I. Severus Suspected
It was a dark and stormy night over Little Hangleton, and in an otherwise quiet graveyard, a group of hooded witches and wizards was assembled. They stood in a semicircle, a formation around one wizard who was taller than them all and was accompanied by a giant black and gold snake, which slithered lazily and ominously next to him. This wizard's face was not simply pale, it was unnaturally white, and his eyes were an angry scarlet color, the shape catlike but more terrifying than any cat ever seen. He was the type of man seen only in nightmares, in scary films in the cinema – though only rarely, for there were limits to what even the cinema could do. This wizard was Lord Voldemort, and he ruled the Wizarding world.
Voldemort raised his snakelike head and looked in the direction of the village: an enormous, glittering skull with a snake protruding from its mouth, composed of shimmering green stars, could be seen in the black sky just above Little Hangleton, now and then illuminated even more with a brilliant flash of lightning. It was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen: it was his Dark Mark; he and his faithful servants sent it into the sky whenever they had killed. Only recently, he had allowed his Death Eaters to send the Mark into the sky even when no murder had been committed, but when they had simply participated in a particularly exhilarating spot of torture – especially if Muggles were involved. Voldemort reveled in the atmosphere of fear that abounded when Muggles and wizards alike saw his Dark Mark. Aside from his six Horcruxes that would ensure his immortality (five if he counted the one he knew Harry Potter had destroyed four years ago), the Dark Mark was one of his most intriguing – and indeed, inspired – creations.
His unnaturally thin lips curled into a ruthless smile, a mocking expression dawning across his terrible eyes. How he and his Death Eaters had had fun in the village tonight! His eyes caught the sight of the full moon, and he let out a chuckle: a cold, dry, evil sound. Fenrir Greyback was still in the village – he was a werewolf and highly enjoyed the spoils each full moon had to offer. Voldemort narrowed his eyes and looked down at the wand he held in his spidery hand, recalling his doings that night, his terrible smile never faltering but growing wider. For tonight, Lord Voldemort had personally killed the mayor of Little Hangleton and his family. Voldemort remembered how he had broken into the house so effortlessly, how the middle-aged, balding man had turned a rifle on him, his entire body trembling, how Voldemort had Transfigured the rifle into a snake. How the snake had terrorized the little boy and the little girl, how the mayor's wife had pleaded with Voldemort to stop: how Voldemort had Vanished the snake and then turned his wand on the children, one after another, giving voice to his two favorite words: Avada Kedavra. How the woman had screamed in anguish – it was such beautiful music to Voldemort – and ran to her two dead children, clutching them as though doing so would bring them back to life – how foolish she was to think so, thought Voldemort. How he had tortured and murdered her, and then bound the mayor with thick, snakelike (Voldemort always liked to think) ropes, set the house on fire, and locked the doors. Yes, thought Voldemort, it had been a very good night tonight.
He let his scarlet eyes travel around the arc of Death Eaters. Here was Bellatrix: Bellatrix, who had spent fourteen years in Azkaban prison in the name of loyalty to him. He expected nothing less from someone like Bellatrix, and yet he so enjoyed withholding information from her he knew she would eventually find out. But then, he thought, Bellatrix had been responsible for the death of Sirius Black: he had been but a minor annoyance, to be sure, but still nice to have out of the way. Here was Avery, one of his very first followers. Indeed, Avery had been with him while he had still been a boy at Hogwarts. But those school days were long gone now, and Avery, though being one of Voldemort's earliest followers, was definitely one of his most worthless servants. Well, thought Voldemort, perhaps not the most worthless, as his terrible gaze strayed from Avery to the man standing next to him: a small, squat man with balding gray hair and watery eyes. True that two years ago, this wizard (if he could even call himself one) had been instrumental, even useful – Voldemort sneered – in restoring Voldemort to his body, but since then, Wormtail had been a great deal more trouble than he was worth. Which wasn't very much, Voldemort chuckled evilly.
As Lord Voldemort continued his unspoken assessments of his servants, there was a loud crack, and another hooded wizard appeared underneath a yew tree, the branches of which were swaying dangerously in the gale-like wind. Several of the Death Eaters' heads turned regard this late arrival: Voldemort could feel Bellatrix's rage and knew what she was thinking – such blasphemous disloyalty to the Dark Lord this wizard had shown. Voldemort knew that Bellatrix didn't dare give voice to her thoughts in his presence, though. She knew that to do so would grant him cause to subject her to the Cruciatus Curse, another of his favorite devices, as he had only a few weeks prior, just after the death of that championer of Mudbloods and Muggles, Albus Dumbledore.
"Welcome back, my faithful Death Eaters," began Voldemort in a high, cold voice. The crows that perched in the surrounding yew trees scattered with only the sound of rustling, hurried wings. "Tonight has been a night of spoils, indeed. This is our time. With the tragic death" – Voldemort gave a slight simper to his words – "of Albus Dumbledore, the most powerful wizard in the world second only to me, we shall spread the wrath of Salazar Slytherin far and wide, and we shall bring order to our world! Harry Potter will not stop us now; he has no extraordinary power. With that filthy half-blood out of the way, there is no one left to protect him!"
Several of the Death Eaters were nodding, looks of triumph mingled in their derisive countenances; their eyes, slightly cast into shadow by their hoods, insolent and leering.
Voldemort cast his eyes about the arc of servants once again. "A select few of you, my Death Eaters, have been with me, at my side, from the beginning: from the days of young Tom Riddle. You know that, in those days – my third year at Hogwarts – we assembled together for the first time in Salazar's great chamber, even the Chamber of Secrets. There, I showed to you my Mark" – he gestured toward the village with a thin, white hand – "and revealed to you my true identity. Some of you have been at my side from the time our first reign of terror began! Indeed," he said, and now his gaze moved to Bellatrix Lestrange, "a few of you have spent years upon years in Azkaban for my sake. Let me assure you that your ... noble ... sacrifice will not go unrewarded." Voldemort saw Bellatrix straighten ever so slightly, and he chuckled again. Indeed, their sacrifice would surely not go unrewarded. Even after he had killed Bellatrix's husband last year, she had still remained as loyal as ever to her master.
After allowing himself sufficient time to reflect on this, he returned to his recollections. "And a few of you have joined my side, have been branded with the Mark and joined the noble Order created by Slytherin himself, only recently," he continued, his gaze lingering on two Death Eaters, a male and a female, each of whom resembled a huge, lumpy Remembrall. Amycus and Alecto, he thought. How foolish they had been at first. It had taken a great deal of torture, and some time under the Imperius Curse ... and finally, there had been the Brockdale Bridge incident – these two had been more than happy to do some rethinking once they had seen such an impressive display of power.
"Nevertheless," said Voldemort, his scarlet eyes flashing, "on this night, you have all served me faithfully. Our time to strike at the very heart of the Wizarding world approaches. I now give you leave: act wisely, dim and worthless though many of you are, for should you find yourself in Azkaban before that day, you shall hope that the Ministry guards will be able to protect you. Now, my faithful Death Eaters, prepare yourselves! I AM LORD VOLDEMORT!!"
He screeched these last words to the black sky, and the graveyard was instantly full of what sounded like the pop of machine guns as witches and wizards Apparated. Soon, the graveyard was empty except for Voldemort and one wizard: the wizard who had arrived late to the meeting. "Welcome, Severus," he said, joining his long-time servant beside the grave of Voldemort's father.
The wizard reached up and lowered his hood, revealing a sallow face with a hooked nose and black eyes, and a curtain of dark, greasy hair. "My Lord," said Severus Snape, inclining his head.
"Severus," said Voldemort. "You have a plentiful supply of potion, then?"
"Yes, my Lord," said Snape in a low voice. "I was, after all, the Potions master at Hogwarts for many years. The ingredients may prove hard to come by in future, but I assure you, I managed to steal enough from the store cupboards to serve our purpose."
"Good, very good," said Voldemort. "Now, Severus," he said, and his voice grew slightly deadlier. "What do you know about Dumbledore's search ... into my past?" He looked directly into Snape's eyes; Snape did not flinch, but held his gaze.
"I am still investigating this, my Lord," said Snape. "I learned very little, as you know, last year when the Headmaster was still alive, and my chances of learning anything from Potter are less; you of all wizards are aware of how loyal he is and has been to Dumbledore. Furthermore, I have good reason to believe he was there that night, with his Invisibility Cloak; he will have informed the rest of the staff, so I cannot remain at Hogwarts. But I assure you, I shall continue my search; indeed, I shall do whatever it takes to uncover this mystery."
Voldemort regarded Snape for a moment before responding. "Very well, Severus," he said. "I shall be waiting, though I must warn you, my patience is wearing." The muscles in Snape's face seemed to tighten. Voldemort let the silence between them spiral for another moment, allowing Snape to believe that he was free to depart. Snape had very nearly begun to Apparate when Voldemort spoke again. "Severus, you are, perhaps, the most loyal of my servants. Indeed, even when I thought you had left me forever, you returned, with a veritable mine of information that has been to my advantage. However ..." Voldemort said, and Snape's face whitened. "Do not think that I am not aware of your skills in the art of Occlumency, for my skills in this branch of magic are such that I recognize what you are doing. Yes, Severus, I am on to your little game. Soon, you will have to decide whose side you are really on."
"My Lord," said Snape, his voice trembling slightly, "I am your most faithful, you must not doubt ..."
"Then I shall ask you to prove it," replied Voldemort. "I want you to kill Draco Malfoy."