Dedication- I dedicate this story to my wonderful friend Emma: May our friendship last across space and time.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to the wonderful J.K.Rowling. Please do not sue me. However, all characters, ideas and basically anything you don't recognise belong to me. Please refrain from copying. Thank you.
Summary: AU. Slight OotP spoilers. What if Voldemort's servant heard the whole prophecy that night? What if Voldemort knew about the power? What if he waited for the two fated children to grow up instead? But when the time comes, who will he choose?
Prologue- A Change in Fate.
The night was dark. There was no moon tonight, nor stars. There were no street lamps in the little alley. The only light visible was a pair of scarlet dots that hung in mid-air. No body was out but it wasn't the night that frightened them. It was something far darker, far more terrifying than a moonless night. No one was safe in the bright daylight, let alone night. And it was the pair of scarlet dots that threatened everything good and pure in the world.
Voldemort waited, his patience wearing thin. Patience was something the Dark Lord lacked severely. It was just one of those traits that Voldemort thought as useless and did not bother to exercise himself in. Though sometimes, impatience was the key to the undoing of many of his plans, he would never admit it to anyone, even himself. Such a thing the Dark Lord does not. Never.
Voldemort looked around him, his dark eyes glinting. It was a narrow alley and quite a dirty one. The buildings around it were black from soot and dust that collected over the years. The residents in here must be muggles for there were no owls around. Voldemort scowled. Stupid muggles. When he's in control, there shall be no muggles, nor mudbloods, or any muggle-loving fools, like the old cracked Dumbledore. Only pure bloods shall be there, for only they are worthy of serving the Dark Lord. Only pure bloods. Voldemort smiled to himself. Yes, what a fine day that would be.
And that brought him back to the present. Where was that idiot, thought Voldemort furiously. He should've put someone more reliable to the task. Perhaps Malfoy, if he had not been busy doing other business for him. Voldemort smiled as he thought of Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy. First in command after Voldemort- his most trusted and faithful Death Eater. He was the most competent out of them all. Most of the rest were burdening, rather than helpful. Yes, there were a few more that he could trust. There was Bellatrix Lestrange, her husband Rohopholus Lestrange, Antonnin Dolohov, and of course, Severus Snape, being in second-command. The rest were mostly futile. There was Crabbe and Goyle, who really were Malfoy's lapdogs, doing Malfoy's bidding (which were most likely to be his commands), Macnair, Avery, Karkaroff and many others that weren't even worth mentioning. The Dark Lord knew that most of his Death Eaters only joined him out of cowardice, but he accepted them into his ranks anyhow, because he knew that the more followers he had, the better.
Voldemort was not stupid, far from it really. The Dark Lord knew that he needed far more followers before he could challenge the Ministry and ultimately, Hogwarts. Sure, he had his ring of Death Eaters, and quite a large band of dark creatures, like dementors and giants. But though the Ministry seemed weak, there were some strong magic that protected it, or else it would've fallen centuries ago. And as for Hogwarts, Voldemort wouldn't attempt to ambush unless he had a hundred percent certainty of succeeding, and with the muggle-loving fool Dumbledore still there, it seemed rather unlikely.
But sooner or later, Hogwarts would fall under his power. He would turn it into a school for dark arts, and accept only those whose blood was pure. The students there would be trained to be his future followers, and they will prove to be more useful than their previous generation. Soon...
It was only a matter of time.
Crack.
A man with black robes popped out of mid air and into the darkness of the night. The hood over his head completely shielded his face from view- any on looker could only see a dark shadow in the place of his face. The man was of medium height but looked scarily menacing. He bowed to Voldemort. It was lucky for him that it was so dark, for he was shaking all over and the fear in his dark eyes were evident.
Voldemort darted his eyes at the man in front of him, "Why so late, Rosier?" he asked, twirling his wand in his hand. This was his game. His favourite sport. Rosier needed to be punished, or else all the others would follow his example, thinking that their master was forgiving. That he was not.
The man quivered at the sight of the stick. "I was delayed, my Lord," he replied truthfully. He bowed even lower, not daring to meet the eyes of his master. They were so penetrating that they were scary. Worse than scary.
"And is that so?" asked Voldemort mercilessly, still twirling his wand carelessly in his hand, and watched his servant's expression, "How long have you been following me, Rosier?"
Rosier didn't reply. "Answer me!"
"T-three years, my Lord," Rosier answered shakily, straightening but careful to avoid the pair of scarlet eyes.
"And how long does it take you to understand that I do not tolerate lateness?" Voldemort croaked.
"I'm sorry my Lord, I was, they nearly, they had-"
"SILENCE!" Voldemort shouted. Such power erupted from the voice that the ground beneath them shook, caused the birds to scatter away and paralyzed Rosier, who dropped to his knees and begged for mercy. "Please forgive me, my Lord. Please, I'll do better next time. I'm promise," he pleaded, desperation in his voice. He should've known better- Voldemort never forgives- he punishes.
"I'm afraid I'm going to have to teach you a little lesson about punctuality, Rosier. Crucio."
Rosier screamed in pain as the curse hit him. His body contorted as he endured the pain of a thousand nails hitting him. He fell back on the ground, his limbs tangled and he screamed in agony. Finally, after what seemed to him years, but was perhaps only a few seconds, Voldemort lifted the curse. Rosier drew in quick sharp breaths noisily as he composed himself in front of his master. His legs felt numb, and he almost fell over with exhaustion. He had been expecting this but he had hoped that his master was lenient tonight.
"Now Rosier, tell me what I have come to hear," said Voldemort in his cold and calm voice, as if nothing had just happened.
"My... my Lord. I was at Hog's Head, a-as you sta-stationed me. And then I saw the muggle-loving f-fool enter. I th-thought it might've been of importance, so followed him. He was interviewing a-a lady for the p- position of the divination teacher. H-he was about to leave when s-she made a prophecy, a real prophecy."
"What is it?" demanded Voldemort, his voice tight. He gripped his wand tightly, ready to aim another Cruciatus curse at Rosier if necessary. This was not good news. He had learnt as a young boy that prophecies had a funny way of coming true, even if you tried to avoid it.
"Something like... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born as the seventh month dies... born to those who have thrice defied them... and the Dark Lord shall mark him as his equal... but he will have power that the Dark Lord knows not...and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... " recited a shivering Rosier to the best of his abilities.
Voldemort gripped his wand harder, "And to whom does this prophecy refer to?" he asked, his scarlet eyes penetrating Rosier once again.
"The strange thing, my Lord, is that the prophecy refers to two boys... the Potters and the Longbottoms," said Rosier, now more relaxed. The aftermath of the Cruciatus curse was leaving.
"Potter and Longbottom..." murmured Voldemort to himself.
"But what shall we do, my Lord? Surely, we can not allow these pathetic fools to live!" cried Rosier in outrage, looking up at his master expectantly.
"Be quiet Rosier. These two do not threaten my reign. They are not even born yet! And when the time comes, I will kill them both," said Voldemort, curling his wandless hand into a fist. "This is my chance to prove to that muggle-loving fool of a man, Dumbledore-" Voldemort spat the name out with disgust, "that nothing can defeat me. And once I kill these boys, they will have no chance against me."
"Yes, of course, my Lord. No one can defeat you. It is only a matter of time before the whole world is under your rule," cried Rosier in admiration. When in doubt, always go with flattery. You could never go wrong, everyone likes to be flattered.
Voldemort smiled. He knew it was true. It's only a matter of time now, he told himself. But- "Keep an eye out for these two boys anyway. I am extremely curious about them. Any abnormal or interesting behavior is to be immediately reported to me."
And without another word, Voldemort was gone in a swish of a cloak and a loud popping noise. Rosier pondered for a moment or two and then followed his master's example.
The night was still as dark before. No evidence in the dark alley showed that two men, who were wanted by the whole of the wizarding world, were here a moment ago. It was the same as it always had been. The rats were still down scattering in the gutters, the birds still rested peacefully in their nests, the bats still soared high in the sky and the foxes still hunted for their prey. There was nothing in the night to suggest that something abnormal had just happened. Something that will change the wizarding world unimaginably much. Something that if had turned out slightly differently, would've changed the fate of millions. But what was done had been done. And the wizarding world silently prepared itself for what was the darkest era since history- the reign of Lord Voldemort.
----
Dumbledore paced around the room. Snape grimaced. He had thought the headmaster was incapable of panicking, until now that was. It was now a couple of hours past midnight and Snape was getting more and more tired. It had been a long night for him, but luckily not painful. Voldemort had called an emergency meeting very late. And meetings with the Dark Lord himself were far from pleasant. Aside from the stinging pain that he always got as a signal for the meeting, Snape also had to endure the fear of being found out every meeting for however long it goes for. And now he was here, for Snape wasn't just any Death Eater, he was a spy for the Order of Phoenix; the organization against Voldemort that Dumbledore was head of.
Dumbledore looked up for the first time in quite a while. "Are you sure about this Severus? Does Voldemort- (Snape winced) - know about the whole of the prophecy?" Dumbledore had an odd expression on his face that Snape couldn't quite understand. It was the second time that the headmaster had asked him that tonight. What was the old man up to?
"I haven't been surer in my whole entire life," was the reply from the potion's master. "Though I wish I wasn't," he added as an afterthought. Sure, he wasn't particularly fond of the Potters, far from it actually. But that didn't mean that he wanted them to die, and from the looks of things, that was what was going to happen to them. Well, considering James Potter, it was quite astonishing that he had lived this long, since he had an unusual trait of seeking trouble, thought Snape with a wry smile. But the Longbottoms were nice enough, and they certainly didn't deserve this.
Snape guessed that the only good thing that had come out of this entire stupid prophecy was that it gave them new hope, however slim it might be. For starters, Snape just could not bring himself to understand who a yet unborn boy could be the saviour of the entire wizarding world, when thousands of trained Aurors couldn't. And then there was the fact that 'he' would be killed by Voldemort before he even had the chance to defy him.
Dumbledore sighed. "I knew that there was a spy, but I only hoped that he had not heard the entire prophecy. But unfortunately for us, this isn't the case. What exactly did he say, Severus?"
Snape pointed his hand towards Dumbledore's desk. The headmaster nodded in approval and swiftly went over to his desk, picked up a flat dish and handed it to his colleague, who accepted it with a grimace.
Snape took out his wand, pointed to his temples and then slowly pointed it down into the bowl. A silvery misty substance flowed out from his head and sank gracefully into the bowl, swirling and twirling, like a liquid, yet not quite. Light from Dumbledore's fireplace reflected off its glossy clear surface, making it sparkle. Dumbledore lent forward and saw into Snape's memory.
Small dark rectangular shaped objects stood around him, silent yet watchful, examining his every move. Dumbledore knew that of course, this was not true, as he was in Snape's memory and thus no human could see him, much less objects. Dumbledore took a large stride forward and bent down next to the block closest to him. He gently placed his hand on the block. It was cold to his touch. Icy. He lent closer and in the darkness, he could just make out some letters and numbers.
It was a cemetery.
Typical, thought Dumbledore with a wry smile. He stood up and dusted himself with his hands and sat on a stone plate, waiting. It wasn't long before he heard several loud cracking noises, all one after another. Five dark shapes emerged out of the shadow and came into view. Their black robes that covered their faces made it impossible to tell who it was. But not that Dumbledore needed to know. It was obvious. The tall one was Lucius Malfoy, the slightly shorter one next to him was his colleague Snape. The two on the opposite side were the Lestranges, Bellatrix and her husband, Rohopholus. And the last one was Dolohov.
Antonin Dolohov.
Dumbledore remembered all the Order members he had killed.
Dolohov.
Just that name made thousands of people quaver in fear. He was the most wanted Death Eater, after the Lestrange couple. He had been almost caught several times, but every time he managed to somehow escape by himself at the last moment, causing the short-lived victories to end in disaster. Except for once. That was the time Moody had caught him. For the light side, it seemed to be the end of one of Voldemort's most faithful Death Eaters. There was much rejoicing from people who had lost family or friends to him, thinking that the murderer would finally be sentenced.
But of course Voldemort had to intervene. And Dolohov escaped once again.
Typical.
Dumbledore shook his memories away and concentrated on the scene in front of him. By now all the Death Eaters, though only dark shapes in the night, had appeared and had formed a circle, leaving only one space open.
A dark tall shape loomed out of the darkness, as if materializing from thin air. The Death Eaters bowed low and the only sounds that could be heard were that of the swishing of cloaks. Voldemort signaled for them to rise, which they did simultaneously, as if they were one. Dumbledore seated himself on a stone and waited for Voldemort to speak.
"My Death Eaters," said Voldemort, turning his head in several directions and addressing his followers, "I have called for an emergency meeting. And there is a reason for that. Do any of you know? Or any care to guess?"
A quick murmur ran through the circle as the Death Eaters wondered what their Lord was talking about. All of them except for, of course, Rosier, had no idea what this was all about. Finally the noise quieted down, and a shape took a step away from its position in the circle.
The shape bowed low. "My Lord," came Bellatrix Lestrange's young high voice from under the black hood, "Have you caught that dratted cousin of mine or any other of his pathetic little friends?" Her tone was fairly excited, as if this was a very thrilling thought.
Voldemort laughed. "Not today, Bellatrix. But I assure you, when I, and believe me I shall, capture them, I will make sure you are the first to know, and I will personally give you the job of 'interrogating' them. It is something I'm sure you have been looking forwards to all your life."
"Thank you, my Lord," said Bellatrix. She bowed low again and returned to her position in the circle, leaving the purpose of the meeting still unknown.
"Any other guesses?"
Another shape broke away from the circle and bowed. This time, however, the voice belonged to a man. It was deep and icy, with an arrogant hint in it. One could guess now whom the voice belonged to.
Lucius Malfoy.
"Have the trolls agreed to aid us?"
Voldemort shook his head disappointingly. "I expected better from you, Lucius. You of all people should know that I care too less about trolls to even know about them, much less hold a meeting specifically to discuss them. No, it is not that."
Finally a third figure stepped forward. "Has something unusual happened that will influence our chances of winning the war?" asked the third voice, sounding very different to the first two.
It was Snape.
Voldemort laughed again. "Of all people, Severus, you are the one who is the closest. Yes, something happened tonight. Something very important, just like you said. And it certainly does influence our chances of winning the war, Severus, it does..."
"Rosier," commanded Voldemort, turning to the Death Eater, "Inform them on what has happened."
"Yes, my Lord," replied Rosier eagerly. He stepped forward with an odd sort of glow about him and explained the prophecy. As he spoke, no one uttered a single word. At one stage, Bellatrix gave out a shriek, but was silenced by her husband. So for a good twenty minutes, Rosier spoke, and he added in quite a few fictional sections about his bravery in spying and how if it was anyone else, they would have failed (this earned him quite a few glares from around the circle).
When he finished his tale, the Death Eaters fell silent, each in his or her own world. For Snape, he was in turmoil. On one hand, this was a chance for the light side to finally win the war; on the other hand however, it seemed quite ludicrous to think that an unborn baby could possibly defeat the Dark Lord. It was like comparing a werewolf with an ant. What are the chances of success?
None whatsoever, said a little voice nastily in his head.
"What do you think?" asked Lord Voldemort, looking expectantly at the group. "What are your opinions? Speak. I want to hear all of you today. No one shall leave until they have spoken their mind. Who shall go first? What about you, Rohopholus, you have not spoken today."
Rohopholus Lestrange stepped forward from his position next to his wife and bowed. "I am wondering if this prophecy is reliable. Could it be fake? Perhaps it is a trap our enemies have set. I think we should find out more about this Sybil Trelawney before we act. Is she really a true Seer?"
Voldemort cackled. "That was no more than I expected from you, Rohopholus. Ever the careful one. Never acted on impulse. No, I assure you of the reliability of the prophecy."
A strong gale blew past and as the night temperature dropped considerably, several Death Eaters shivered. In the distant, a few flapping sounds could be heard, indicating that several birds flew out of trees around them. Dumbledore found himself speculating at Snape's remarkable attention to little details.
Dumbledore stood up as Voldemort went onto the next Death Eater in line. He had heard enough to guess quite accurately what Voldemort's action plan will be. He felt a familiar tug and allowed himself to be pulled out of Snape's memory.
After a whirlpool of silvery liquid, Dumbledore was back in his brightly lit office again, with Snape opposite him with the same grimace he had worn since the beginning of the night. Snape looked at him expectantly. Dumbledore sighed heavily and sat behind his desk. The Potion's Master noted that the old man seemed to have another twenty years in the past hour or so.
"From my knowledge and understanding of Voldemort," said Dumbledore finally, "I am fairly sure o what he will do."
"And?" asked Snape, dreading the answer.
"There is good and bad news," replied the Headmaster regretfully. He picked up his wand and waved gently towards the direction of the fire place. In an instant, red hot flames appeared and warmed up the room.
Snape rubbed his left forearm gingerly, and then said, "I've had enough of bad news today. Tell me the good first."
"The good news," said Dumbledore slowly, as if choosing his words carefully, "is that neither of the boys is in immediate danger. Voldemort wants the boys to live, so both the Potter and Longbottom families are safe, at least, for the moment. The bad news... is the reason why Voldemort wants the boys to live."
"You do know that that makes no sense whatsoever," replied Snape half- jokingly, although knowing perfectly well that there was logic behind Dumbledore's words. If there was anyone in the world who knew the Dark Lord, then it was Dumbledore. But counteracting this advantage was Voldemort's ability to predict Dumbledore's actions and his way of manipulating Dumbledore's kindness and trust against him. Both men knew each other as well as they knew themselves.
"You see," explained Dumbledore as he got up and walked around the room, "Voldemort has become over-confident, arrogant even. He has come to think that nothing in the world, not me, not anyone, can possible defeat him. To him, it's only a matter of time before Britain, and then the whole world, comes under his rule. And this is his possible undoing."
"Are you implying that Voldemort doesn't think that either boy will have any chance against him? Is that why he is going to let them live? Because he doesn't believe the prophecy?"
"Not so much in the sense that the prophecy is untrue. He knows better than that. But he is too self-believing to think for one moment that an unborn child could be his downfall."
"To be honest," Snape said icily, "I don't blame him. I can't believe that the fate of the war depends on... a stupid prophecy. I mean, is all that we have done for nothing? If everything is fate and destiny, then why do we even bother?"
"No, Severus. You know that is not true. Destiny may tangle with lives, yet in the end, it is the choices we make that matters. Fate is not like a manuscript, carved into stone and unable to be altered. It is more like a river, flowing in its own course. Yet if we dig a trench, it will flow through the way we want it to. Fate is there, but we can shape it, bend it, change it, and divert it, through our choices in life. Possibly everything that we have done is the key to defeating Voldemort, but how can one be sure of such a thing? The answer is that you can't, and therefore, you have to try it to see."
Dumbledore stopped at his desk and spun one of the gadgets lying there. He continued, "Getting back to the situation at hand. Voldemort is going to wait until the boys grow up. He knows the prophecy; he is going to watch them. And he will wait for a sign. A sign which will indicate to him which boy is a stronger opponent. Then he will strike. But when he strikes he shall not only kill the one he chose, but also the other, just to be on the safe side."
"Why wait until then?" asked Snape somewhat curiously, "Why not kill the boys' parents? Why not make sure they are not born in the first place? Why not just eliminate the opposition before they have a chance to defend themselves? I have not heard the Dark Lord was famous for his mercy or fairness in war."
Dumbledore shook his head. "Once again we come back to his arrogance. He wants to prove to me. Prove to the world. That is why. He wants to show me that no one can stop him, not even someone whom a prophecy states is his equal. And when that equal is dead, the world will lose its chance. For if even his equal can not kill him, then who can? That is why. He wants to world to lose hope. "
"But how can two boys be the end of him?" muttered Snape.
"That is a question," said Dumbledore, "that we would all like to know the answer to. But fate and destiny work in mysterious and wondrous ways. And the pure irony of it all would be quite funny if the wizarding world wasn't at stake."
"Only you can appreciate such irony," murmured Snape accusingly.
Dumbledore laughed for the first time that evening. "Quite true Severus, quite true." Dumbledore walked over to the fireplace, picked up a grey pot filled with dust and grabbed a handful. Then he handed the pot over to Snape.
Snape scowled. "You know how much I hate floopowder," said the disgusted Potion's Master as he too took a handful of the powder, though much more unwillingly. "And where are we going?"
"I think," said Dumbledore soberly, "that it is time we tell the Potters and Longbottoms about the prophecy. They deserve to know, after all, it is their sons who are involved."
Snape rolled his eyes and said, "I honestly would not like to see the way Potter reacts."
Dumbledore shook his head. "I really believe that the two, or rather three, including Sirius, of you should put what was past behind you. This is no time to hold school boy grudges. In the face of a common enemy, Severus, we are all allies."
"Tell that to Potter and Black."
Dumbledore sighed. "It is such a pity. I rather think that if you gave each other a chance you would find you will become quite good friends."
"I won't live to see that day," said Snape wryly.
"We'd best be off then," said Dumbledore sadly. He walked over to his desk and hurriedly wrote a note. Then he walked over to Fawkes and handed it to him. "Give this to Frank Longbottom. Go now." And in a flash, the golden phoenix disappeared. "Come now Severus," said Dumbledore as he walked into the fireplace and said clearly, "Godric's Hollow."
Snape grimaced and after Dumbledore disappeared, followed and did the same.