Author's Note: I started writing this story prior to the release of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince so, for those of you who've read it, you will notice some differences between my version of the story and J.K. Rowling's original story (besides the fact that the Boy Who Lived will be someone entirely different). I could change the story to be more accurate but I don't feel this particular detail is that important and for the purposes of MY story, Augustus Rookwood is a perfectly fine evil eavesdropping snitch (and no, I don't mean the tiny gold ball with wings).
Disclaimer: I am not now nor will I ever be J.K. Rowling. All characters, unless otherwise noted, were her creation and I am proud to be able to use them in my story. The story plot is mine, though since it is a twist on her original storyline, she must take a great deal of credit for that as well. Those of you who are avid readers of the Harry Potter series will pick up on all the similarities and differences so I don't feel like going into further detail. Please read and review and, if it suits you, feel free to enjoy yourself as well.
Chapter 1: Prophecy
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…"
As Augustus Rookwood repeated the words of the prophecy to his master, he sat kneeling on the ground with his head bowed and hidden beneath his dark cloak. A moment passed and no one spoke. Slowly, Rookwood lifted his head and looked into the Dark Lord's reptile-like eyes, trying to determine what was going on in his mind.
His efforts were in vain. Lord Voldemort was a master at concealing his thoughts and Rookwood knew it. All the same, he wished he knew what Voldemort was thinking as he bored down at his loyal Death Eater. Surely such valuable information would merit a high reward? Rookwood gazed back at Lord Voldemort, trying to remain hopeful.
"My Lord?" Rookwood could not stand the silence any longer. He was fully aware of the dozens of other cloaked figures surrounding them, staring fixedly at the two of them.
At long last, Lord Voldemort spoke. His voice was deep and cold, "This is disturbing news, Rookwood."
Rookwood felt his heart lodge uncomfortably in the back of his throat. Is it possible that he would be punished for informing the Dark Lord of the prophecy?
"My Lord, I-" Rookwood started to defend himself.
"Are you sure of what you have overheard?" Lord Voldemort cut him off.
"Y-y-yes, sir. Sibyll Trelawney said it while I was in Hogs Head Inn, my Lord," Rookwood responded, his voice quaking.
"Indeed? She does not have the gift of Sight as her great-great-grandmother does. Her predictions are worthless," Lord Voldemort's voice reverberated off the empty walls as he spoke.
"My Lord, if I may, she did not sound at all like herself. Her voice was deep and quite unlike her own. I think, perhaps, this recent prediction of hers should be taken seriously."
There was another moment of silence. Rookwood tried to gulp but found that the lump in his throat had tightened to the point where he could hardly breathe. A few of the Death Eaters in the back shifted nervously.
"Tell me again, what the Seer said, Rookwood," Voldemort said calmly.
Rookwood lowered his focus to the ground and obeyed the Dark Lord's order. He expected another quiet pause to follow but was relieved to hear the Dark Lord's immediate response.
"Is that all?" he asked.
Rookwood was about to speak but stopped himself. A small beetle was making its way across the floor in front of him. He watched it, trying not to think about the dozen pairs of eyes glaring at him.
"Is…that…all?" Voldemort repeated slowly, beginning to lose his patience.
"No!" Rookwood answered abruptly and quite a bit louder than he had intended to.
"No?" the Dark Lord narrowed his soulless, red eyes to thin slits.
"I-I mean t-to say, my Lord, that I…I do not know," Rookwood fought to keep himself from quivering. "I was discovered at this point and thrown out of the Inn. If there was any more to the prediction, I did not hear it."
"Very well. You should have been able to keep yourself hidden but, nevertheless, you have done your part," Lord Voldemort said.
"Thank you, my Lord," Rookwood was now bowed so low to the ground that he could see the individual dust particles resting on the hard floor.
"Get up!" Lord Voldemort hissed.
Rookwood trembled as he got to his feet and then he quickly shuffled backwards until he was in line with the other Death Eaters. He let out a large sigh of relief; he was not going to be punished after all. Who knows? Perhaps, in a few days time, Lord Voldemort would decide that Rookwood did deserve a reward. He became hopeful again.
Lord Voldemort looked around at his Death Eaters who, in turn, stared back at him.
"It should come to no surprise to any of you that I demand to find out of whom the prophecy is referring to. How can there be one with the power to defeat me, the Dark Lord?" Lord Voldemort snorted and a few of the Death Eaters laughed as though the idea that there exists someone who could defeat Voldemort was absolutely absurd. "Born to those who have thrice defied me, born as the seventh month dies. Who has defied me three times and had a child born last June?"
Lord Voldemort scanned the rows of his Death Eaters, waiting for someone to step forward. He frowned when it began to appear as though no one could answer is question.
One of the Death Eaters cleared his throat and said, "M-my Lord?"
Lord Voldemort raised his eyebrows, "Yes, Wormtail? Do you have something to say?"
Peter Pettigrew, the Death Eater known as Wormtail, stepped forward. He twisted his fingers in his hands nervously.
Without making eye contact, Wormtail muttered, "Th-the P-p-potters, my Lord," and he stepped back in line.
"Ah, of course. I believe you know the Potters well, Wormtail?" Voldemort watched as Wormtail bobbed his head in a quick nod. "I may need your help tending to them."
A smile leapt across Voldemort's hideous white face and he closed his reptilian eyes in deep thought. His thoughts were interrupted by another Death Eater's voice.
"My Lord, there is another," Bellatrix Lestrange said.
Lord Voldemort opened his eyes and looked out at her. A low hiss escaped his lips as he took a step forward. With one skeletal hand, he beckoned for Bellatrix to continue.
Bellatrix gazed back at her master, unflinchingly, and spoke one word, "Longbottom."