected, "You want to name my nephew fish?"

"Flying Fish," Orion corrected.

"Still fish," Cygnus insisted. At least the man had enough brains to not want to have the brat go through making connections with a name like that. Though it could also be compassion over what he had gone through with his name meaning swan, in which case he was a blighter with a bleeding heart that would have to be punished.

"Pavo?" Orion asked, though of course, he would deny doing any such thing. Voldemort smirked and said silkily, "That's something Abraxas would name his child.

Abraxas showed no physical reaction to the barb, though his eyes flashed silver for an instant before returning to their normal pale blue colour instead saying delicately, "Boasting of one's looks is such a… plebeian thing to do. Not to mention, a Malfoy would never disgrace himself by behaving like a peacock. It would mean that he wasn't naturally talented enough for his abilities to be clearly visible."

With the implication quite clear that a Black would have to due to a certain lack of impressive talents, considering that was what Orion wanted to name his son.

"Lepus," Orion said with a tight jaw. Voldemort had no doubt things weren't going as planned. He had planned on showing his respect for him by letting him choose the name, and here instead, all his contemporaries were busy insulting his naming sense.

Voldemort smirked as Moody and Crouch came near and said distractedly, not that he let anyone notice, "I have, in recent years, gained a certain taste for flesh."

It was only when a silence followed that he understood that he had shocked his companions with his sense of humour, again. Purebloods had such delicate sensibilities.

Hurriedly, Cygnus offered, "What about Hydrus?"

"The sea serpent?" Moody butted in, finally close enough to hear their conversation and provide his unwanted contributions to the conversation.

"A name for the child, then?" Crouch asked conversationally, politely nodding to them before turning to Orion and saying, "My felicitations, Lord Black. Do offer my regards to Lady Black and my mother's best wishes for the health of the child."

Crouch was a stiff, upright, young man with a serious face, dressed in an impeccably crisp set of dress robes and. The parting in his short blonde hair was almost unnaturally straight, and his narrow toothbrush moustache looked as though he trimmed it using a slide rule. His shoes were so very highly polished that it would be a shame if they became marred in any way.

Orion nodded graciously before answering Moody's question, looking down his nose at the Auror, "I decided to take the opinion of a few close friends regarding the naming, after all, a name is such an important part of a wizard." The implication that Moody was not a close friend and hence was not welcome was evident. Crouch clearly received his message as he tightened his lips a little but did not seem to take much offence to it as names were indeed a very important part of a Magical child.

Moody might have preferred action to words, but he was Pureblood enough to know that it was the polite version of saying Get Lost and hence said disdainfully, "Considering we're not welcome, we might as well be on our way. Come Barty."

As they made their way away from them, Lucretia Prewitt asked her brother with a slight curl of her lips that did nothing to detract from her looks, "What's the use of this when everyone here knows that you won't chose a single name you announce for the real name. And Walburga has already decided to name him Cepheus Pollux Black as the public name."

Abraxas smirked at that but Voldemort paid no attention to him, instead keeping his eyes fixed on Lucretia's face. As she had spoken the name, he had felt the chills of premonition strike him. Ordinarily, he would pay no attention to it, indeed, if someone else had told him anything about simply having a feeling, he would have cursed them for wasting his time, but he just knew. This Cepheus Black was going to be important to him, and he didn't like it. The last time he had such a feeling, it had been about Dumbledore, and he well knew how that had turned out. He would just have to keep an eye on the brat, he decided, he'd know everything with time. And time was something he had a lot of.

In London, in a Muggle Street, there was a row of numbered houses. It was perfectly normal, except what the residents had termed a mistake. After Number Eleven, instead of Number Twelve, came Number Thirteen. But they were wrong. Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place did exist, and in the master chambers of thae House, the Lady of the house smiled as she felt the magical fluctuation around the child in her womb. Her child, her little Cepheus, finally had a soul.

He was finally alive.

A/N: I'm going to be changing a few dates at the start and that's it. Everything else will happen in the course of the story. The rating's probably going to change later on, but right now it's a T.