Summary: In Which a man doesn't hear a prophesy, another man does and makes slightly different plans, a family take hate one step to far, a boy doesn't talk, and another man gives an ironic name. These beget events that change how some events might have gone and how one boy in particular is going to become. SLASH (way later), AU, Bidding his time Voldie, OCC.

Authors note: I thought I would try my hand at an AU, with a Harry/Voldie pairing. And yes, I know I need to update my other fics. I am doing this mainly to get back into the game.

Pairings:

Simon/Voldemort

Severus/?

Remus/Sirius

Lucius/Narcissa

Draco/?

Language

Parseltongue: ~ Blah~

Thoughts: 'Blah'.

Simon Says

Chapter 1: Simon Says "Give Him a Name."

In a sprawling ballroom of a grand mansion that no one knows the location of despite the people who come and go from its walls, sat a man on a throne. He surveyed his followers dressed in all there finery instead of their usual dark robes and masks. With those followers were their families. And in each of those families there could be found infants swaddled in black silk and Slytherin green trimming with a symbol of a skull with a snake for a lounge in silver.

These were another year of next generation followers that had been born. It was tradition for the dark Lord, since he had come to power, to hold a ball on the last evening before the new years to celebrate the swelling of his forces and the ideals that would be passed into the young minds of his followers.

It was a tradition that he had originally started with Lucius' generation when he was looking for a way to further cement his ties to the Pureblood traditionalists and imprint his own majesty at the same time. It was one of his more brilliant plans; he had to admit, even if the yearly parties could be tedious at times, all the prostrating parents, the drooling infants...well, it was all for a good cause, his cause.

He smirked when his serpentine eyes caught the proud stance of Lucius holding the youngest of the recently born brood, only born a few days prior. His wife was absent, resting after complications with the birth, though he had been assured that the man's wife would be able to continue to attend to her duties as head of the Dark Pure-blooded female scion that she was. He knew from overhearing Lucius and Severus talk, that Narcissa would most likely never conceive again though, which was a shame, as the Black line and the Malfoy line had the potential to birth powerful next generation wizards, particularly as it had been at least 6 generations since the family had married into each other.

It was a shame, both were old pureblood family, still decently powerful, but at least they had managed to successfully have one heir.

While the dark lord himself would not dare to even be hinted at as a family man, he did respect the influence that the family dynamic had on perpetuating his cause and beliefs. After all, when he finally won the war these infants would be some of the first to be wholly bred in his ideals in a world that would have the stamp of his victory.

He respected the power of the possibility that children had on the future. After all, he had been one such child himself.

He slapped on a vaguely interested look as the Parkinson Lord presented his second born, a female child that looked vaguely pug-like.

Ooo ooo ooo

In an out of the way pub known as the Hog's Head, a young man only a few years graduated from Hogwarts sat nursing a lone mug of mead. This rather tall individual clothed in flowing black robes wit ha proud, slightly hooked nose, fine straight inky black hair, sallow skin and dark eyes was in the process of becoming the youngest Potion Master in History, and not inclined for chit chat, small talk or any other forms of socialization unless he was forced into it by his friend, Lucius Malfoy or the Dark Lord. It was this quality, the phenomenal potion making ability not the lack of public interaction that had led to him to also being one of the youngest to be considered part of the inner circle. Lucius, who was a few years older than him, had not achieved this honour until recently, much to the blond's jelousy (he had after all been the one to woo him to the dark side so to speak) when Lucius he had proven his gift with politics to the Dark Lord though, by setting up a complicated network of contacts and sycophants within the Minsitry and overseas, his new status was assured.

Severus was in the process of drinking his usual Monday evening repass, some of the best mead in Scotland, which is probably one of the reasons why the dive of dirt was still in business, when he spotted the odd sight of Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts striding toward the stairs that lead to the guest rooms of the pub, sticking out like a sore thumb in his pink and gold star robes against the general squalor of the place.

Severus himself was in line for a position as potions professor for the following year; he himself had actually had his interview last week, right around the time that he finished his masters. The Dark Lord had a special job for him there, or otherwise he would not have even considered suffering the presence of the dunderheaded infants that plagued Hogwarts's walls.

Severus was rather curious to see why the Headmaster was here. After all, it was no secret that the pub owner and the headmaster didn't see eye to eye, and both men usually stuck to their own territories.

Severus was just about to get up to follow, thinking that there might be something useful to learn, when Charmin Welch, one of the slightly bygone waitresses, grabbed his sleeve and reminded him that he had paid her to remember to remind him that he was expected at a certain celebration.

Charmin herself had considered pocketing he cash and not mentioning anything, after all Severus wasn't the most engaging of men, and Charmin wasn't inclined to go out of her way, but after getting another table without a tip, she was reminded that Severus was an excellent tipper, and the rumour was that he would be teaching next year at Hogwarts. Chances were high that she would see him again at the Hogs Head, and he would continue to tip her if he liked her service well enough, so she changed her mind and reminded the man, practically forcing him to the floo.

The reminder of the celebration, the mandatory celebration that all Death Eaters were expected to attend, particularly the families being celebrated and the godfathers of the brats being celebrated, to which Severus had obtained the dubious honour for the one and only heir of Lucius Malfoy.

Grumbling, thoughts of mysterious addle fashioned Headmasters left his mind as he left the pub to attend a ball.

Ooo ooo ooo

In a small room above the Hogs Head, a rather addled woman spoke a prophesy to one Albus Dumbledore. A prophesy of a child that had the power to destroy the dark lord; a prophesy that was no longer remembered by the giver, and was only heard by Albus, leader of the Light, who couldn't believe his extraordinary good fortune. He knew that he would have to make plans.

Ooo ooo ooo

Some months later, on the exact prophesied night two infants were born to two different sets of parents, only minutes and one bed apart.

Standing before both sets of parents was a man not usually expected at the bedside of a recently birthed family.

Albus stood between the two beds, knowing that one of the two infants, both boys, could be the potential saviour, the one he had been waiting for since he had heard the prophesy.

It was to the confused parents' faces that Albus delivered his news. After all, it could be either one, and he didn't like the idea of being wrong, the fate of the Wizarding World hanged on it.

All four of the adults before him were members of the Order of the Phoenix; both couples were extraordinarily skilled and strong, it wasn't too far of a stretch that both would bare equally strong wizards. The only difference lay in that one couple was completely pureblood, A Light Family, and the other couple was of one Pureblood, also a Light family, and one a muggleborn, though arguably more powerful than the other three Purebloods, after all, Lilly was a Mistress, and from what he had heard rumours of, she wasn't just some part time Primary school teacher for middle class children.

Yes, both families were invaluable assets to his cause, and he had been a mentor to all four of them over the years, which is why this was terribly difficult for him to explain his presence at what should have been the most joyus day in their lives.

So after he was finished telling the parents of the prophesy and what this meant for everyone, the parents were understandably upset and grew more so when he further explained his plans for the enfants.

It took many hours, long into the next day, a lot of arguing , a lot of debate, but the Potters and the Longbottoms eventually succumbed to Albus' logic, especially after viewing the memory of the prophecy, being forced ot face the reality that if Voldemort should ever go after either families, since they were actively working against the Dark Lord, or if he ever discovered the prophecy, as slim as the chances were , or just so a potential enemy in either of the boys as they grew older they finally grumbled under their old mentors logic and warnings. So, after taking an unbreakable vow to never reveal the contents of the Prophecy, willingly or unintentionally, the plan had begun.

It was decided that Neville Longbottom would be given in safe keeping with his grandmother to rear in a small beach house on the coast of Dover. The old dowager Longbottom would not be missed, as it was often common practice for elderly pureblood wives, particularly the wives with deceased husbands, to retire, and many eager young things would fill her role soon enough as the iron fist of the Light, and some Neutral, supporters and gossip mongerer. Albus would miss her information and usefulness amongst the elite, but it was a necessary sacrifice.

The only other option for little Harry James Potter however, was his mother's sister, a muggle. The only few relations on James end was too distant, or already tied to either the Light or the Dark battlefield, and personages that would not be viable for choice rearers. Further, despite being Lilly's sister, she was a muggle and that was perfect camouflage for the boy to hide with. Further, he had pointed out, both these women were close enough blood relations that enacting blood wards would also add further protections.

Lilly had taken longer to convince, after all her sister wasn't the most tolerant sort in regards to magic, but Albus reminded her that the Dursleys obviously would take good care of young Harry, as they had a child of simile rag of their own, after all it was in his own opinion that one should give family a second chance at redemption and renewing ties (something he often thought sadly about in regards to his own wayward brother, knowing how much he would give for such a chance himself). After all, if Petunia was made aware of the dire straits of the situation, perhaps not the prophesy, but the potential dangers the boy would be in if he remained in the Wizarding World, he was sure that Petunia would well care for the boy.

Lilly finally, reluctantly, agreed, as well as James, both as grim-faced, and teary eyed as their friends the Longbottoms.

Albus reasoned that Voldemort would be suspicious if four people who had thrice defied him, some of Dumbledore's strongest fighters, suddenly disappeared, and since both James and the Longbottom's were Aurors, their disappearances, or sudden early retirement, would also be noticed by the Ministry which is why he had decided to go against his first inclination to send the families into hiding.

Dumbledore had already seen to the memories of the doctors and nurses, as well as vanishing the paperwork into the bowels of the ministry.

No one would have any obvious records of the two boys even being conceived, let alone born. The only paper work that remained would be the Hogwarts registry book, and everything else would be sealed until the boys turned eleven. After all, it wasn't uncommon for pureblood families to have at home births, and mothers don't always have large baby bumps, and there are such things as glamour spells, after all it is war who wouldn't want to advertise a possible weakness to the other side?

By the time they started school they would already be under his power and protection and their re-emergence wouldn't look surprising or unusual, and both boys would blend in with the rest of the student body, no one but their parents, guardians and Albus knowing that one of them was the saviour.

Yes, it was a brilliant plan, despite the regrettable circumstances of the parents missing out on the first 11 or so years of their children's lives, even if they would have them back just before they started their first year, to present a normal, family unit to the world.

Ooo ooo ooo

6 years later…

Mr. Charles Chunksway considered himself a respectable business man.

He ran a small, though reasonably successful, orphanage that saw a decent turnout of children being adopted or placed into respectable positions of employment if they past the desirable adoptable age (which was usually over the age of 13). He made sure that all the paperwork was in order, that all the more problem cases were dealt with in a firm, though not ridiculously so, manner, and all the children had a decent set of necessities and attended the local primary school, daycare, or high school.

He was not a warm man, nor were the other workers at the orphanage, though some of them did have their favorites amongst the children. But despite the lack of warmth at Chunksway Orphanage for Boys and Girls, the children were somewhat decently cared and provided for.

As such, Mr. Chunksway, while having his eye more on the buck then may have been necessary, was also known to be rather enamoured of his own brilliance, particularly when he had what he called "creative ideas."

It was on a particularly nice day in June that Mr. Chuncksway was presented with yet another unfortunate case sitting in front of his faux oak desk.

The boy had recently been found wandering an ally way by a police officer, bloody, and in dire need of medical treatment. The fact that the child had been able to move at all was a miracle.

A few months later, finally out of the hospital, the mysterious young John Doe had yet to have his family located. No one could find any sign of anyone looking for him, any pictures of him in school records and so forth. It didn't help anyone that the boy had remained mute. No one could get him to talk, despite cat-scans and x-rays that proclaimed all bits that were needed for communication were in order.

A child therapist had not gotten any sort of response other than nods and headshakes for basic questions, or the basic sounds that one makes when having an emotional reaction, such as giggling or crying (not that they had been able to coax much of these reactions out of him).

All anyone knew for certain was the boy's age, about 6 years old, his general characteristics, once things had healed from his injuries and several resulting surgeries later. He was pale skinned with a tiny body, knobby everything, messy black hair, and big green eyes that required glasses, and he had a slight permanent limp in his left leg from a devastating shattering of bone that could not be fully repaired, wearing a metal brace to help the boy to walk and stand.

Mr. Chunksway agreed with the report of the social worker that the boy would definitely be one of those more problematic cases that periodically came through his door. He would make sure to have the caretakers informed of the boy's lack of communication abilities, and have notes provided for the boy's possible future teachers, along with his file kept on record for the orphanage's staff nurse.

Once his brain finished settling all the technicalities, Mr. Chunksway realized something rather basic was missing for all that necessary paperwork.

The boy had no name.

Sure, the boy had been called John Doe, and there was John Doe in the Hospital paper work and police file, but that was standard label for unknowns and lacked a certain imagination or ingenuity, in his opinion, and potential parents were always rather intrigued by unique names these days, after all a name was significant, and significance sells. Besides, the boy didn't really look like a John anyway.

The director took in the boy's face more closely. He may be somewhat blank in expression, but there was a definite unique beauty to the boy, particularly those large green eyes behind the large black plastic glasses the hospital had provided. Green eyes were not uncommon of course, but these particular eyes held a certain vibrancy and tone that was not so common.

No, it just wasn't good sense to have ones product…er, a child like this bare such unimaginative designations as John Doe.

Charles considered several names, even his own (after all, his name was the same as Prince Charles after all, the name of royalty), but nothing seemed to fit the boy before him.

His musing was briefly disrupted by the sudden sounds of the children running out side of the main doors, which were below his office window, and heading towards the simple playground. He watched them musingly, other mental notes about a few of the tykes to consider for later here and there. His eyes strayed to a group closer to a window where little Ethel Gardener had started up a game with a few other girls. With the window open, he could hear the sweet, slightly shrill voice of the 7 year old drift to his ears.

"…Okay, since Brittney chose the game last time, it's my turn, and I say we play Simon Says, an' I get to be Simon first." (1)

The other little girls groaned, but gamely formed a group in front of Ethel.

"Simon Says touch your toes!"

All the little girls before Ethel as one bowed down to touch their toes.

The game continued in the background as Charles' thoughts churned, he turned his head back to the boy seated quietly before him.

A sudden brain wave hit him. It was unique enough, and perfectly fit the boy in front of him! It was practically a beautiful bit of ironic name making art! Ha!

This is an example of one of those earlier mentioned moments where Charles Chunkway displays his enamouring of his own supposed brilliance. He didn't think it to be somewhat cruel, given the boy's muteness, nor did he think of how this name would ultimately shape the boy in front of him.

"You are in luck child!" Charles declared to the boy, "I have decided that calling you John Doe is somewhat ineffective, and have decided on a new name that I am sure you'll come to recognize as your own soon enough."

Of course, the man didn't consider that the boy may have not minded being called John Doe, or not cared in being called anything at all really, but that didn't occur to the director of course.

Ooo ooo ooo

On a slightly dusty pedestal in a room full of golden light and mysterious bits and bobs that hummed, chirred, and blew smoke upon occasion, a large tome with magical never ending pages held a list of inscribed names.

These names were those of children that were born to magical UK citizens, or once UK citizens, that displayed magic, or those who were born within the UK that held magic themselves. This was a magical list that updated itself periodically when another child displayed magic or when something of the child itself changes.

It was often somewhat ignored most of the time, with the names of at age potentials from the book appearing on a separate list in the office of the deputy headmaster for the yearly letter addressing and case consideration, particularly if the child was muggleborn. This was why the book was rarely examined.

It was how a certain Harry James Potter disappeared from the book, and another boys name appeared instantly after with all the other 'S' children.

Simon Says.

Ooo ooo ooo

A/N: for those of you who may not be familier with the game: "…a child's game for 3 or more players where 1 player takes the role of "Simon" and issues instructions (usually physical actions such as "jump in the air" or "stick out your tongue") to the other players, which should only be followed if prefaced with the phrase "Simon says", for example, "Simon says, jump in the air". Players are eliminated from the game by either following instructions that are not immediately preceded by the trigger phrase or by failing to follow an instruction which does include the phrase "Simon says". It is the ability to distinguish between valid and invalid commands, rather than physical ability, that usually matters in the game; in most cases, the action just needs to be attempted.

The object for the player acting as Simon is to get all the other players out as quickly as possible; the winner of the game is usually the last player who has successfully followed all of the given commands. Occasionally however, 2 or more of the last players may all be eliminated by following a command without "Simon Says", thus resulting in Simon winning the game…" – quote, ("Simon Says." Wikipedia . org)