Summary: After forcibly revealing details about the future to Voldemort, Scorpius is trying to repair the damage—while being trained as the Dark Lord's new apprentice. Time-Travel/AU. Mirrors DH.
A/N: Rated T for violence, torture, character death, alcohol use, and mild language. Rating may change due to violence.
This is written as a direct sequel to A Matter of Time, but it can stand on its own. If you intend to read both, I recommend reading the first story first. Paste this in your browser to go straight there: /s/7171349/1/A_Matter_of_Time
If you have seen the Star Wars films, you may imagine this as the months following Revenge of the Sith, in which Darth Sidious trains Vader in the Dark Side (with some obvious differences, of course; this is not a crossover, though it is extremely inspired by Star Wars).
British English used throughout.
CHAPTER ONE
PROPHECY
There were two beds in the room, a peculiarity in Malfoy Manor. The walls were painted grey, and Slytherin green curtains hung covering the two large windows. A newspaper was laid out carelessly on one of the beds; I had tossed it there out of frustration.
I stood beside the bed, robed in black, and stared down at the floor, thinking. It was not the headline news, but rather a small notice about Hogwarts Headmaster Severus Snape's so-called resignation that irked me. It was irritating to think that everything—everything was my fault, and now, I needed to find a way to fix it.
A knock came at the door. I reached for my wand automatically—the only person in the manor that I trusted was the one who shared his room, and Draco did not knock.
The intruder slowly pushed open the door; a silver hand closed around the edge, and a small man peered inside. He lingered on the threshold, his watery eyes examining me, as if he were trying to recognise an old acquaintance.
"I'm Scorpius, not Draco, what do you want?" I said, rolling my eyes, annoyed that the coward was too afraid of me to ask my identity.
"The Dark Lord requests your presence," said Wormtail, in his squeaky voice, "in the parlour."
Then again, if history was any indication, Wormtail was probably just acting afraid.
I strode past him onto the second floor landing, locking the door with magic. I stowed my wand beneath my robes, and descended the stairs with purpose—this was what I wanted—to see him. I hesitated for the space of a second before continuing into the parlour.
Most of the room's furniture was set near the walls, creating a space in the centre where there was only a single high-backed chair beside the handsome mantelpiece, and a square table a few feet away. A pensieve was set on the table, but I did not have time yet to wonder about its purpose.
I sank to my knees and said through gritted teeth, "You wanted to see me, my Lord?"
Lord Voldemort turned slowly around to face me. His face glowed in the dim, flickering light from the fireplace; it was snake-like and white, with slits for nostrils—it was not a humourous sight—it was frightening. He held his wand loosely between long, thin fingers, and walked closer, until he stood directly over me.
I looked straight ahead, my eyes narrowed in defiance.
"Something to say, Scorpius?" asked Voldemort, in a cold, high-pitched voice that dared me to speak my mind.
Recklessly, I voiced the cause of my annoyance, "You can't leave Carrow in charge of Hogwarts! She'll ruin the whole school. Don't you know what's been going on?"
"Enough," said Voldemort.
That was his warning for me to shut up immediately, but I knew he was going to punish me soon anyway.
"No!" I shouted. "You don't get it. She's not crushing the resistance. She'll just inspire more!"
Voldemort pulled me up by the collar suddenly, and pushed me against wall, jamming his yew wand under my chin. He gave me a second to beg him not to do it, but he was going to anyway, so I said nothing.
I screamed as he cursed me—it was like hot knives stabbing every inch of my skin—I felt trapped between the wall and his wand.
It ended after a short moment; I was left gasping, and then Voldemort spoke again, "You did not tell me that Snape was a traitor."
"I swear, I didn't know," I whispered.
Voldemort pushed my chin up, forcing me to make eye contact—I knew what he was going to do, and then a swirl of memories flashed before me. I tried to fight, but Voldemort did not relent. I let him pick out the thoughts he needed—he already knew, anyway—and then he threw me to the floor.
"Liar," Voldemort hissed as I scrambled to my knees and looked up at him. "Why didn't you tell me, Scorpius?" He was still watching me with his murderous red eyes.
"You never asked," I said, my gaze fixed on the tip of the wand that I was certain would curse me again. If torture was inevitable, I thought, I might as well earn it.
"But you told him to go into hiding. You warned him that I would soon discover his betrayal, didn't you?"
My lips parted, but I was afraid to speak. I could not deny the accusation.
"It does not matter," said Voldemort. "Severus Snape has been killed."
No. I was stunned. I had wondered about the notice in the paper—I had thought that surely, if Voldemort had not found him, his treachery would have been headline news—but I could not allow myself to think that Snape would have got himself caught so quickly.
"Against my orders," Voldemort continued. "Why do you think I would order my servants to capture him alive?"
He was expecting me to answer. I tried to think, then I remembered what happened when his Death Eaters thought they had captured Draco—that was the answer. "To be sure that you kill the right person. You think he might have faked his death?" There was a hopeful inflection in my tone.
Voldemort reached into his robes and pulled out a thin glass vial filled with silvery smoke—a memory. "I would not want to risk underestimating a man who has somehow managed to deceive me for so long. But you know him well. Would you like to see how it happened? Perhaps we can make sense of it together."
His wand was no longer pointed at me, and I was no longer afraid of the Cruciatus Curse. My punishment was decided. He was going to force me to watch Severus die.
"Take it." He handed me the vial. "We will watch it later. There are other matters we must attend to."
I could have broken the glass. I could have smashed it when he wasn't looking, and the memory would be lost—I would not have to see it. He knew I could do that, but he still gave it to me. I wondered why, then I realised that there was no way I was going to let anything happen to that memory. He was showing his trust in me, and it was not misplaced.
"Show me your arm."
I knew what he wanted to see. I raised my left forearm and allowed him to push back the sleeve. He loved to see his Mark on my arm; it was a sign that he had won, and that he now owned me. He touched the tip of his wand to it; the skull and snake turned black, and I cringed from the burning sensation.
"Rise," Voldemort said.
I took a moment to recover from the pain that still pulsed beneath my skin, then I stood and waited for further instruction.
He led me into the drawing room, and my eyes widened at the scene. The room, like the parlour, was illuminated only by a fire in the grate, and the long dining table was set up at one end, beneath the crystal chandelier. Directly above the centre of the table, an unconscious woman floated upside-down, as though bound and hung by an invisible rope. She probably had less than an hour left to live.
Voldemort took his seat at the head of the table, and gestured for me to join him on his immediate right. I wondered if there was a rule written somewhere stating that the Dark Lord's right-hand man must always be a traitor.
The Death Eaters began to arrive within seconds. They all took their usual seats; there were no changes in rank that night. The woman rotated slowly. The others averted their eyes, but I watched her because—despite my horror—I was curious. Her hair hung in a matted mess, and thick spectacles magnified her eyelids. I did not recognise her.
Draco sat beside his parents, and our eyes met for a moment. I tried to communicate that I did not know what the meeting was about any more than he did. Bellatrix Lestrange glared at me from her place halfway down the table. Most of the Death Eaters hated me, and the few that didn't at least regarded me with distrust. Voldemort knew, of course—he treated me special in public specifically so that they would never trust me, and I would have no chance at turning his followers against him.
He had won. He owned me. I would have been a fool to believe otherwise.
The meeting began. I listened to every word as Voldemort addressed the room, and the Death Eaters who worked at the Ministry gave their reports—Yaxley, as usual, made no attempt to hide his yearning for approval. It was of little importance to me. I wanted to know what would happen at Hogwarts once the Easter holidays were over, but he was completely ignoring my concerns.
It went on for maybe a half-hour, and then, Voldemort's gaze travelled down the table, and I tensed upon realising who he was about to address.
"Do you recognise our guest, Draco?" He looked up to indicate the unconscious woman.
All of the Death Eaters were now watching the revolving body. Draco nodded, looking terrified. My fingers shook on my lap.
"Who is it? Tell us, Draco," said Voldemort.
"Pr—professor Trelawney," Draco muttered, averting his eyes from the woman and glancing only for a split-second at Voldemort's face.
"Yes…" said Voldemort, and he addressed the room again, "For those of you who do not know, we are joined here tonight by Sybill Trelawney, who, until recently, taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Professor Trelawney was also the Seer who, eighteen years ago, made a rather interesting prophecy."
Voldemort pointed his wand at the woman and gave it a flick—her eyes opened, but they were unseeing, and then she started to speak in a harsh, monotone voice, "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… and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives…"
Trelawney fell silent, and there were murmurs of comprehension down the table. I wondered why he had not allowed her to recite the entire prophecy.
"Either I must kill Harry Potter, or he must kill me, and since I cannot be killed…" He paused for effect. "Unfortunately, the effort to extract the prophecy from her memory has rendered Professor Trelawney unfit for teaching…" I squeezed my eyes shut; I knew what he was going to do. "Avada Kedavra!"
Green light flooded the room, and the body fell, dead, with a crash onto the table. Voldemort ended the meeting, reminding everyone that Harry Potter must be captured unharmed, and then he said as an afterthought—though there was no doubt he wanted everyone to hear— "Stay behind, Scorpius."
He stood, and walked over to the gilded mirror that hung above the mantel. The Death Eaters filed out; Wormtail disposed of Trelawney's body; Draco glanced back at me before following his parents, and within minutes, I was again alone with Voldemort.
"You know the full prophecy?" Voldemort asked, still gazing up at the mirror.
"Yes, my Lord," I said.
…and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… It was then that I understood that Trelawney's death had been pointless. I knew the prophecy. He could have asked me, and I would have told him.
"What is this 'power the Dark Lord knows not'?" Voldemort asked quietly. There was a hint of doubt in his tone.
"Love," I answered with a smirk. "It just means love, my Lord. Harry Potter doesn't stand a chance."
"He is still seen as a symbol of the rebellion," Voldemort said. "That Potter continues to live is enough to inspire hope in my… imperfection. His death at my hand would prove my superiority and tear any resistance to my reign to pieces. Yet, it would be foolish to destroy a part of my own soul when there are only three left…"
His last sentence was a mere whisper, and he glared at me. Evidently, I still had not been forgiven for killing his snake.
This Voldemort was not going to underestimate the power of love, I knew because while he forced Harry to hate me, and sowed confusion in my mind toward the Order of the Phoenix, he never tried to turn me against Draco. It was love that kept us fighting through each day, even though we had already lost.
I needed to know his plans involving Harry—I needed to be absolutely sure. "You're not going to kill him, my Lord?" I asked.
Voldemort's answer was a simple and final, "No."
A horrifying realisation swept over me. If we were ever going to destroy Voldemort, I would have to kill Harry Potter.