Hary Potter© J.K. Rowling and Scholastic



C H A P T E R O N E

M A R K S A N D F A B L E S

The moonlit lane was silent save for the usual composition of nocturnal dwellers that stepped forward with the sun's routinely retreat into the west. The doldrums of the night were broken sharply, however, by two loud, resounding cracks in the evening air and the sudden appearance of a pair of silhouettes that quickly began striding up the narrow road; the taller of the two resolute in his gait and the smaller very nearly being pulled along, casting furtive glances behind him as though he feared they were followed.

The duo turned sharply to their right, passing by stately and obviously well-kept rows of sycamores on either side of them, swaying gently in the cool summer's night breeze. A very large wrought-iron gate that spanned off in both directions into a harsh, imposing wall -clearly designed to keep out those whom the owners would deem unfavorable- rose up before them. The taller of the two raised his left arm upright, never breaking his stride, and together the two marched through the gates, which seemed to turn to vapor in the midst of their passing, only to reform into a solid state once they were clear. Unheeding of the peculiar behavior of the gate, the two continued their march up the grounds, where a sizable manor stretched up before them into the sky. Very much like a miniature palace- a palace that exuded stateliness and class, yet also coldness and contempt, it would appear foreboding to men whose valor was found wanting.

A rustle in the tall hedges off to the couple's left caused the smaller one to practically leap into the air in surprise. He groped for something in the strange flowing robes he was wearing for a moment before the hand of the larger came to rest on his shoulder. "Put your wand away, Draco," he hissed in a reprimanding tone. "Or did you want to curse the head off of your father's bird?" The smaller shadow turned and looked, and sure enough a large, pure white peacock had come out of the underbrush, strutting proudly and stopping to stare at the two interlopers before turning and striding off in a different direction. Draco let out a breath and did as the taller man instructed, though he seemed resentful in doing so.

Shoulders hunched forward, he shrugged off the other man's hand and made his way forward to the large, mahogany double-doors which served as the entrance to Malfoy Manor. The doors were carved with thorn-covered vines, and on the left was a man of regal posture, bearing fine robes and holding a wand upwards in an almost militaristic salute. The right door held the same, save for a beautiful woman with long flowing tresses that stood in place of the man. Both of them were looking at each other, and the wands pointed upwards toward a phrase in Latin that was situated above the doorframe.

" Cruor est Putus quam Unda"

Draco cleared his throat and said in a voice that carried over the sound of a fountain in the distance "Blood is Purer than Water." He stepped back as the doors seemed to groan with a low rumble. The wizard and witch carved in the wood turned their wands to the handlebars, which swung downwards and caused the doors to open slowly, bidding the two to enter. The larger man moved forward and swung Draco around to face him. The young man looked up into black eyes that were curtained by long strands of thick, greasy hair and raised an eyebrow at this brusque action.

"Draco, you must exercise the utmost caution when speaking to the Dark Lord," he said seriously, trying to make the young boy understand. "Be sure you do not let him see your hesitance or you inability to commit the act, or he will punish you for it."

Gray eyes scowled as he threw the older man's hands off of him. "I know what I'm doing, Professor Snape," he said, practically spitting this last word out. "And don't speak to me of hesitance. Why did you seem to be listening to Dumbledore's pleadings? You weren't actually thinking you'd spare him, were you?" He turned away, ignorant of Snape's dark look. "In any case, Aunt Bella's made sure I knew how to perform Occlumency, at my mother's insistence, if you'll remember. I know how to keep my mind closed. The Dark Lord will see exactly what I show him." With that he marched inside, the dark haired man standing in perturbed silence before tailing after him.

The two of them made their way through a large entryway, their feet silent upon the exquisite carpet that would make even the richest men green with envy. Their path was marginally lit from above by the sparse candles along the walls, portraits of pale-faced men and women watching the pair with quiet interest, occasionally whispering to each other. Draco, his shoulders stiff and set, studiously ignored their twittering while his eyes remained focused on the drawing room door ahead. He came to a stop before it and turned to look at the Potions Professor, his face bearing a very small question on its pale and somewhat harried features, despite all his bravado a moment ago. The older man merely closed his eyes in resignation and shook his head ever so slightly, which caused the young Malfoy to bite his lower lip and steel himself for what he was about to do. Placing his hand heavily on the doorknob, he turned it and stepped inside.

The Drawing room held much less furniture than it usually carried for entertaining guests of the family. A carpet bearing the crest of the Malfoy family was laid out before Draco, and off to the corner was a second doorway, closed of course, that led to the private chambers of their current houseguest. A large crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, but its light was snuffed out, leaving the immense marble fireplace at the rear of the room the only source of illumination. Seated before it, his skeletal white hands –so very much like large, pale spiders- steepled in front of his hooded visage, sat their houseguest, calmly waiting on the boy's arrival. Behind him, Draco's mother, her hair swept back away from her face and sporting dark black robes that looked like funeral attire, made a step towards him, her eyes wide and swallowing a sob.

Narcissa Malfoy's advance, however, was halted by the movement of an inconceivably large, scaled beast, which passed by her and crept up the side of the chair, resting on the occupant's shoulders and turning its head sideways to fix Draco with an unblinking, ocher gaze. "Well, Draco," the guest spoke in a high, cold voice. "Do not keep me waiting. Come forward and tell Lord Voldemort what news you bring."

The blonde, his usually well-kept hair in slight disarray and his eyes sunken with what could only be a mixture of fear and exhaustion, swallowed hard and stepped forward, marveling at the fact that he didn't tremble. Coming within the circle of firelight, he kept his eyes averted, peering down slightly at the hem of Voldemort's robes. "I've done what you commanded," he said primly. "Dumbledore is dead. They'll be holding his funeral by tomorrow, I expect." He prayed that would be all the other man needed to hear. As long as he could keep this short, there shouldn't be anything that could go wrong.

The hooded figure surveyed him for a moment. "Dumbledore is dead," he repeated, his voice unreadable. Draco's mother looked from the Dark Lord to her son, her lip quivering slightly. "That is indeed most prodigious news. Most prodigious." Draco tried hard not to smile from the praise. He did not want to upset the Dark Lord by mistaking the context of his statement. "However, Dumbledore's death is not the goal I requested." The boy's head shot up, a protest on his lips, only to be silenced by the sudden, yet very meaningful, hiss that the giant snake gave. Voldemort stroked her chin with a long, slender finger. "Peace, Nagini," he said, never breaking his gaze with Draco. "The goal I requested was that Dumbledore die by your hand, and your hand alone. Did you accomplish this?"

Draco swallowed. The room was colder than it should have been, with such a magnificent fire roaring on the hearth. Why was it so cold? "Yes my Lord, of course," the boy replied quickly, repressing a shudder. He could feel, rather than see the gaze of the Dark Lord on him, penetrating his mind, gaining access through Draco's own portals to the outside world. He struggled valiantly to thwart the other man, but it was like trying to hold back a deluge with a paper bag. Repelling Snape's Legilimency was entirely different than trying to do the same with the Dark Lord. He understood now why Voldemort was regarded as the most powerful Legilimens in the world. The connection broke and Draco, though still upright, was panting now.

"You are lying to me, Draco," Voldemort said, his voice in a low whisper. "It seems you were unable to perform your duty, and Severus had to step in to do it for you." Narcissa couldn't squelch the sound that came out of her throat, and Nagini's other eye swung towards her, causing her to regain her composure, though she was still decidedly more pale than usual. With a small movement, the Dark Lord took his wand from the small table near him and flicked it lazily. The cuff of Draco's left sleeve was pulled forward and the boy was yanked along with it, hitched up onto the tips of his toes and dancing forward. His arm came to rest outstretched before Lord Voldemort, who took Draco's wrist in his hands and gently pushed the sleeve upwards. Narcissa closed her eyes and bit her lip, unable to gaze upon the disfigurement of her son's flesh. There on Draco's forearm was, not the Dark Mark that Voldemort's followers bore, but a horrible-looking bite mark, from something that seemed neither human nor animal. The skin around it was an ugly green color, and Draco convulsed slightly at the sight of it. "It seems that you managed to keep Greyback's mark undressed, just as I instructed. Do you remember what I said to you concerning it, Draco?" he asked quietly, looking up and into Draco's face.

The young Malfoy could now clearly see the horrible red eyes, the pupils slit very much like those of a snake's looking at him. "Y-yes," he stuttered, breaking out into a cold sweat. "Y.. You said that if I should ever f-find myself thinking about abandoning my duty, to l-look at the bite mark and think about what that would merit." Before engaging in this task, Voldemort had allowed the werewolf, Fenrir Greyback, who was in his human state at the time, to bite Draco. The bite had many detriments- Draco was now often in poorer health, and his appearance was altered from it, making him seem more gaunt and haggard now. In addition, it could not be healed, but wouldn't turn him into a full werewolf, either. Most of all, though, the bite served as a warning of the consequences the boy would suffer at the hands of Voldemort's wrath. Those consequences included the death of his mother and father, and the cursed life of a werewolf, a Half-Breed. Oh yes, Draco remembered what had been said to him upon the bestowment of the mark quite well.

Voldemort nodded, releasing Draco's arm. Nagini hissed again, threateningly, as the boy backpedaled and clutched his blemished limb. "Good, Draco," he said, folding his wand arm into his lap and curling the other up to stroke the massive snake's chin once more. "It seems that while Dumbledore's death was achieved, yours was not the hand by whom it was dealt. I cannot reward you for failing to deliver the fatal blow, yet neither, it seems, can I discipline you for your inability to perform my task, since at least part of it was fulfilled." He lazily ran a finger up and down the length of his wand, considering. "What to do, then…?"

"My Lord," Narcissa said hesitantly, stepping forward. Voldemort did not turn to her, but remained silent, letting her speak what was on her mind. "My Lord, Draco did manage to perpetrate the method that allowed for Dumbledore's death, did he not?" When Draco had, much to his displeasure, come home for the Christmas holiday he had confided his plan involving the vanishing cabinets to her. She was quite impressed with his resourcefulness at the time. "Were it not for him, then would not Dumbledore still be alive?" she asked, almost hopefully. "Perhaps you may simply spare him from either punishment or praise, if it pleases you?" she hastened to add.

The Dark Lord considered this, then pointed his wand at Draco, and said in a clear, concise voice "Crucio." Malfoy pitched over backwards, screaming at the top of his lungs. His mother, horrified, screeched and flew to her son's side, while the snake opened its mouth and hissed angrily at the commotion. Voldemort, for his part, merely looked on impassively. He was incognizant to the mother's tear-filled pleas for him to spare her son, while Draco curled in on himself, twitching and convulsing and clutching at his chest, as though trying in vain to pull the pain he was feeling out of his own body. After another minute, The Dark Lord ceased the spell, and Draco went limp, panting, while Narcissa sobbed and took his head to her breast. "Heed my words," he said quietly, addressing the both of them. Obediently the two looked at him; Narcissa's eyes wide, fearful and red with tears, and Draco's barely open and remising over the amount of pain he had just endured. "My orders are given with purpose, and they are to be fulfilled as I describe them. The fact that Dumbledore is dead is the only reason you have been spared, for now he will not be able to protect Potter from me any longer." He looked over at Narcissa, who leaned away slightly, but did not relinquish her son. "Punishment must be administered for mistakes, and I do not take advice from those whose fear for their loved ones surpasses their fear of me. Is that understood?" Narcissa nodded, stroking her son's head.

The matter apparently settled, Voldemort lowered his wand once more. "Wormtail," he said, addressing the little man who had thus far remained unnoticed at the far end of the room. "Remove young Malfoy and take him to his quarters to retire for the evening." The pudgy, balding man shuffled forward, darting glances between the Dark Lord and Narcissa. Giving her a helpless look, Wormtail took hold of the boy's robes with a curious limb that was covered in shimmering silver once Narcissa had released Draco. He then proceeded to drag the boy out by the scruff of his neck, panting and wheezing from the effort the entire way. Voldemort seemed to have dismissed Narcissa, stroking Nagini again as she stood up. "You may take your leave," he said to her. "But do not go to your son, Mrs. Malfoy. He is not a child to be coddled by you forever. I shall have the Lestranges keep watch over him to make sure you let him rest in peace. Tell Severus I wish to speak with him on your way out." The Mistress of Malfoy manor said nothing as she bowed and turned to leave.

The Dark Lord sat in silence for a few moments, his thoughts unknown to the furniture and paintings which stood witness within the drawing room. His musings were accompanied by the odd pop or crackle from the fire, and he did not look up when Snape entered and moved towards him, kneeling respectfully. "What do you wish to converse with me about, my Lord?" Snape asked as he looked up. Voldemort never wanted his servants to look away from him when they addressed him; looking away implied that they were hiding something, and Snape had no secrets from him.

"Congratulations on your achievement tonight, Severus," Snape's lips thinned. "As you no doubt saw, I chose to leave the Malfoy's alive, however I believe that Lucius shall remain where he is for a time, as it was your doing, not Draco's that finished Dumbledore off. Now, however, I am curious as to the events that transpired this night. Show them to me." As he looked into the Potion Master's eyes he saw the night's events as they unfolded. He saw Dumbledore's ancient face pleading for mercy, mercy which Snape refused to give. He saw the fight in Hogwarts between his Death Eaters and the old fool's Order. He saw the boy, Potter, giving chase and trying –and failing miserably- to detain Snape. "So you dueled Harry Potter?" he asked. It was not a question. Snape opened his mouth to offer up an excuse, but Voldemort silenced him with an upraised hand. "Do not concern yourself. I saw that you refrained until the last, and that it was not even worthy of being called a duel. In addition, you prevented others from striking him. You do me honor Snape," he said. The words, however, had none of the warmth to them that they would carry coming from another's mouth. "Tell me then, how Potter fares in battle. My Death Eaters have failed to overcome him in the past, and now I wish to know your appraisal on him, my Half-Blood Prince," he said with a wry smile that was hidden beneath the shadows of his hood.

Snape did not hesitate. "Potter is an amateur at best, and an insult at worst," he said in a sneering voice. "He cannot even grasp the basics of Nonverbal Spell casting, and he is incapable of keeping his mind closed. It is like looking into a theater when I see into his thoughts; they all perform exactly as expected." He looked very sour, as though the subject was unpleasant for him. "He is hardly worth your time, my Lord. That he has managed to best Lucius and Bellatrix is a miracle, to say the least."

Voldemort chuckled. A sound that was far from pleasant. "What is worth my time is not your concern Severus. I knew Potter to be hopeless, though I had hoped that the one who served as the face of hope for my adversaries would at least give me some enjoyment." He remained quiet for a moment, and as the seconds stretched, Snape shifted slightly. "He still remains at his home then? Where he is protected from me?"

Snape nodded. "Yes," he confirmed. "However the enchantments Dumbledore set which bar you from him shall wear off on the morning of his seventeenth birthday, at the stroke of midnight," he said. "You shall be able to take him then at your leisure, though I am sure Dumbledore made arrangements for his safe movement before his passing."

Voldmort shook his head. "I am quite well aware of the plans made for young Potter," he said, and Snape looked at him suspiciously. "Do not look so surprised Severus. The Aurors do not all defy me. A captured loved one or a promise of power will sway them just as easily as anyone else." He smiled at something then, a joke apparently known only to himself. "My eyes and ears extend much further than you know, Severus. When the time comes, I shall lead his capture myself."

Snape looked shocked. "My Lord," he said, moving closer to the Dark Lord. "Should you not wait first until you have captured the Ministry? Scrimgeour is not the fool that Fudge was, after all, and-"

"The Ministry holds no interest to me," Voldemort said, cutting him off. "I have who I need in that den of hens exactly where I need them. Trust me when I say Scrimgeour is looking where I want him to look." He gripped his wand. "A ministry devoted to the secrecy of the Wizarding World, which allows power to flow down and dilute itself amongst checks and balances. A Ministry that quakes at the very idea of exposing ourselves to those noisome sheep called Muggles," he spat, standing up. Nagini jerked but repositioned herself as Voldemort turned to gaze into the flames. "A Ministry such as that is meant only to be crushed beneath my heel, Severus." His grip on his wand was growing fiercer, and the snake hissed, apparently channeling her master's anger.

"When I gain power, there will be no Ministry. Hogwarts shall be what Salazar Slytherin had always intended it to be; a school devoted to the teaching of Pure Bloods, who will assert themselves in their rightful place over the Mudbloods and the Muggles. And Harry Potter will be crucified and erected as a warning to all who would think to stand against me!" At this the flames roared upwards, blowing Voldemort's robes back with their violent force and causing Snape to throw his arms over his face as embers hissed and spit onto the carpet, riddling the Malfoy crest with singes.

The Dark Lord gazed into the flames madly for a moment, watching them dance before him and picturing the slow torment his foes would suffer at his hand. He saw the faces of the order in those flames, and most vividly that of his most abhorred foe, Harry Potter. After a time, however, he seemed to come back to himself and with a quick slash of his wand, the fire returned to its normal state, and he turned and seated himself back in his chair, looking down in contemplation. The shadow of his hood obscured his face from view, and Nagini shifted along his shoulders, her scales rustling the fabric of his robes. Snape watched for a moment and spoke again when he felt it was safe. "My Lord," he said, carefully considering his words. "Potter is no threat to you. He is weak and can be easily dealt with. Why do you seek his death so personally?"

Voldemort did not look up. "Because I want the world to know that I overcame their last hope," he said, his posture relaxed as though he were discoursing about the state of the weather, rather than the eventual murder of a boy. "I want to see him suffer for the embarrassments he has leveled against me. Most of all, however," and he paused for a moment, the features within the hood shifting slightly. Had Snape not know better, he could have sworn that Voldemort's lipless mouth was pulled back into an esoteric smile. "I want to do it because it is what is expected of me."

Snape was baffled by this last statement, yet wisely chose to keep his mouth closed regarding his confusion. Instead he alighted onto another concern he had. "What of the event that occurred the last time you dueled Potter?" he said, looking at the Dark Lord's wand. "I was not there when it happened, I am sad to say, but I have heard enough about it to know the details, I expect."

Voldemort began to twist his wand betwixt his long white fingers, examining it. His red eyes glittered within his hood. "Priori Incantatem, you mean?" Snape nodded. "I have no concern with that, Severus. It was brought about by a fluke and my own carelessness. My overconfidence in my impending victory, shall we say. It was a one-time event, and shall not occur again now that I know Potter lacks the mental power to shut me out. Furthermore, my 'guest' has explained to me how the spell works, so I shall not be fighting ignorant of my conditions, as before."

Snape seemed uncertain, his gaze straying to the table. There he saw a most curious sight, however. Placed atop the nightstand where Voldemort's wand was laying previously was a large book. As Snape got a better look at it his eyebrows raised slightly. A copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard sat beside the Dark Lord. The image was so diametric that the Potions Master wondered for a moment if he had seen correctly. Was the Dark Lord really sitting next to a copy of children's tales? Surely it must have been placed there by someone else.

Voldemort seemed to have noticed his Death Eater's confusion and placed his hand atop the text. "Does my choice of reading concern you?" he asked, apparently amused. "Surely you know of my desire to integrate myself with all of the Wizarding World's culture, don't you?"

Snape was absolutely perplexed by this behavior. "Of course my Lord," he replied with a frown. "However that is nothing more than a book of fables, meant for children. It is meaningless."

Voldemort shook his head. "Wizard children's fables, Severus," he replied in a civil tone. "I was not privy to these where I grew up, and if I am to truly become the Wizarding World's Potentate, then I must know everything about it. Even children's fables," he said, caressing the cover slightly. "And besides, Fables and Myths always bear a small hint of truth within them. It's simply a matter of finding that truth." Snape was silent, but his mind was troubled by what this meant. "Leave me, now Severus," Voldemort instructed. "There are preparations to be made for young Potter's capture, and I must conclude my reading material. Besides, you must prepare the Headmaster's office for its new occupant."

Snape did as instructed, knowing far better than to argue with the Dark Lord. As he closed the door behind him however, his thoughts –now safe from Voldemort's eyes- were stirred into a frenzied maelstrom. By all accounts, Voldemort seemed to be losing his mind. Reading a book of moralistic tripe and claiming that there was something more there? It had to be madness; nothing else explained it. Just what would the impact of this be on the Dark Lord's plans, as well as the fate of his loyal Death eaters? The Potions Master was very unsettled when he found he couldn't come up with an answer to such an important question, and walked back towards the entrance of the Manor, unheeding of Narcissa, who was sobbing at the base of the stairs.

Well there you have it- the first chapter of (of all things) my take on the final book in the Harry Potter series. I feel so dirty... Anyway, I'll get more into the how and why of this once my run's finished, but for now enjoy this chapter and the others to follow.

Oh, one more thing. Usually I don't go about making requests in my own story, but I could use a Beta for this little project of mine. Anyone with credible academic skills (meaning Junior High-School/College level, here) in the fields of grammar and writing would be a big help, and if you have a fairly decent schedule, that's so much the better. My last two had to bail out on me due to scheduling conflicts, sadly. So, anyone qualified and interested may feel free to drop me a line.

See you in about a week for the next chapter.