Summary: Long ago, a war began between two demon clans. From this war came tears, blood, and a child. Now the remnants of one of those clans have joined forces with the most dangerous wizard alive, Lord Voldemort. Harry must fight his way through a maze of fear, hate but most importantly love. Can he be true to himself before it's too late? Or will he succumb to the mind-numbing darkness? Only one way to find out...

Disclaimer: If I owned HP would I be writing this crap? Lucien and the Portillo-Martinez family are mine; ALL MINE! MWAHAHA!... Okay, I'm done now...

Warnings: This story contains yaoi. Meaning there's some hot M/M action in here somewhere. If you have a problem with this...I do NOT care! My suggestion to those who do is this: Go take your homophobic ass to the nearest bar, drink yourself silly, and then promptly jump into your crappy ass car and drive off a bridge. Do the world a big favor. You have been warned...

Criticisms are welcome, flames are not!

Written pre-OotP. And no, I did not pick out the name of this fic after I heard the title of the 6th book.

This means a character is either speaking Spanish or thinking to themselves

Ok, It was official, Lucien was annoyed. He normally liked having a family of 14 but this was all too much to bear. The twins were having their 15th birthday soon and he had completely forgotten. Just a few days ago it was Rosa's 6th and he had gotten her the biggest, pinkest present he could find. Within his budget of course. Which made him feel even more like a cabron. He didn't mean to play favorites, it just happened.

Thus was the reason a 16 year old boy with a braid down to his ankles was standing in front of the mall in naught but his yummy-sushi jammies, fuzzy blue slippers, and his white trench coat; Wracking his brain and trying to remember what he had gotten the little hellions last year.

Well Angel wasn't as much of a hellion as Angela was. She could be downright evil when she wanted to be. That morning she had awoken him to the sweet sound of a large Chinese gong... Don't ask. When she was 5 she had put green food dye in his shampoo. His once beautiful hair was the color of algae for 3 weeks. And when she was seven, she mixed Elmer's Glue with his toothpaste! He sighed and wondered what the next day would bring.

He started making his way towards Hot Topics when the little hairs on the back of his neck began to rise. Something was wrong. He spun around nearly knocking over over a. kid in ruffly clothes but he didn't see anyone suspicious. However, suspicious for San Fransisco was a pretty small category. Plus it was a crowded mall and he didn't exactly look "normal" even for Cali standards. Of course people would watch him. *Okay Lucien, no more jalapeño chili burritos before bed...*

The rest of the shopping trip was a blur. He had finished and was walking home while still discretely keeping an eye out for any potential stalkers. Though the feeling had come and gone with the first sensation, he didn't want to take any chances. He was vaguely aware the he had bought Angela a tight shirt that said "QUIT STARING AT MY BOOBS, YOU PERV!" on where the chest should be. She would love it, Lucien was sure of that. And for Angel, he got a book titled "What Herbs Should you Plant and When." The kid liked gardening and plants. So Lucien thought, What the hell, if he doesn't like it he can refund it.

It wasn't until he was standing in front of the red door that he realized he had made it home. He loved his house. It was his favorite place in the world. Inside and out. Angel had done most of the renovating in the yard. It was beautifully trimmed, with rose bushes snaking their way up the drive way. Trees of all kinds were scattered across the premises, front and back. Ivy snaked up the side of the old Victorian house. If you climbed up to the roof and slowly turned in a circle, you could see that the vegetation circled the house in the pattern of an intricate octagon. Why Abuela wanted it in that specific pattern, Lucien thought would never know, but she had insisted on it not long before. A little over a year ago in fact.

Behind that red door he could hear crashing and screaming. He gulped and turned the fake crystal knob and was immediately bombarded by senses one could find no other place in the world. He loved this house with it's weird smells of chamomile and smoke. Color pervaded everything as it wrapped you in a warm rainbow of emotions. In the Portillo-Martinez house it always felt like Christmas. Everyone was welcome. You're always loved.

Lucien was adopted. That doesn't mean his family loved him any less. They treated him the exact same as everyone else. Abuela had chosen him in an orphanage when his mamasita and papi thought they couldn't have kids. Oh how wrong they were.

Lucien wasn't an only child by a long shot. The twins weren't his only siblings either. They were the first after him though. Then came Alejandro, age 14, the astronomer. He loved looking at the stars. His room was a myriad of constellation charts and space photographs. Many books about stars adorned the bookshelf of his room. The room itself was one giant space station. Complete with star-painted walls, meticulously crafted to look authentic.

After Alejandro came Catalina, age 13, the bookworm. She was the type of person who knew a little of everything. From snakes to asbestos. Her walls were covered in books, literally. Her entire room was one big library. She had a drawer under her bed in which she kept some of her favorite subjects. While half of her dresser was used for its intended purposes the other half was filled with, you guessed it, books. She wasn't weird either. She was sociable enough, always kind to people; always helped around the house. She just loved to learn.

Following her was Pedro, age 12, the fighter. Don't let the name fool you. He's a pacifist at heart. He's just good at what he does. "What does he do," you ask? Judo, kick boxing, akido, ninjitsu, you name it he can do it. Or can learn it fairly quickly. He's not a master at anything yet. But for his age he could probably whoop your old man.

After this certain prodigy came Alberto, age 11, the... well, the problem child. Unlike the rest of the Portillo-Martinez children, Alberto just didn't quite have a niche in the world yet. He was always having trouble in school. He had gotten into several fist fights and his grades were slipping.

He was a brilliant, though. Lucien sometimes asked the kid to help with his algebra. He just didn't want to try. When asked about the subject he always said it was too "boring." It apparently presented him with no challenge. He had gotten into several fights with the kids in the neighborhood, which Pedro promptly beat up despite his gentle nature. No one messes with this family. Finally, Abuela decided the boy might just be telling the truth. Much to his chagrin, Alberto took several tests to gage his academic proficiency. Once Lucien had convinced him to, he agreed to take the tests seriously and not flunk them. The school agreed to enroll him in advanced classes next fall in hopes it might make Alberto more active.

Next came Eduardo, age 10, the new age freak. Now, that's not an insult, he just likes the sound of it even though it earns him a smack every time he says it. He's into the entire thing; crystals, insence, weird music, he even has an altar.

Don't you dare call him a witch or a wiccan. He hates those labels." He prefers the term "mystic Christian." And it's true. He goes to church every Sunday, is involved in the youth program, even does volunteer work for the city every once in a while. He dresses like any normal boy, he's just a bit off.

Next in line was Annita, age 9, artist. She loves everything about art. Using her hands to create something gives her no other joy in the world. Her room is full of paint splotches and old art. Her favorite artists are da Vinci and Dali and it shows. Her walls are covered with their pieces. Including the Last Supper and Persistence of Memory otherwise known as "melting clocks." Her style shows it too. In a mix of surrealism with hidden athiest meanings.

She's been a part of several exhibitions and has won several awards. One was for her portrait called "Mi Familia." It was so large it took up an entire wall in the living room. The colors on it were as vibrant as the house and family themselves. Her representations of her family were all melted together in a giant kaleidoscope. Every time Lucien walked in he looked at that painting. It was his favorite.

Moving along we find Marco, age 8, the smart-ass. He loved to make people laugh. It didn't matter what the joke was, he did it. Many times he was forced soap into his mouth but that did nothing to deter his whimsical spirit.

What's worse was that he had started creating an act. At recess a teacher found him doing a stand-up comedy about the family, and not all of it was pleasant. Mrs. Thatcher, the teacher, had called a parent-teacher meeting where she told his parents, in detail, what poor Marco had said. His papi just looked at him and said in Spanish, "Well, at least you told the truth." Earning him a smack upside the head from his endearing wife who was trying not to laugh.

Where's there's a yin there's a yang and none would be better at this role than Carlos, age 7,the quiet one. He was a sweetheart when he wanted to be but lately he just wanted to be left alone. With the exception of Marco, he rarely said a word to anyone. No one knows much about Carlos not even Carlos himself. He was just... incomplete somehow and he knew it. It made Lucien sad at times.

And the most recent addition to this little circus was Rosa, age 6, the cute one. Or at least that's how Lucien saw it. Every morning she gave Lucien a great big hug and begged him to take her somewhere. He spoiled her rotten.

She had such an imagination too! Albeit a little morbid, her mind ran off constantly. She had countless imaginary friends she talked to constantly. Sometimes she would make one up for a certain situation but then later completely dropped them. Once in a subway she started talking to a bunch of her invisible friends. She had claimed they had died on the subway accident a few years ago. She always stared into space constantly as if looking for something. Like a cat.

Her room was a vision of pink. The carpet was pink, as well as the bed, the curtains, the dresser and the desk. The entire thing was screamed of cutness.

Angie had designed it. While Angel had a knack at designing outside of a house, his sister was just as good with the inside. The first time she ever tried to design a room she had done the living room. It looked so good that Abuela had declared she should do ALL the rooms that way. No on argued. She had been 7.

They twins made a great pair. Everything they did complemented each other. Angela was loud and had an anger problem, Angel was calm and always meditated. Her favorite color was pink and he didn't even have one. She was interior design while he was a gardener.

Angel was the exact opposite, but they never argued. They were always around each other so of course Angela would do something to embarrass Angel but he always got over it. The only time he pissed her off was when he backed down from a fight. And even then she still loved him.

Shaking off all this nostalgia, Lucien started walking through the multicolored living room toward Alejandro. The boy was lazily stretched out on one of the couches, reading through a book about Cassiopeia. That's when Lucien noticed the screaming was the TV up full blast.

When Alejandro noticed him, he quickly sat up and switched off the sound by remote. He looked sheepishly at his older brother.

"It got too quiet," he explained in Spanish. He cleared his throat. "So, what did you get them?"

Lucien grinned, plopped down on the couch across from him and tossed him the bags."Where is everyone, anyway?"

"Abuela made them all go to a movie so you could have time to wrap the presents. She knew you would forget." Glancing in the bags, Alejandro ignored Lucien's sputtering. After a minute he looked up and raised an eyebrow at him. "You do realize that this is almost exactly what you got them last year, right?" he questioned, reverting to English.

Lucien sputtering stopped and his face fell. "Huh?" he said stupidly. Scrambling over the homemade coffee table, Lucien snatched the bags back and glared into them. "You have GOT to be kidding me!"

Just then a wizened yet sharp, accented voice called from the kitchen, "Lucien! Een heere!"

"Si, Abuela! He threw the bags against the couch and rushed into the large, Mexican styled kitchen. He loved the kitchen more than any other room in the house. Something was always on the stove because someone was always hungry. Spices, herbs, and flowers greeted you as you walked in the door. The earth tones created a warmth that could only be described as "home."

All that appealed to Lucien, sure but the thing he loved the most about it was that it fueled his most fervent passion; cooking. Lucien loved to cook, bake, boil, sautee you name it. He was a master cook. The first time he tried his hand in the kitchen, he brought tears to his papi's eyes. And Jose Martinez was not an emotional man.

Not only all that, he could spend time with his Abuela. No one dared enter her domain when something was cooking. That would mean certain death, or at least a good 4 hours work. Same thing as far as Lucien and his siblings were concerned. For some strange reason, he seemed to be the only one she would allow to help her.

Which was exactly what she had in mind as she silently pointed to the pot of chili boiling on the stove. Lucien could see that her hands were full chopping celery. He bounced over to the rather large cauldron-like pot and started stirring, before something very green obstructed his view. Pulling it off his head he saw it was his usual apron. He sheepishly gave Abuela an apologetic look as he pulled it on over his head and tied it one handed. He never stopped stirring.

"Diablo," she called, using her nickname for him.

He turned expecting her to give him another task just as a large kitchen knife came hurtling at his head. Reflexively he shielded his face with his arms and waited for the pain. After a few seconds he noticed nothing had happened.

Lucien looked up to find the knife had stopped in midair, mere inches from his face, while his Abuela was giving him a thoughtful look.