Chapter 1
Disclaimer: God how I wish I owned Harry Potter, but alas I do not. That privilege belongs to JK. But I can claim the plot can't I?
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Thunder boomed and lightning flashed, framing an ominous portrait of the overcast skies of London. As the heavens boiled and torrential rains fell in chaotic turmoil, an important man sat on the top of a hill in deep contemplation. He sat cross-legged, eyes closed, ignorant of the water pounding around him, and dark as the midnight hue the sky had become. As if sensing the man's mood, the rain continued to flow; not a steady drum but a roar of epic proportions. Yet the man was still oblivious. It was to be expected: The Dark Lord was brooding.
"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..."The cursed words of the prophecy reverberated in his head. Damn Severus and his information. But then he sighed inwardly. He couldn't blame Severus, his most accomplished spy, for bringing him news of the utmost importance. "Although I could Crucio him,"he inwardly smirked.
Still though, how could this be possible? He had carefully and painstakingly concocted his plan to rule Britain and than all Wizarding Europe. For half a century he had plotted and waited, biding his time before he soon thrust himself and his Death Eaters to the thick of war. And victory tasted so close he thought ruefully. The ministry was as good as dead and during the last raid he had led himself, Dumbledore and his blasted order had left covering in fear. Oh yes sir, the war was as good as his!
And then just today came the news, he would be vanquished by a mere child, heir of one of his stupid enemies no less. It was almost laughable, but he didn't get to where he had become by disregarding branches of magic, no matter how pitiful they seemed. No, this prophecy would become a serious hinderence to the dreams he had harbored on since his days at the orphanage. Prophecies were nothing to scoff at. He needed to prepare for the worst.
As the hour past into ten, the storm clouds kept rumbling on, as if taunting Voldemort of his coming demise. He was still there, pondering his predicament, when his faithful servant appeared over the hill.
"My Lord," Bellatrix whispered, thick, black hair falling strewn over her head and face as she bowed toward her master. Her usually immaculate black duel robes were singed and vicious slash marks crisscrossed them, tinged with blood. Her matte black combat boots, laced to her thighs, were caked with mud and the left one appeared scorched.
"You may rise Bella" Voldemort commanded, calculating crimson eyes taking in her visage. Her normally sadistic pale face was coated in an a layer of soot, and her frizzled hair combined with her battered wear completed her haggard look. But her eyes, her gleaming black eyes spoke different. They still gleamed as if they fed off of blood lust, and the maniacal sparkle of insane victory still lingered. "I take that tonight was a success."
"Yes my Lord," she breathed, ever so eager to please her Lord. "A minor difficulty but still a victory none the less."
At that he nodded and glanced over to where the moon should have been, if not for the accursed clouds. He still wanted to think, but Bellatrix seemed she would wait patiently. "What mishap presented itself," he offered in a disinterested tone.
"Well for one my Lord,-" she began nervously, "-Dumbledore showed up himself to the fight."
"Hmm," he stated, not really seeing the problem. Sure the proclaimed savior of the light only graced an appearance when he himself was present, but who knows. The order and the aurors were getting desperate. Not really a cause for concern. "And?" he said, sensing there was more.
"Yes my Lord, and Potter was there-"
He nodded, yes Potter a prime candidate of the thrice defied list. He would need to keep an eye on him.
"-And the thing is-" she continued, "-Is that Dumbledore didn't actually come to fight. He apparated in the heat of the battle and called for Potter. He found him, for I had been dueling him at the time, and disapparated out with him without so much as an exclamation."
Voldemort blanched and his heart started to quicken as he received this new piece of information. Could this be possible? he wondered, shocked. If that old coot knew, the degree of urgency might just have gotten ratcheted up a notch. And if he was taking away James now, he must be hiding the others who might fulfill the prophecy. "The bastard!" he seethed. He needed to think. He needed to prepare. He needed to plot. All of his Slytherin traits would be needed and he must start now.
"This is an interesting turn of developments Bella," he began. "That is all for now, I must be left to think."
"Of course my Lord." And with that she retreated back down the hill.
Voldemort leaned back and let loose a collection of air. A course of action was slowly starting to develop. He needed to kill the ones mentioned in the prophecy, that much was certain. Through his mind he went through the possible names. Dumbledore. Only God knows how many times the old warlock had defied him he mused. But Dumbledore having children? Fat chance of that happening he remarked. So no. Potter he knew about. His third stand coming only a few weeks ago on the steps of the behemoth that was Gringotts. And weren't there rumors that his wife, that filthy mudblood, was pregnant with a child? He'd have Wormtail inquire about that one. And so that left the Longbottoms. But they were an ambiguous case to be honest. He hadn't faced them three times per se, only twice but they did fight of a large group of his inner circle. Did that count as defying in a way? Better to be safe than sorry. He also needed to prepare his "remainder" if you will. On the slim possibility that he would perish, he would need insurance. It was with that thought that he stood in a flourish. It was time for another excursion to the Gaunt's hovel.