Disclaimer - I do not own Harry Potter or any associated characters/names, only my original plot.

Chapter 1: The Prophecy That Binds

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...born to those who've thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies."

The Evening of October the thirty-first, 1981

Godric's Hollow was a sleepy town nestled down in a basin in the glens of southern Scotland. Little to nothing important or exciting ever happened there, but tonight, if the tall figure shrouded in black had his way, something very important - life altering, really - was going to happen.

Long strides and muffled footsteps carried him down the street, passing by oblivious muggles unseen and unheard. It would not do for them to see him. No, it would not do for a panicked, non-magical beast to ruin his plans.

Making his way to the other side of town with nary a soul aware of his presence, he turned up a quaint country lane. It disgusted him really, how these weaklings could have such an inviting home. Kicking one of the white cobblestones that lined the lane in a fit of pique, he fumed as silently as his temper would allow.

He deserved it far more than they did. He, who would make their world pure and habitable once again - Lord Voldemort, the immortal liberator of the Purebloods - was raised in a horrid, muggle orphanage. The very thought of the place made him cringe.

Without so much as a sound, Voldemort strolled up to the sitting room window of the small, yet homey looking cottage that housed his target.

A peek inside showed him a young man with infernally messy, irritating black hair, bouncing a similarly coifed baby boy on his knee. A soft hiss of disgust escaped Voldemort's nearly non-existent lips. How could they expect their children to grow strong when they were coddled and babied so? How a baby raised to be a weakling by two other weaklings could ever hope to defeat him was, quite frankly, beyond his ability to grasp, but the prophecy said it would be, and Voldemort knew that he must keep his bases covered if his glorious plans were to succeed.

Refocusing his attention on what was going on in the cottage, he saw a beautiful young woman with shining, ruby-red hair sweep into the sitting room and pluck the boy from his father's knee.

"There's my Harry!" Voldemort heard her coo in a sickeningly sweet voice. The baby gurgled happily and clamped a tiny fist around her scarlet locks. "Has daddy been teaching you naughty things?"

"Honestly, Lils, he's our son," protested the black haired man, pouting at his wife. "How could you think I would even dream of something like that?" he asked, face carefully contorted into an innocent expression.

"Don't you lie to me James Potter," she retorted in a voice lacking any real acid, "I heard you and Sirius talking yesterday; a Junior Marauder's club indeed!"

James's eyes widened comically and he began to stutter out excuses, leaving Lily and baby Harry giggling at him.

Voldemort, were he anything so weak as to be called human, might have laughed himself at the scene, especially when the baby's continuing laughter resulted in a flash of light and his father writhing in uncontrollable mirth.

As it was, Voldemort stared in horror. The brat couldn't be more than a year old, but he was already doing focused bursts of accidental magic. A tickling charm.

The young couple, once James had recovered, seemed quite surprised as well, though judging from their smiles they were much happier about it than Voldemort. After a moment of stunned silence, they laughed again. This time, they swept their baby into a group hug with them.

"Did you see that, Lils?" James asked excitedly. "His first charm, and he's only a year old! He'll be a charms master, just you wait!" He paused and kissed the top of his wife's head. "Takes after his mum that way."

Lily blushed prettily and lightly slapped her husband's arm with her free hand. "Hush, you! Flattery won't save you," she said playfully.

Her husband answered with a roguish grin and a wink. Voldemort had to fight the urge to turn and vomit.

Baby Harry, unable to understand most of the words, but aware of the love and warmth radiating from his parents, began to chatter excitedly in a babbling language that only babies know. After a few seconds, he scrunched up his face as though in deep concentration.

"Oh no," said James, "it's your turn on nappy duty Lils."

She opened her mouth to argue, but got no further; her jaw was left hanging there. James and Voldemort found their mouths hanging open as well. The youngest Potter no longer had arms, he had large, black feathered wings. Stunned silence followed.

The two parents looked at each other and back down at their baby, who was now a grinning, two-armed toddler again. Voldemort felt a small stab of worry for the first time in a long time. Maybe this child really could grow into a threat.

"Merlin! A partial animagus transformation; at one!" cheered James. Lily began to bounce her baby up and down on her hip while she hopped and skipped around the room.

"My baby's a genius, my baby's a genius, my baby's a genius," she chanted proudly as she cavorted about, Harry squealing excitedly in her arms.

"D'you know what this means? He can do it Lils! I know the prophecy said it could be, but now I can really believe it! He can beat him! Merlin he'll make a great Marauder, and just imagine all the girls that will be chasing him! The Slayer of You-Know-Who! With my hair and your eyes? He'll be beating them off with a stick!"

"James Potter! Don't you go perverting my son's mind with talk of womanizing..." Lily began to scold, though she seemed incapable of hiding the smile on her face, but Voldemort was no longer listening. He was storming around to the front door, preparing to show these fools who would defeat who.

How dare they? No one could defeat him! No one could best Lord Voldemort!

With a high pitched, maniacal cackle, he blasted the front door down.

"And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal..."

Five Minutes Later.

Lily stood, trembling, whispering quiet platitudes to her son. How could things have gone so wrong? Everything was perfect in their lives until Dumbledore came along with his stupid prophecy!

Well, maybe not perfect, what with the Death Eaters and the maniacal Dark Lord and all, but they had each other and were no more a target than anyone else!

A silent tear trekked down her cheek, unnoticed. She was focused completely on her son's smiling face, watching him play with her hair.

Things had been so amazing in her last year at Hogwarts. She found herself the target of Marauder pranks - slightly modified, terribly romantic ones - and soon was undeniably falling for James - who had somehow managed to mature (if only slightly) under her nose. The one that ended with her unable to take a step without finding rose petals underfoot led to an intense snog, and, soon after, their very first date.

Lily was unable to control a sob, her heart broke when she heard the loud thump of a body hitting the floor downstairs; her head swam and her body shivered uncontrollably.

James was gone, that part of her life was over now. All she had left was Harry.

Her eyes locked on his. Bright curious pools of green, so like her own. The eyes of a boy who didn't understand that he would never see his daddy again.

Some deep, primal, and undeniable maternal urge took her. She leaned down and kissed her son's smooth forehead, willing all her love and pride into him, and suddenly she knew: He would never see her again either; she had to touch her baby boy for as long as she could. To tell him, in a universally understood way, that she cared for him, loved him, would never willingly leave him.

So absorbed was she in imparting her love to her child, that she didn't even hear the door to the nursery blast apart.

"Stand aside, stand aside girl," said a cold, high voice. Lily whirled, finding malevolent red eyes smoldering at her from the folds of a black hood.

"No, not Harry, please!" she cried, throwing her arms wide in a futile attempt to protect her child. "Not Harry! Take me instead!"

A terrifying laugh. A flash of green light. A thump on the floor. Lily Potter was no more.

Voldemort, murderer and torturer extradonaire, looked down at his predestined nemesis. The Dark Lord stared at the toddler for several seconds, as if attempting to see something that was only hinted at on the surface.

The boy, wondering who the ugly man was and when he could see more pretty lights, stared right back.

Finally, Voldemort spoke.

"Harry Potter."

Two words; two words that carried a malice that most human vocal cords were unable to purvey.

Another few seconds passed in which the tall, dark figure seemed to expect the young toddler to reply - to engage in witty repartee as it were - but, seeing that no conversation was forthcoming, he continued.

"I will end you tonight, Harry Potter, and in doing so, I will end any threat to my inevitable, eternal reign. I will end your life, and in the process, ironically, ensure that mine is everlasting," he gloated with a wicked smile.

The clear, curious green eyes continued to stare at him. This seemed to infuriate the man, if you could call him that. A deathly pale, rail-thin arm rose from the folds of his robes, revealing a long, twisted piece of yew. With an enraged outburst and a hissed incantation, the arm fell...

"...but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not."

The Tonks Household

The comfortable, two story house was as calm as a spring shower.

Ted and Andromeda slept peacefully in the master bedroom, but upstairs, in her bedroom, her very own bedroom, eight year-old Nymphadora Tonks was in the throes of a nightmare.

Her hair was cycling through colors rapidly: pink to black, black to red, red to green, and green to pink, where it started all over again. Her small fists were clutching her sheets desperately and whimpers tumbled through her lips from time to time.

If her parents had been awake, they may have noticed the soft, emerald glow that bathed the house for a moment, but they were not. Had Nymphadora been awake, she would have been scared out of her mind.

As it was, in the dream, she was pretty close to that state already.

The dream had started so nice, with the fairy tale family. The beautiful red-headed princess, her roguish devil of a husband, and their insanely cute baby boy, all playing and talking and loving each other, but then something horrible happened. You-Know-Who came, and he was big and scary, and he talked too much. He killed the father, who died bravely for his family. He killed the mother, who died as any mother should, protecting her child. Then, he turned his wand on the baby.

Tears rolled down the sleeping girls cheeks when she saw the wide-eyed, curious gaze of the boy. She wanted to scream at him so badly to run, to hide, to do anything; something, and she felt an indefinable, boundless rage well up against the pale excuse for a man that wanted to hurt him.

Down the wand swept and a bright green flash illuminated the sneering, snake-like face under the hood. Her mind's-eye was blinded by a golden blaze of light and her ears were deafened by an agonized scream.

Awakened, too scared to even force enough air over her vocal chords for a scream, she looked around her room in a panic. She expected to see You-Know-Who standing over a crib. What she got was her empty, boring, and blessedly Dark Lord-less room.

As her breath came under control, a warm, fuzzy sensation washed across her mind and she relaxed into a deep, dreamless sleep.

"And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives..."

Godric's Hollow - What's Left of the Potter Home

Albus Dumbledore gazed upon the residence of James and Lily Potter, valiantly fighting the urge to weep.

The house was missing most of it's top floor. The parts that had been blasted open left curling tendrils of smoke and charred piles of wood.

Too late. The wards had warned him far too late. The Potters were dead at the hands of Tom Riddle Jr.

He stepped gingerly through the ruins of the front door, hoping to retrieve the remains of his two friends and their young son for a proper burial. A sharp stab of emotional loss hit him when he saw the figure of James Potter sprawled on the floor in front of the stairs.

Kneeling, Albus examined him. Not a mark on him, though the surrounding area sported several scorch marks, gouges, and cuts. James always was an excellent duelist, it would appear that Tom had had to resort to the Killing curse before he even managed a hit.

Dumbledore heaved a world-weary sigh and gently closed the wide, staring eyes.

"Good bye, Mr. Potter, the world will seem a little dimmer without you around," he muttered, his voice thick with emotion.

Stepping over the man, he made his way up the stairs. As he reached the top, a sound reached his ears, a sound that nearly had him jumping for joy like a schoolboy. It had certainly lifted his flagging spirits

A baby was crying. Dead babies certainly aren't capable of such a feat.

He rushed to the first door he could find. A terrible and wonderful sight met him at the threshold.

Nestled behind the body of Lily Potter, half buried in the rubble of a crib, lay the last of the Potters, Harry.

Choking back a sob at the sight of Lily, and then breathing a strangled sigh of relief for Harry, he let his eyes explore the rest of the room, just in case Tom or one of his followers remained. One did not live for well over ten decades without learning at least a little caution.

The sight of the piled black robes on the floor brought a tight, sad smile to the wizened old face, his long white beard twitching ever so slightly.

The baby cried out again in agitation and Albus stepped forward. Then something that had never happened before to Albus Dumbledore occurred: He was overpowered...by magic...blasted into a wall, actually.

After several minutes of recovery, he attempted to enter the room again at a much more sedate pace, with his wand held protectively in front of him. The results were the same.

His mind, incredibly sharp as it was, begin to find conclusions; answers to questions, almost before he could even ask them, even as his body hit the wall across the hall for the second time.

A young child, probably one of the most powerful wizards ever born, if current events were any indication, but he could not control his powers during this particular stage of his life.

Binding magic was not unheard of when a child experienced dangerous bouts of uncontrolled magic, and if Albus were any slower with his cushioning charms, he would be a dead man.

His control was good, perhaps the best ever. The spell wasn't overly complex. He was confident that he could cast it with just the right amount of power to last the boy until his schooling could begin, and, though Harry was undeniably powerful, surely Albus was more powerful still, he was just a toddler after all.

Never mind that it was illegal to perform the binding spell without filing for permission from the Ministry, it was the right thing to do.

Sure of his course of action, Albus whipped his wand from it's holster, hidden beneath his belt.

Tracing a smoky blue rune in the air in front of him, he spoke the words softly, "Vox Redimio!"

A blue beam of light leapt from his wand, expanding as it went, and several unexpected things happened at once: The beam passed over the remains of what he assumed to be Riddle's robes, and several streaks of black pervaded the blue. A pulse of white, centered around the crib, exploded outwards. And Albus's wand began to shake violently in his hand.

Pushing a bit more of his magic into the spell and reinforcing his will and intent, Albus calmly reasserted control over the spell. Unfortunately, the streaks of black did not fade from it, and another pulse of white light washed over him, causing his wand to shake even more violently.

He was growing a little concerned now, but still, he had plenty of reserves left. He pushed harder.

No result.

He pushed harder still.

No result.

After over a minute of this stalemate, Albus, nearing full blown panic now, finally pushed all of his power into the spell, backed by an iron hard will.

A flare of bright blue covered the room, forming itself into bands around the little boy buried in his swaddling clothes. Irritated cries met the binding. Black appeared in the blue again, and the bands gently faded into the boys skin, yanking a pained howl from him.

Albus, unfortunately, saw none of this. Magically exhausted, he fell to the floor, face first. There was just enough mental energy left in his reserves to send a call to Fawkes. He felt a warmth wash over him and heard the bursts of flame signaling both his friend's arrival, and the departure of them both.

His last mental command to his familiar would send Fawkes with a message that would put Hagrid on his way to collect baby Harry. Albus's exhausted brain was already working over time on a plan, even as he lost consciousness.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies."

Nymphadora Tonks's Bedroom

Sunlight streamed through the slats of the blinds, peeking through her eyelids and dragging her away from sleep with a groan. A warm feeling seemed to be settled in the back of her mind, it made her feel like she should be very happy.

An emerald green lock fell in front of her face as she sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She fingered it curiously. She'd never tried that color before.

She rushed to the bathroom down the hall to check it; new hair colors were always cool.

Her hair now fell in loose green curls down just below her shoulders. Running her fingers through it, she decided she liked it. It was no pink, nothing could ever beat pink, but it did look good on her.

Turning her head from side to side, she noticed the dried, salty tear tracks on her cheeks.

That was when she remembered it...the dream. Fresh tears followed the tracks. That poor little boy, but it was just a dream, wasn't it? It had felt so real! She could even remember their names: James, Lils, and cute, tiny little Harry...the Potters.

She took her time and cried for them. Whether they were real or not, they didn't deserve what they got.

It took several minutes to get a hold of herself. She was glad that Chuckles couldn't see her, he'd tell her how girly she was being. He already made enough fun of her for liking pink, even when she pointed out that her mum said pink was a shade of red, so him and all five of his brothers couldn't laugh. Rotten Weasleys and their rotten red hair and their rotten freckles. If it weren't for their mum being so nice, she'd have nothing to do with the lot of 'em, even if Chuckles was her best friend.

Finally, she made her way down stairs to the kitchen, the smell of sausage guiding her. No sooner had she stepped through the door than she was swept up in a hug by a whirling dervish of black hair, arms, and smiles.

"Mum!" she whined, try to block her mother's kisses.

"It's a beautiful day, Nymphie!" her mother bubbled. Tonks had never seen her so happy, not in all eight years of her life.

"What're you so happy about mum?" she asked, giving up on protecting her cheeks from her mother's lips.

"He's gone! Your daddy just sent an owl! The Aurors confirmed it! They haven't leaked it to the Prophet yet, but he's gone!" her mother was almost in tears, she was so ecstatic.

"Who's gone?" she asked, her curiosity piqued. Her mother whirled her around and around, humming happily.

"Mum!" she yelled. The whirling stopped, though she thought her head might have continued without the rest of her. "Who's gone?"

"You-Know-Who!" her mother cried happily, "he's gone!"

Tonks had never seen any of the real horrors the Death Eaters had perpetrated. She'd never seen You-Know-Who torture someone for hours before he killed them, but after her dream last night, she couldn't have been happier that that maniac was gone.

"That's great!" she said happily, an impishly cute smile on her face. "How? Did Dumbledore get him? I bet he put him in his place. Daddy always said he was the greatest ever. He was probably tossing out spells that You-Know-Who had never even heard of!" she babbled excitedly.

"No, honey," her mother replied, pulling a green curl out of her face. "It was Harry Potter."

Tonks froze. "Who?"

"Harry Potter!"

"Is...is he a great wizard?" she asked, very afraid of the answer. Please don't say he's a baby, please!

"No, that's the thing! He's just a baby! James and Lily Potter's son," her mother's voice dropped a little, sadness creeping in. "They...he killed them. Poor Harry, his parents are gone," her mother's face dropped for a moment, before she broke out into a smile again, "but he lived! I can't believe he lived. Ted said that he survived the Killing curse! No one has ever done that before!"

Tonks listened to the story of the Boy Who Lived that morning.

Other girls would be imagining a knight in shining armor, charging in on his steed to defeat evil, but Tonks knew what really happened. She had seen it. He was a poor little baby, who would never hear his parents tell him how much they loved him again, and now he was alone.

"Mum?"

"Yes dear?"

"Could...um...could we take Harry in? Now that his parents are gone?" she asked tentatively.

"That's sweet of you dear, but apparently Dumbledore has taken custody of him. One of his staff from Hogwarts dropped off the paperwork at daddy's office this morning. I'm sure he'll be fine."

A/N:

And there's the prologue!

Apologies to those of you who've been waiting for an update on "Ascension," but I've regrettably decided to put that story up for adoption. That's what I get for not doing a little preplanning before I start writing, eh?

Anyway, this story is already fairly well planned out, so no need to worry about me running out of steam with it. Though I will be obsessive about my editing, so updates will be a little slow. And don't worry, those of you who might be fearing a Super-powered Harry fic. Harry won't be doing things no one has ever heard of by the time he's eleven; this just isn't that kind of story, plain and simple.

Well, read, review, tell me what you think!