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The prophecy was a tricky thing.
Ambiguous at best.
And therein lay, the crux of the matter.
Nonetheless, Severus wasn't going to stay put simply because the name was female.
He would search for the child and verify that she was born from those whom the Dark Lord despised, either she was a daughter of a blood traitor or a half-blood.
But considering that he had never heard her family name before, she must be…
A muggleborn.
One of the kind whom the Dark Lord had left out from the list, perhaps dismissing them as too low to even have the possibility to defeat him.
An oversight which would certainly cost the Dark Lord direly.
Not unless Severus brought this to the Dark Lord's attention.
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During his inquiries, Severus didn't find her records in St. Mungo's birth registry. But when he had finally gotten a hold of it in the Muggle's Statistical Office, he had been too late.
Dumbledore had gotten to the child first, which was the only confirmation that Severus needed to know the girl was, indeed, the child from the prophecy.
So far, the Quill of Acceptance had only written one name that day, and neither had he heard anything from the healer at St. Mungo's to tell him that a child was born under the specific category that he had provided.
Severus suspected the Head Master to have acquired the names of all pregnant women who were expected to give birth around that month.
As to how Dumbledore manage to accomplish the feat in such a short time, Severus could only surmise that the Order leader's vast connection had contributed to his immediate success in obtaining those records.
Admittedly, Severus had been bested, and now, he dreaded the moment when he would report back to the Dark Lord.
He knew Lord Voldemort would not take this well.
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As expected, the Dark Lord was livid, to say the least, about this turn of events.
Fortunately for him, Lord Voldemort was more furious about Dumbledore and the mudblood child, than he was with Severus, leaving him mostly unpunished for his failure.
He could sense the Dark Lord's surprise after he had told him about the girl's origin. And then, he had felt the wizard's seething, malevolent rage as if this fact alone had been the last insult to Lord Voldemort's existence; to have his greatest rival be a muggleborn, a female, and plus, an infant no less –the whole humiliating package - would prove to be a laughing matter in some circles within the Death Eater ranks.
The others would talk behind Lord Voldemort's back, there was no doubt about that. Others would only assume the worst and would think the Dark Lord too frightened of the child if they realized the true nature of the search, as surely as if the Dark Lord had announced to all of them that he had planned to murder a defenseless infant.
Certainly, many would think the Dark Lord a coward, though they would not dare say it to his face.
These thoughts must what made the Dark Lord decide to keep this fact undisclosed, and only divulge this to his most loyal followers.
Severus was one of the eight, whom the Dark Lord had called upon. The others, Lucius Malfoy, the Lestranges - Bellatrix, Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange – and Evan Rosier, Clifford Mulciber and finally Llyod Nott, were the only ones who knew about the prophecy, and of the girl.
All eight of them were ordered to look for her and all returned with nothing.
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It was not until four months later, when Peter Pettigrew sought a private audience with the Dark Lord that they discovered where Dumbledore had hidden her away.
As Severus listened to Peter Pettigrew recount what Dumbledore had done, his face lost its color, becoming pale. His mind a whirlwind of frantic thoughts while a deluge of emotions lashed at him like a tidal wave, leaving him adrift, not knowing what to do next, and torn apart by loyalties that he began to question.
"So that is where Dumbledore has hidden her all along, I see."
Distantly, Severus heard the Dark Lord remarked to Peter Pettigrew.
The rat!
Severus' stomach churned, any other thoughts that he might have in that instance were completely drowned by the surge of fear and anxiety that swept through him.
Severus was frightened. More than he wanted to show.
Not for his life, but for someone else's.
Sooner that Severus would have like; Voldemort was already giving out his orders.
"Peter, I want you to lead them out of the house - and anyone who plans to interfere from the Order - to an ambush." Voldemort commanded as he sat on his throne-like chair. "Lie to them if you must, and direct them to where four of my Death Eaters are lying in wait at a muggle village. Bella will show you where it is. Remember it clearly Peter, as you are going to lead our enemy to that area. The village will be a perfect battleground where the Order members have more reason to be cautious than any other place, with them trying to reduce the damage and death count to a minimum if muggles are to be involve."
Severus was white as sheet by this time, his entire body growing cold by the second as he continued to listen to Voldemort speak.
"I will kill the child without anyone interfering. Do you understand Peter? Do you understand everything that I've ordered you to do?" Voldemort asked the small man in front of him.
Peter Pettigrew was cowering, nibbling his nails like a rat that he was.
"Yes, my lord." The small man squeaked, his wide, watery eyes were gleaming in part anticipation and part fear.
Severus wanted to kill him.
And as the Dark Lord was about to leave that night, desperation prompted Severus to act.
"My Lord," Severus said, his voice hoarse, cracking at the edges, nearly choking with his turbulent emotions. Swallowing, he immediately knelt down in front of the Dark Lord in supplication, his forehead touching the cold floor. "If you could spare a moment, please hear me out…"
Yet Severus knew, he knew, in the roiling depths of his mind, there was no amount of interference, or any kind of machinations on his part, that could stop the cruel Fates from doing as they pleased.
Everything had been decided – no, prophesied, Severus would soon realize, a little too late. And soon, he would be alone with the decisions that he had made, and would forever regret for the rest of his life.
Always.
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"Step aside!" Voldemort snapped impatiently, his voice like a crack of thunder in the gloom. His bony, white wand leveled at the woman who stood protecting the infant in the crib. "Severus has asked me not to kill you, but if you continue to defy me, I will not hesitate – "
"Please, don't! Not her!" the red-haired woman begged. Her pathetic, weaponless hand lifted up in appeal and defense, as if to stop him from coming closer to the child behind her.
"Not my daughter! She's only a baby! My baby! Please!"
Through the dimly-lit room, the woman's tears glimmered like fine-cut diamonds as it rolled down her cheeks; her emerald eyes swimming, gleaming with a wealth full of emotions, rich with her anguish, her helplessness, and her maternal instinct to protect the babe that was not truly hers.
If only the woman knew that her emotions were misplaced; her begging wasted - useless, given to an infant unworthy of any of those luxuries, much less deserving a chance at life.
"She is not your daughter, foolish woman! Now, stand aside!" Voldemort's voice, though even, cut like a deadly steel; its edges razor sharp. But his patience was wearing thin.
A momentary confusion fleeted on the woman's eyes, a faint knit of her brows was the only temporary crack on her alabaster face, but needlessly to say, she seemed to ignore his words and resumed her begging, "Please! Not her! Not my Hermi–"
Voldemort's patience finally snapped, his ruby-tinted eyes flaring - burning with menace, with tempered violence.
And with a twist of his wand, he said, "Avada Kedavra!"
At once, the room was bathed with a green light as the killing curse shot out from his wand.
"NO!" the woman shouted, half-turning towards the crib in the last effort to save the child.
How little it will do her.
"HER - MYYY – NEEE!"
Her voice seemed to echo, drawn out at the last syllable, a tune almost melodious when the killing curse slammed into her. The force of it pushed her savagely against the crib. It shook at the impact. The woman's terrified scream was cut off instantly and her emerald eyes were aglow, as if she had captured the killing curse in her gaze.
An unearthly stillness and quiet followed, that the sound of a needle dropping would have been deafening, right before the woman's body crumbled on the floor with a finality of a death knell.
"The girl is not your daughter." Voldemort informed her coldly, observing as the light from the woman's eyes slowly stuttered out, until he could no longer see a soul peering out at him from those killing-curse-eyes.
"You died for no reason at all other than to protect a child who is not yours. You died for the wrong child."
He didn't know whether the woman heard his final words or not, but it brought him immense satisfaction to see her gone, her annoying voice finally silenced at last.
Voldemort stared at her for a second. The mudblood's crimson hair was fanned out around her as she lay there staring emptily at the ceiling, her hair like the color of spilled blood on the carpeted floor.
A pity… Severus was so adamant to save you. Voldemort thought in complete detachment, stepping around the dead woman. But you were in my way, and that, is something I can't accept. No matter how much Severus had beg me to spare you.
His ruby gaze landed on the infant, where a pair of curious eyes stared back at him.
And you, you are an obstacle that I have yet to destroy. Voldemort halted in front of the infant.
At around six months old, there was nothing remarkable about her.
He took note of her brown hair - which was beginning to curl on her small head - a pair of brown eyes, and even browner skin.
Everything about her was brown, like the color of mud, or the dirt beneath his feet, or perhaps the color of freshly-dug earth, where he supposed, the girl would end up. Dead like the woman who had tried to protect her.
In silence, Voldemort continued to inspect her, trying to discover what set her apart from the other children.
To his greatest disappointment, he saw nothing.
There was nothing about her that could threaten his very existence.
Nothing at all.
Regardless…
Voldemort pointed his wand at the infant's chest.
The girl simply stared right back, remaining curious and unafraid.
She might become a thorn on my side if I allow her to live and grow, Voldemort thought and there was not a hint of remorse in his gaze when he finally uttered the killing curse.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Once more, the room was illuminated with an eerie, vibrant green.
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Almost in slow motion, Voldemort watched as another color bloomed in the girl's ordinary, brown eyes.
It was the reflection of death as it came for her in the color of green.
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He remembered the emerald jet of light hitting the infant, even recalled the child's piercing cry. He remembered it so vividly that he knew it was real - that this was real.
But then, to his complete and absolute horror, the curse rebounded.
Impossible, was the only thing his astonished mind could muster, in that split second, as the killing curse barreled back towards him.
In all his years as the most feared Dark Wizard of all time, Voldemort was hit by a killing curse – a killing curse of his own making.
There was an explosion that took half of the house.
And then, agony - sheer, utter, excruciating pain that could only be felt when his soul fragmented. It enveloped his entire being, ripping him apart and shredding his corporeal form into smithereens.
An agony that was so unlike he had experience when he had made his horcruxes.
He was in pieces, in tatters.
Voldemort felt himself die.
He sensed Death's unwelcome embrace.
And frightened of this, Voldemort fled, swiftly slipping out from Death's cold and deadly fingers.
Voldemort caught a last glimpse of the child crying in the crib just before he disappeared.
The girl was still alive.
At the sight of her still seemingly unharmed, all-consuming hatred simmered beneath the surface of what he had turned into a shade, and Voldemort vowed he would find another way to kill the girl once he regained his power
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