The thunder boomed overhead, once again. Drenched, cold and utterly miserable, the young man with a thin face, hooked nose and icy black eyes wondered why he had been summoned here, on a lonely cliff overlooking Godric's Hollow, of all places. The Lord works in mysterious ways, he reminded himself, and forcibly clamped down on all doubts arising, like stirring worms in the darkness of his heart. He had capital news to give to his Lord; news that would greatly please his Lord and lead him to rooting out the only possibility of a great enemy-news that would see the young man rise in glory and power through the hordes that served the Lord. He would no longer be laughed at, or hated at sight, or snubbed due to his heritage. He was a master at potions in his own right, and he knew well that he was a superior duellist than most in his Lord's hordes. But he had one great weapon stored away for any near and far crisis-the weapon he had prepared to be used in his moments of great danger, a weapon forged in tears and humiliation and anger and hatred-the weapon to guard his mind and hoodwink any who wished to access the thoughts playing around in it. However, he dared not test that against his Lord-he had no wishes to experiment on something that might lead to a long and arduous death-for his Lord was not quick to give a clean death to those he deemed traitors. The young man stumbled on, and slipped twice, but managed to finally kneel at the feet of another man standing on the cliff, looking out like a scout over the village that the cliff heralded.
Thunder flashed overhead, and in the momentary light, Severus Snape saw his Lord.
A bald head, inhuman, bloodless, chalk white, with blood-red lips and hollow cheeks. But what made the face perhaps crueller was the eyes-which were in direct contrast with the view the face presented. The eyes were brown, and deceptively warm; eyes that promised warm treatment and friendliness, and were serene-but when you looked into those eyes, you could feel that something lurking underneath-something hidden away-something which is not friendly, something which warns you and you want to turn back, but you cannot, because you convince yourself that it was just a trick of the light, and that eyes so warm cannot have anything cruel hidden underneath it. It is then that you commit your greatest mistake; for you trust, and to the person with those warm eyes, there is no greater sacrilege than to trust him. Trust him, and you will appear weak to him, and he may give you a clean kill. Mistrust him, and you will appear strong to him, and he would certainly burn down your family, your reputation, your world, before slaughtering you, and he would enjoy every bit of it.
"Arise, Severus." The man said simply.
Severus arose, and the man inclined his bald head towards the village spread out before them. "Beautiful, isn't it?" He said, quite pleasantly.
"My Lord." Severus simply said.
"You are obedient, Severus. Do you know yet, why you have been called over here, in this stormy night, on a stony cliff overlooking a village that hates the Dark Arts?"
"I don't know, My Lord."
The man smiled, a deadly smile. "So that I can give you a good lesson in thunder, Severus. Come here."
He motioned with his hand, towards the cliff edge, and Severus inched reluctantly towards there. When they were standing side by side on the cliff edge, the man said, "You see the steep incline of the cliff? Let us say, for example, we throw you from this cliff. You would fall for, say, eight minutes? Hmm, you see, I can try hitting you with a Crucio, but since that particular beloved spell takes a bit of concentration, you can say that about seven of them can hit you for a minute. But if I choose the bone-breaker, then I can chuck them at you for say-ten per minute? So that means I have eighty bone-breakers to break the bones of your body while you fall-a human body has about two and a half times that number of bones, right? Hmm, so if I manage to hit the joints-I can see myself gaining a fair hit ratio in the eight minutes. The rest, I'm afraid, the fall would do."
His right hand clamped on Severus's collar, and he pulled the younger man. It is only then Severus saw the hard muscle of the hand and the thickness of it-he had no doubts now that his Lord could break him in two with just his hands if he so wanted. Severus was dragged back like a doll, and deposited on the cliff surface. The man sat in front of him, and smiled, a dazzling smile.
"Or else," he spoke, "you can simply tell me what you heard today at the Hog's Head, as our esteemed Professor Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts, interviewed a supposed claimer for the post of the Professor of Divination-going under the name of Sybill Trelawney, who, quite surprisingly, was accepted for the post, I must admit. So, Severus," his voice grew dangerous, "tell me the prophecy you heard. It doesn't take a genius to add up the facts."
"Yes, My Lord," Severus said, "Dumbledore had nearly given up on the whole farce of the interview, when that woman, Trelawney's face went catatonic-I mean, I did not have any idea whether she retained any sanity. I cannot fully quote to you whatever she said, but paraphrasing her, she declared to Dumbledore that at the end of September, a boy shall be born to those who had defied you thrice, and that he would have power you would never know-he shall be your destroyer, and then she said-she said-" Severus searched his memory-"Neither can live while the other survives." He finished.
The older man stared at him for a moment, then rose, and walked to the edge of the cliff. He stared at the village of Godric's Hollow, and looked like he was trying to remember something very hard and entirely unpalatable to him. He sighed, and closed his eyes once. When he opened them, all traces of warmth in them had gone. They were terrifyingly blank, devoid of all expression. He turned to Severus.
"Do you want to come watch me killing the Potters, Severus?"
Then he surveyed the younger man's face as triumph at giving a vastly important news to his Lord turned to that of abject horror-how curious, he thought, Severus of all people having a soft spot for the Potters.
"My-My Lord, spare the woman, please! Spare the mother!" Severus yelled, half-crazed.
The older man raised an eyebrow, and smirked. "Desiring married women, Severus? Tut, tut. Not a very prime example of our society, are you? But then, what shall I do with prime examples, Severus? Hmm, you can have her as a reward after my work is finished. This woman must be something to you, eh Severus? To still desire her even after her association with the Potters-and what an association had that been-bearing a Potter child! My, my, Severus!"
Severus shot to his feet. "I love Lily Evans." He whispered.
The older man did not let go of his smirk. "Unfortunately for you, Severus, she's Lily Potter now. However, let's see if she wants to do die as a Potter or rather would live as an Evans. In any event," the older man's gaze sharpened-"I'm sampling her first, Severus. You understand how unfair it would be if I didn't. You do understand how I cannot let anyone of my followers be poisoned by what they desire, so I wholeheartedly desire them to achieve their desire, but must have to sample it first. I'll leave her alright for you, Severus-don't worry-you aren't worrying, are you, Severus? You're not-being upset, are you, dear Severus?" he approached Severus with a glint in his eyes, as a thin, deadly wand appeared from within the folds of his robes in his hand.
Severus' deadly pale face became even paler, and he instinctively took a foot back, till his brain suddenly struck upon a saving fact, and he said,
"Wait, My Lord, you forgot!"
"I did?" there was genuine wonder in the older man's voice.
"Yes!" Severus said, "It is not only the Potters-the Longbottoms too-they defied you thrice, too! It could be their boy too!"
The older man arched his eyebrows, and contemplated Severus a moment, then smiled. "You must really love Lily Evans, Severus." He smirked. "You have hit upon a good point, and for that, I congratulate you, Severus. Yes, the Longbottoms are there too-and they too have a child approaching. I would wait, Severus. I have all the time in the world to wait and pick the option that's best. Both are purebloods, you see-and I would hate to destroy both such well-bred lines-root out the weeds, maybe? Oh, that won't do for you, Severus, will it? Crucio!"
The curse hit Severus, and he writhed on the surface of the cliff, under the rain as thunder again flashed ahead. The older man kneeled and brought his lips near to the ear of the writhing man.
Dim, through the haze of absolute pain, Severus Snape heard, "Oh, I will wait, Severus. I won't kill anyone today. I will wait instead. But when the time comes, be sure, that I will make Lily Evans scream her soul out before I finish her. You saved the lives of quite a few today-and I will wait and see what this turns out to be. Finish your screams, Severus, rest a while, and be at the meeting tomorrow. Lord Voldemort will have his fun as he wills it, be it today, or sometime later. Have a good night, Severus."
The crack of the appration went unheard by the sobbing Severus.
(line break)
"We're all done for." The greying man in torn robes whispered to his partner as he desperately deflected a spell. His partner was not doing so well.
Sturgis Podmore was not a Master duellist, but he was no pushover, though he certainly appeared to be so now. He was surrounded completely, seven Death Eaters blocking all exits out of the forest clearing, and he had only a rapidly tiring Elphias Doge trying to protect his back. It had been an hour since Podmore had not been able to cast any offensive spells; there was just no time. From the moment the first man had fallen, they had concentrated on defending themselves, and that had been their undoing. The Death Eaters had kept up the barrage of spells, and alternated with Unforgivables that Doge and Podmore had to avoid; there was no help coming, and Fabian Prewett was dead at their feet, while Dedalus Diggle was barely hanging onto both his life and left arm, which was slowly decomposing into dust. Sturgis felt the barrage of offensive spells halt for a moment; he immediately took the chance and shot an Incarcerous, but the spell did not seem to do anything.
How could they? For Elphias Doge knew that there was only one magical weapon, only one spell against the ten hooded, wraith-like, rasping, foul creatures gliding towards them. He closed his eyes as he felt the all-too familiar chill and the bone-deep feeling of absolute despair.
"Elphias!" Podmore shoved him. "C'mon, help me! Cast the spell with me-mine cannot drive them off fully!"
Elphias raised a tired eye and looked at the wraith gliding towards them. Death. Decay. Despair. A whole string of fucking D's. No use fighting anymore. The Dark Lord's already won. We're just the bad penny that keeps turning up and one day he'll just melt us in his abominable fires instead of chucking us away. Why protect the magical world? It is in the nature of things to end. All things must end. The end…..
Dimly, Elphias saw Podmore futilely speak the spell and get only a wisp of silvery cloud exit his wand, sputter and extinguish. His wand fell from his outstretched hand, and the wraith in front of him took his face in its hands, cupping his cheeks, like a long-lost lover, and slowly, slowly, dip its head towards Podmore's-
"EXPECTRO PATRONUM!"
The clearing filled up with light, with hope, with happy memories of sunlit days, with the promise of a better world, and with a luminescent, silver, majestic stag.
The wraiths uttered a screech and retreated, the stag charging them down, and it was warm once more, and the threat was there once more. Now the human threat. No longer the dementors, but the Death Eaters once more.
Elphias stood up groggily, and someone-a very familiar figure rushed past him, and swung his wand at the Death Eater beginning to cast a spell at Elphias. The Death Eater was banished into the tree beside him, and fell to the ground after the impact, lying motionless. Doge didn't find himself caring about the man's life expectancy.
"You're getting rusty, boyo." The hazel-eyed bespectacled man spoke.
"I knew you'd be here. I knew it! You'd come on time!" Doge laughed, tears of relief running down his face.
"Well, now, let's give them hell, huh?" The hazel-eyed man winked, and turned.
"Is that-is that-" Sturgis started to speak, wild-eyed, when Doge stopped him. "James. It's James." He laughed in relief.
"Well, I'm also missing the party, it seems!" Another voice spoke, as a mousy-haired man scampered out from the forest behind them.
"Peter! You'll have time for introductions later! Lend a hand here, please!" the hazel-eyed man shouted, ducking in time to avoid an Avada Kedavra and knocking out the legs from underneath the Death Eater who casted it at him. It was soon followed by a jet of yellow light hitting the Death Eater squarely in the face, which suddenly filled with boils which burst at the same time, blinding the man. He was calmly stunned.
Peter Pettigrew, who had been tending to Diggle, suddenly looked up in time to avoid a Sectumsempra straight to the face and shot a stunner at the Death Eater in retaliation, who batted it aside and charged with a purple curse with Peter had no intention of gaining any practical knowledge of. The Death Eater laughed as he fired the curses, while Peter practically danced to avoid the purple and yellow lights; he tried to block one spell and failed miserably and only managed to avoid that by sheer reflex. Trying to dodge another spell though, he fell straight on his face, and crushed his nose. The Death Eater, instead of ending him then and there, started laughing at this, but was thrown into the trees by the quick banishing hex cast from behind him. James rushed to kneel beside Peter, and helped him to his feet.
"It's-it's no use, James…I can't fight, I'm…I'm dead weight here, leave me and take them and go…"
"Shut that stupid mouth!" James hissed at him, at which Peter's eyes widened and a half-snarl started to form on his face, but got interrupted by an uncaring James who continued-"You will not die here today! Every coward has his day to be brave finally, Peter! And the cowards who take that chance live to be cowards one more day at least! Fight, I know you can fight!" James tried to continue, but there came a horrified look on his face as Peter pointed the wand straight at his face. It was fortunate that James moved out of his range just in time, because the Sectumsempra hit the creeping Death Eater just in the shoulder and tore gashes into his left side and arm as he fell to the ground and started gurgling, frothing at the mouth, crimson foam. Peter sat up, and grimaced at James.
"A coward has his own ways to fight."
James's smile widened. Yes! Peter had finally managed to-
The thought wasn't completed as the remaining three Death Eaters all charged him together from all sides. James, still kneeling on the ground, didn't even have any time to rise. The Death Eaters smiled in triumph. The Hero would die kneeling on the ground.
Except it didn't really happen the way they had planned it. James half-rose and twirled his wand in a circle, and to the Death Eater's utmost surprise, Aguamenti had water splattering across their fronts. James took that split-second hesitancy of them as his chance, and rapidly cast an overpowered freezing spell which had him chattering his teeth, but the water molecules on their way to hit the Death Eaters turned into hard pointy icicles, and hit the three unfortunate men with the force of bullets. They fell like puppets whose strings had been cut. James rose to his full height, and cast a warming spell on himself to stop the chattering teeth at least. His eyes darkened in pain. Fabian was dead, and Diggle would perhaps never be able to use his left arm properly-but-but-at least Podmore and Doge and Peter was alright.
He tied up the alive Death Eaters, and turned and smiled at Podmore.
"Sweet Merlin, James Fucking Potter saved us. Again. Three times now." He mumbled.
"Let's go." James commanded.
As they grasped hands and touched the Portkey, and arrived at the Ministry Hall, a great cheer went up from the people assembled, who instantly burst into applause, overwhelmingly directed at the hazel-eyed bespectacled messy-haired man; a child, a shocking copy of the man but with stunning emerald eyes, ran out of the crowd and jumped into the arms of the man with a scream of "Daddy!". As father and son embraced, many of the crowd wiped a tear from their eyes, and someone screamed with delight from the crowd, "Potter! Potter!"
The crowd took up the cry, and chanted in one voice, as if the word was synonymous to peace, justice, and above all, hope. "Potter! Potter! Potter! POTTER!"
James Potter raised his hand in acknowledgement of the praise, his eyes shining with mirth, a satisfied smile on his face, and emerald-eyed six-year-old Harry Potter laughed with joy at the Hero he knew his father was of the Magical World.
(line break)
He idly watched the eight-year-old girl begging on the streets. The dirt and grime and the ragged, torn, filthy clothes covering her did not fool Lord Voldemort.
She was magical.
What was a Magical Child doing begging in Mudblood London? But that was not the reason Lord Voldemort was here.
But even he did not know why he was here. A whim? An impulse? He believed in instincts, not in destiny. Those instincts had led him to great places in his career. Something told him he ought to be here, so here he was, leaning against a shop window with a copy of the fucking Times in his hand, having transfigured his face into that of a handsome, curly haired man. He had kept the eyes and the high cheekbones; there was just no reason to go do that much.
Mudblood London, though hateful to him, was a good cover at the present moment. Things were not going as planned. James Fucking Potter had been throwing a spanner into his plans for about five years. The man was being practically worshipped as the Hero of the Wizarding World. Voldemort had not felt any need to personally face the man after that fateful night at Godric's Hollow with Severus, but never had he felt a harsher desire than now to kill the man slowly, painfully. Dumbledore and his lackeys were winning when they were not supposed to. James Potter simply seemed to pull off victories where they were not supposed to happen. Voldemort wondered if this was Fate's way of punishing him for not killing the Potters that night. What could have happened if James had died that night? He closed his eyes and sighed. There was no use in contemplating alternate universes. Three ambushes had failed against Potter. His child and his wife was just too well protected. Voldemort was distracted from his train of thought by a high-pitched squeal from the girl.
A man in uniform was dragging her away, cursing about filthy beggars entering where they shouldn't. Voldemort raised his eyes. Granted, it was a high-end place and the people there looked at the man's actions with approval, but still, he did not know that mudbloods had set up such laws. Ah, the mudblood's policemen, he thought. More bad for them, then, he concluded, if a man couldn't at least beg and grovel in peace. Idly, he skimmed the uniformed man's surface thoughts, and sneered in interest.
My, my, child fucker, huh?
He discreetly followed the man and the girl into a dark alleyway, where the man backhanded the girl, who was thrown onto the hard ground a dead-end behind her. The man leered at her and unfastened his belt, starting to drop his trousers. Voldemort's attention was on the filthy girl. She was nursing her arm, which had probably cracked a bone from the fall, while her right cheek had perhaps a week's worth of grime rudely scrubbed from it from the force of the backhand, exposing skin that was slowly turning purple. Her shocking silver eyes were filled with a burning hatred as she struggled to rise to her feet and failed miserably. The man advanced towards her. Voldemort wanted to see what the girl could do. He silently hit the man with a Confundus, and made him hesitate for a moment.
For a moment too long, it seemed.
The girl was already on her feet, and had aimed a kick at the man' groin and connected it perfectly due to the man's moment of hesitation- the man fell with a groan, and the girl straddled his chest, took his head in her hands, and looked into his eyes. A guttural scream broke from his lips while his eyes widened with horror-Voldemort waved a hand and the scream was silenced; most probably, she was destroying his mind, he figured. Interesting.
It proved to be more interesting as the girl didn't fully destroy the man's mind, but stopped before going all the way. But she did not allow one moment of hesitancy. The man's eyes glazed over momentarily, before he took out a revolver from his side, and aimed it-Voldemort's eyebrows raised themselves-at his groin.
And fired.
Voldemort silenced the shot.
The girl sat still on the chest of the unmoving man, amid the rapidly expanding puddle of blood. She spoke in a low, menacing whisper, too unnatural, Voldemort thought, for such a young child who was a beggar.
"Show yourself. I know you are there."
Clapping a slow, loud clap, Lord Voldemort emerged from the shadows, and with a wave of his wand, vanished the man's body, and the blood. The girl immediately shot to her feet.
"You-you-how could you do that? How?" She shrieked.
"Is it such a wonder when you can apparently convince a man to blow apart his own bits?" Voldemort replied in a silky whisper.
"You're-you're like me?" The child whispered, slowly edging closer towards him.
Voldemort's eyes lit up with fury.
"Do not presume to seek similarity with me, youngling!" He yelled furiously.
The girl seemed unimpressed. "Well, who are you then?" she asked.
"Lord Voldemort."
"Tell the truth!" the girl shouted.
How dare she? Voldemort looked into her eyes and slowly waved a hand over his face. The curly hair vanished. The face enlarged. The skin paled drastically. The brown eyes lost all their deceptive warmth, and became something cunning, evil, dark, menacing.
"Do not dare contradict me again, child. I am Lord Voldemort and you will refer to me as-"
"Tell the truth!" Came back the reply, no, command.
Voldemort was suddenly hit by a sense of déjà vu. Why did he feel that he had been in such a position once? He nearly raised his wand and cursed her, but at the last moment-
He lowered his wand, and looked at the girl quizzically, and began to laugh, a high, cold laugh, more like a laugh at himself. The girl studied him with narrowed eyes throughout his laughing. When he stopped, he told her, "I'm Tom Riddle. But I've stopped being so a long time ago."
The girl smiled, truly smiled this time. "Tom Riddle." She said, rolling the words around on her tongue, as if getting a feel of it. "Why didn't you help me?" She asked.
Voldemort raised his eyebrows. "I don't help, girl." He said, and then sighed. "Oh, okay. I made him hesitate so you could have your chance. I silenced his cry so that no one came running to stop you. I vanished the body and blood so that there was no evidence. You could so I did all that anyway. What did you expect, girl? For me to hold your hand and thrash him and give you flowers? I don't do that stuff, girl. Don't look for a hero in me."
The girl didn't even grace him with a reply. She wrapped her tiny arms around him. He was so shocked at the outright audacity of the girl that he forgot to curse her. In time though, he violently disentangled himself from her. He tried to study her for a moment, and then hit her with a couple of cleaning charms, which blew off the dirt and grime from her body, though a shower would be a better option, he thought with wrinkled nose. She was an impoverished, tiny thing with rough black hair, but it was those eyes, those silver, hard eyes that stopped him from the next spell being a curse for the little creature's audacity at touching him. There was again that…something…that had brought him there. He couldn't understand it, and it frustrated him. She was touching her cheeks wondrously, stunned at the momentary cleaning that had taken place. She looked at him with shining eyes.
"Can I-Can I do all that?" She gestured towards his wand. Suddenly, a certain thought passed through Voldemort's mind, and he started laughing again, that high, cold laugh of his. Oh dear. This is going to be such fun.
"Yes, my dear." He said. "All that, and maybe even more." He smiled at her, and she grinned back and scooted closer to him.
"Take me with you, Tom Riddle." She said, again, almost as a command. "I want to learn how to do all that and more. Take me with you," she smiled at him slyly, and then again wrapped her tiny hands around him-"Daddy."
Voldemort stiffened, a murderous glare in his eyes which bore into those hard silver eyes in front of him, those eyes which were challenging him to do what he wanted to do, if he could really bring himself to do it. To his utmost disgust and fear, Voldemort found that he could not throw the girl away, draw his wand and cast the killing curse.
There was no reason for it. He had killed many. So many. Destroyed families. Was taking over the magical world. Would kill so many. But he could not kill this one child. He was planning to kill a specific child, or if it came down to that, children, in the future, but he could not kill this one. His mind knew it well that it was a strategic flaw. But for the first time in his life, Lord Voldemort had a fleeting thought that he might have a heart. He banished that thought immediately from his mind. His mind then informed him that one day, one day, this was going to kill him. But still, he couldn't kill this child, this frail creature, this little monster that had the audacity to touch him and call him so.
"If you fear for your life, don't call me so, child." Voldemort said in a tight voice, with barely controlled fury and frustration.
The child did not move its eyes from his eyes, and said simply, "Daddy." Voldemort clenched his teeth and held in the snarl. The girl smiled at him. He did not like where this was going. Where this would go. This represented a weakness.
For all his thoughts, he still disapparated with a crack, and didn't leave the girl behind, though he took some pleasure at the idea of the horrible discomfort of first-time side-along apparition for the girl as a punishment for her audacity, and felt a slight uneasiness at the concern he also felt for any chances of him getting her splinched as a result.