Disclaimer: I own none of the original characters of Harry Potter, nor the universe or anything JK Rowling related. This is not for profit.

Hello all! I'm back after a one-year hiatus and back with a different story. This won't be a big romance story, but more like a novel with lots of plot and goodness. I've been working on this project for a good couple months and written 50k of it during Nanowrimo. I'm super excited about this story and I hope all of you will as well! Updates will be posted every one-two weeks and I will try my best to keep to the schedule. The story will be pretty long but I have every intention of finishing it.

Again, a thousand thanks to Roheryn's Knight for once again offering her expert mind in helping me craft the story and edit out all the grammar and character mistakes. You're amazing!

Thus, I give you Crafted Destiny. Enjoy!


Saturday—31 October, 1981

The night was cold and dark. Rain pounded relentlessly on glass windows as lightning flashed from the thick rolls of clouds. They sang of fate and destiny, and the wind screamed with wild freedom. With a fierce force, the storm roared down on Godric's Hallow, where yellowed lights flickered owlishly in the sleek shadows. By its grand gates, children clothed in costumes ran along the cobble stone streets, screaming with laughter in the rain as bedraggled parents followed at a more leisurely pace.

Harry Potter sat in his crib, feet pushed against each other as he reached for the ten wriggling digits that moved every time he did. Bright, green eyes sparkled in happiness as he clenched his fingers together in a tight fist. As always, the empty space around him suddenly burst in a myriad of colors, strings of shimmering lights twisting and turning around each other like snakes.

He had learned how to make the magic appear not long ago. The first time it did was on his first birthday after he had reached up and grasped his father's long tufts of hair. Rainbow flashed before his eyes and, enthralled, he reached out to touch the strings. To his parents, it was his first show of accidental magic, almost unheard at his age, but to Harry, it was a single tug of a red line that blew out the candles on his cake and set his father's hair on fire.

From then on, Harry learned the secrets of the web. They whispered to him words that he didn't understand and couldn't form on his tongue, but he understood. Life was a complicated web of colors that represented the soul and past while inanimate objects were dull and grey, unless saturated with magic. He would play with the webs, and things would happen—things that shouldn't happen, but do nevertheless.

Harry could feel his parents fear. It radiated through the strings whenever Harry conjured a flower, changed the walls from tan to bright magenta, or even something as simple as opening a window. He couldn't comprehend why the bright flashes of color would be so frightening to the adults. The webs whispered to him that they would never understand what he could do. And so he hid his powers, succumbing to the instincts of what every normal child would act upon, slobbering and speaking gibberish.

But it was tonight when Harry felt a change in the webs he had long learned to rely on and draw strength from. It felt heavier, darker, and forbidding; it scared him.

Struggling to stand on his short, stubby legs, Harry flailed as he tried to brace himself on the railing. Despite his efforts, he fell backwards and cried out in pain from the jarring impact.

Something cried out in return below him, and Harry stopped. The webs whispered dangerous things to him, things he had never heard or experienced. Harry felt the strings changing downstairs, twisting to something cruel and against the rules of the webs. He frowned. Couldn't the people below hear the webs crying? They were crying because of what was happening. Why would someone do such a horrible thing?

The door suddenly burst open, and Harry looked up in surprise, locking gazes with his mother, Lily Potter. His deep, emerald eyes met the lighter shade of hers, and he saw the fear that trembled in the magic around her.

Harry didn't understand. He wasn't talking to or using the webs. Why would she be afraid? He wanted to make her feel better, so Harry reached out with a sloppy smile that he remembered delighted her to no ends.

Lily returned a watery smile before her face hardened into a warrior's mask. She whirled around with a swish of her robes and drew her wand, flinging a light blue spell at the door.

Harry had seen such a spell before. It made doors not open. Lily had used that once to prevent him from sneaking into James's office, which was filled with all sorts of magical appliances that he was drawn to, like a moth to a light. It wasn't his fault. Magic called to him just as he called to magic.

Webs that glowed an eerie blue shot out and entangled the door. The nets of magic tightened and sang a high-pitched chant.

Lock. Lock. Lock. Lock.

Harry pouted. The webs were talking again, words he didn't recognize or learn. But before he could worry more about the mystery, he felt a drop of wetness landing on his shoulder. Looking up, Harry stared into the eyes of his mother, unknowingly for the last time, and reached up, using his fist to wipe away more of the water on her cheeks. He tasted it. It was salty.

Lily gave a sobbing laugh, just as the doors were blown up. Harry cried with the door as the webs that protected the wood screamed in anguish. The webs were shattered into pieces, the blue strings quickly disintegrating and blending with the colors around it.

As Harry bawled with the webs, Lily shouted, and pleaded, forgetting the weapon grasped tightly in her right hand. The man above her lifted his wand and shot something sickly green and unforgettable at her.

Harry watched in slow motion as a burst of green sprung from the white Yew, breaking through the many webs that surrounded his mother and engulfing her in green flames that twisted around her form with a flash of light. They sang of death and the afterlife, their strings abnormal and distorted.

But as the green vanished, they took with them the once colorful web that surrounded Lily, contaminating the strings with a deep black. As the magic disappeared into the air, the green flames screeched once more in triumph.

It was disturbing to see someone who once had so much life void of any color. Harry drew back with a sharp cry of distress, tears springing from his eyes as the woman with red hair fell with a dull thud onto the ground, her body lacking its natural glow.

He looked up and met red eyes, a poppy red that shone with intent. As his cries quieted, Harry found himself staring at the man in curiosity. Instead of the tangles of colored strings that usually surrounded a person, a tattered web of black draped over the man, frail and vulnerable. Yet, strong waves of energy shimmered through the strings surrounding the aura.

The man was captivating, and Harry felt himself drawn to the powerful source. He wanted to get closer.

Struggling onto all fours, he crawled forward and clung to the plastic bars, lifting his feeble body up and staring bold-eyed at the man.

Harry watched with unblinking eyes as something unreadable passed through the red-eyed man. He observed the man's every move, peering as the man lifted his arm again, and spoke something, quietly, if not with a little regret.

The same green that had stolen the life and vibrancy from his mother shot toward him. Harry frowned at the green lines that ripped and grabbed power from the webs floating in the air and screamed of death. He didn't want the evil magic to touch him. It had done something bad to the red-haired woman—something he had never seen or felt before—and he didn't want it to do the same to him. He liked the colors.

Forming two fists, he crossed his chubby hands in front of his face in an instinctive, defensive gesture to shield him from the malicious green magic and lifted his eyes from the spell to meet the stranger's red eyes.

To his surprise, the bolt of green seemed to bounce over a light blue force field, redirecting back at its castor and destroying the torn web. However, a sliver of the magic burst though the shield and shot straight at him.

Harry gasped and shrieked. His legs crumpled under him, and a sharp flash of pain dotted across his forehead.

He wailed in pain as the man who stood above him incinerated in the same green flames. Through teary eyes, he watched as the last remnants of the tattered black web of the man regrouped, and began floating out of the open doorway. Harry began to cry harder, his breaths hiccupping between sobs. He didn't want it to go away; he wanted to see the red-eyed man again.

Never once did he look down at Lily Potter, who rested on the ground, vacant eyes staring lifelessly at the ceiling.


A crafter is a witch or wizard that is able to see and manipulate magic without the use of a centering tool (i.e. wand, staff, stone). They are often identified by vibrant eye color and short stature, as well as extraordinarily long fingernails, which are used to touch the magic threads, and black markings that stretch from the eyes down to the palms of the hands, both which develop when fully trained. Crafters are extremely rare and have been extinct from the Wizarding World since Merlin's death. Legend has it that only during the most desperate of times, is a crafter born to restore balance.

Hope you all enjoyed the prologue! This is just the beginning and it will be kicking up very quickly after this. Leave me a review and tell me what you think!