Googly, Reverse Sweep...


Title derived from terms pertaining to the game of cricket – The Gentleman's Game. Thanks to all followers, favourite list markers, 'alix33', 'Navn Ukjent', 'rbear1231', 'sandipi', 'Wolfric', 'Erik' (guest), 'MattKennedy', 'Fallow53' (guest), 'bao-earthdragon', "Kairan1979', 'davycrockett100', 'MarilynT', 'katmom', 'beyondthesea16', 'NotAMugwump' and 'blinddivinity' for the reviews.

Warning: Snape is a horrible person in this story; references to female violation and harm to babies.

Regulus, Death Eater, willingly sacrifices his life to bring forth a piece of Voldemort, but doesn't know whom to turn to because he is not in a position to trust anyone, really and can't trust his family. He is glossed over and forgotten. Snape, the deluded, obsessed bully, seeking gratification through child abuse, willing to sacrifice the family and happiness of the woman he 'loves', becomes a hero and is redeemed. Yeah, that's right. That won't happen here.

This means, I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, it would have been epically Harmony, Death Eaters would not find much happiness or life, and Harry would name his kid Remus Regulus Potter (R-R-P, that'd be a SCARA robot...hmm) if he wanted to go with that theme. It seems less poncy than Albus Severus to me.

Oh, and I'd be rich, and wouldn't write here.


23rd December, 1979

The Christmas party hosted by Frank for the Order (in spite of the Potters' and Longbottoms' resignations) at Longbottom Hall was in full swing. Senior members like Dumbledore, Elphias Doge, Cedrella and Septimus Weasley, Ignatius and Mildred Prewett, Alastor Moody, Aberforth Dumbledore, Hagrid, Minerva McGonagall, Filius Flitwick, the Salisbury couple, John and Hannah, and ex-members like Charlus, Dorea and of course, Augusta, were in attendance.

The Marauders, the traitor (who had just been tagged with a blood tracker through his drink – a simple sleeping spell was enough to get him to comply and donate blood for the 'cause'), Frank, the two Bones' brothers, Sturgis Podmore (not a part of the Coven), the Prewett twins, and the new Potter cousin, Eric (who stayed away assiduously from the rat), were apparently indulging in drunken revelry. A new entrant to this group was Ralph Mason. During the four days as November ended and December started, this man had been missing.


Flashback:


The 4th of December, 1979 was a day of great joy for the Coven. The news that Voldemort was now eighty three percent dead had sparked off celebrations among its cadre. The end of this horrendous war was truly in sight. Particularly for the Potter, Longbottom and Bones families, it had been a matter of true relief. They were visible targets, and they knew the traitor in their midst. That was when they remembered that there was one man still to be checked – Ralph Mason.

So, with all the frenzied activities surrounding the prophecy and the control leaking of the same to Voldemort, he had gone under the radar, so to speak. With the initial stages of the plan more than just wrapped up, and with Voldemort certainly being more dead than alive soul-wise, it was time to address this problem.

Ralph Mason brought more problems which really had no straightforward solutions. Yes, he was a marked Death Eater. No, he didn't believe the stupidity that Voldemort was espousing. He was not even someone like Peter who was in it for some twisted form of personal gain, but like them was a vigilante, who had gone in with the idea to spy on that lot. He intended to be the inside source for the Order, but with its ineffectiveness and unwillingness to use what information he could bring, and with the fact that he was essentially caught up as a moneylender (the term 'lender' being very inaccurate as it was never going to be returned) and a leader for a sleeper cell, he had ended up being disenchanted with everything. He was stuck being simultaneously useless and useful and wanting to do the right thing and not being able to do anything at all.

On one hand, they felt bad about doubting him, vindicated with regards to the doubts about whether or not he was marked, triumphant that they really had extracted correct information from Peter, and felt sympathetic towards the man and his predicament. Ralph Mason was, to all extents and purposes, a person stranded in no man's land. His friends – which included most of the Coven – had divulged the extent of their activities to him with the understanding that they could not elaborate. If Voldemort looked into his mind, all he would know was that the Coven no longer worked with the Order, and that they had killed his Death Eaters. It was a situation everyone was content with for the time being.

The fact still remained though, that Ralph had at least had to murder an innocent for that Mark. It tainted his relationship with most of them to an extent, just as much as most of them still viewed Regulus will lingering distaste and suspicion. Those were taints that would probably never be washed off.


End: Flashback.


The people who were 'drunk', though, were actually watching every action, reaction and the behaviour of one Peter Pettigrew. He was constantly shifting around, looking at everything with fear, guilt, hatred, more fear, sadness, and resignation. Lily, Alice and Sylvia were now nearly two months along and were starting to show. It was not remarked upon at all, but there were the things they did to only subtly advertise it. The ladies did not touch the alcohol, while everybody else around them was always ensuring that they were comfortable. The two were also moving cautiously, though they weren't so encumbered that it was necessary. The other ladies of the Coven – Daphne Milner, Wilhelmina Coldword, Althea Brigham, Astoria Taylor, Emmaline Vance and Marlene McKinnon – had cornered the three expectant mothers, and having hijacked a corner, were causing enough noise while still sober to match the revellers.

The men themselves had taken sobering potions enough times between drinks to ensure that they never really got drunk. The party was a party really, but it was, for the Coven, also a ruse to reveal the pregnancies to the traitor and thereby bait the trap. It had been difficult, very terribly difficult, for them all to behave normally around Wormtail, knowing what the man was. But they were too far gone to back off now. Things were so tantalisingly close to the end, and while they had attempted to keep things very light-hearted over the past month, it was now rather obvious that the nerves were getting frayed.

Peter Pettigrew, for all his faults, was a very observant man. He had to be, given his role as a spy. He had seen enough during the party to derive his own conclusions. However, Peter was not the epitome of cleverness. His conclusions were, beyond the obvious almost entirely erroneous. Given the fact that the thing he served had not seen fit to tell him what he should have been looking for, he had chalked all the signs of stress he was seeing as something related to the pregnancies themselves. He had no knowledge of the prophecy at all.

It was only close to midnight when the drama was close to culmination. James and Frank stood up and strode to the centre of the room, the former giving the latter a friendly shove to demonstrate his inebriation, something that the manor Lord returned just as boisterously.

"Dailies and Mental-men," started Frank, who was then cut off when James poked him in the arm to cut him off.

"The right thing is Men and Gentle-ladies..." he whispered loud enough for it to carry. "The ladies are always supposed to be the gentle beings, see? We are rugged, not gentle!"

"Have you two had too much to drink? Not too old to put over my knee, either of you..."Augusta warned, causing the two grown men to cringe a bit.

"Whatever," Frank replied before carrying on. "The Houses of Longbottom and Potter..."

"...and Bones..." supplied Robert as he ambled over.

"...and Bones," agreed Frank, "We have announcements to make!"

This grabbed everyone's attention. People turned in their seats and chairs were shifted so that people could move over. Alice, Lily and Sylvia came over to join their husbands, beaming.

"Indeed! We are all proud to announce that our Houses are about to welcome the next generation in the coming year!" Robert declared joyfully.

There was a slight disagreement over this within the Coven. The Potters and the Longbottoms already knew that they were targets, and having been in on the plan from the very start, they were ready for several eventualities. They were unhappy with Sylvia being made a target, simply because the Bones' child would be born around the same time as the Potter and Longbottom children. However Robert had pointed out that in any case they were targets, as evidenced by the attack on the Ossuary. This way the Order would still look out for them and the protection would be higher. It was a valid point.

There were loud cheers in response. The Order had had precious little to celebrate till recently. For three among their numbers to have such good news made everyone really truly happy – well, except Pettigrew, of course. He was squirming like a rat that had chanced upon a truly scrumptious aroma and was unable to follow it. His Lord would be very pleased with this information.

There were toasts, words of blessing from the elders and lots of ribbing by the others. Peter mostly remained silent, unable to honestly share the joy. On one hand, he would have to betray his friends and a child. Even Peter had scruples there. Would he really feel nothing at all while betraying a child to its death? On the other, he had been promised protection, riches, power and women. Peter blinked. That was a bloody easy decision, wasn't it? He could almost picture himself like a king, rolling in wealth, surrounded by his harem, with a beauty feeding him grapes while another fanned him. A dreamy, stupid, goofy grin stretched across Peter's face.

He was jerked out of his daydreams by a hand around his shoulder. He fought the grimace that threatened to break out on his face.

"Wormy," Sirius addressed him very seriously.

"Pads," Peter acknowledged, plastering a smile on his face. They were joined by James and Remus. "Prongs, Moony," the rat added.

In spite of the wolf, so near to the surface with the transformation barely a week away, howling at him to tear the traitor apart, Remus somehow calmed himself and nodded back, as did James. "We need your help, Wormtail," the stag animagus gravely intoned. "Will you...?"

"Of course, Prongs, you just have to say the word."

"Just die, you effing traitor!" would have been wholly inappropriate, so James instead looked over to his friends –true friends – in faux apprehension to stave off the moment. He then took a deep breath before explaining the 'situation' to Pettigrew. "Peter, HE is targeting Sirius, Remus and me for recruitment. We have known that for a very long time. HE is targeting Lils as well. We know that as well."

Peter could only nod. He himself had been given the job of sounding them out. He hadn't done it of course, and in his sole action of defiance, had engineered one of the confrontations between the Potters and Voldemort based upon a truly well-constructed lie. His three 'friends' had trained him well in pranks of such a nature. Either of the other three joining the Death Eaters would mean he would be consigned back to the lowly position of a minion of a minion of a minion of a...

"But now," continued James, "now I have my child to think of. I can't take that risk. That is why we intend to go into hiding."

"Hiding?" rasped Peter. This was bad. This was horrible. How was he supposed to tell his Lord about it and give him solid information if they went into hiding?

"Yes. And we, and by that I mean to say, Lily and I think that you should be the secret-keeper for the Fidelius Charm."

"Fidelius Charm?" squeaked Peter...so like a rat.

"Yes. Professor Dumbledore is renting us a cottage. He will put up the charm soon."

Peter had not watched cartoons, but his eyes could have easily imitated the best of Warner Brothers' and Hannah-Barbera's greediest characters' eyes. He still decided to be cautious and find out everything that they had planned before going ahead with it. "Why me, though?" he asked. "Why not have Padfoot or Moony do it?"

"Anyone who knows us through the years will know that I will immediately turn to Padfoot first. Next I'd turn to Moony. But I want you to do this. Nobody will think that you'd do it as they think you aren't a big dueller if it comes to that. But we know otherwise. And more importantly," he said forcefully, and in a low voice, as the words were wrenched from him, "I trust you. I trust you, Wormtail of the Marauders." I trust you to sell me out.

That clinched it for Peter. James really was a fool. "I will do it," he promised with all the solemnity he could muster. He received weak smiles in response.

"Thanks Peter. I knew I could trust you."

The party broke up just after one in the morning and the traitor was among the first to leave. His former friends looked on dispassionately as he tried to scurry away as inconspicuously as possible.

"Think he ate it up?"

"Absolutely," replied Moony. "I could practically smell his excitement."

"YUCK!" protested James and Sirius as one. "Traitor or not, there are some things about people that I simply don't want to know!"

"You don't get to protest - either of you. I always feel squeamish eating at the kitchen table in your flat, Prongs. And the sheer number of times I have caught you in broom closets in varying degrees of compromising positions, Padfoot... Those times have burnt the images into my mind forever. I could never look at the girls without blushing again, and I had only caught you!" Remus commented with a shudder. "And I wasn't talking about that sort of excitement, you pair of jerks! His pulse had gone up; he was practically quivering with something akin to happiness and just couldn't wait."

"It's the same thing, Moony," Sirius pointed out.

"It is, isn't it?" the werewolf mused. "Any bets he goes scurrying over to his Master?" Remus was one of the subtler, innuendo-joke-cracking people. So when he said the word 'Master' it was said with such an inflection that the images it generated in his fellow Marauders' minds were decidedly of the risqué kind. When they groaned in protest, Remus asked innocently, "What? You don't want to take the bet?"

"You know what, Moony. Don't act so innocent," James grumbled. "And of course, we can't take the bet. We learnt not to over the years we have been your friends. You rob people blind in bets because you always have inside information."

Remus just smiled widely.

The party was a success. The other side was also successfully infected. Now they just had to wait and fight for one year.


Peter was lazy. So he decided to postpone telling Voldemort the three families' happy news till the next day. Remus would have lost the bet had the three true marauders actually had a bet. Peter' fear of Voldemort dishing out the Cruciatus because he was woken at that late hour was greater than his excitement.

"My Lord," Peter squeaked as he prostrated himself at Voldemort's feet the following day.

"Speak, Wormtail."

"My Lord you had asked for news within the Order."

"Yes."

"My Lord, Potter, Longbottom and Bones are going to have children."

Voldemort, who was stroking the head of his familiar, a snake of unknown species which was draped around his neck across the back of his 'throne', stilled. "Say that again," he hissed.

Peter started cowering. "My Lord, Potter, Longbottom and Bones are going to have children."

"When shall they?"

"Sometime at the end of July..."

Voldemort stood up in a motion that startled both the snake and Peter. The reptile flicked its tongue speculatively and slithered towards Peter, who whimpered and reflexively moved closer to Voldemort, which was a different kind of danger in and of itself.

"Silence Wormtail!" spat the Dark Lord at his minion, as he paced on the dais upon which the throne sat in the darkened room. When the first flare of panic had died off and he had calmed down enough, he demanded, "Tell me more."

Peter almost heaved a sigh of relief...almost. So long as he was in the same room with the Dark Lord and that Merlin damned snake, he could truly count on every breath being his last. "Potter announced it to the Christmas Party the Order had last night."

"And I am hearing about it now? Crucio!" screamed the Dark Lord.

If he could think, Peter could have cursed himself – if he weren't already being cursed. With his extremities twitching and him having pissed in pain, his only true incentive to stand up was the snake which, as for all snakes was attracted due to the rat's scent. Poisonous snakes' venom always causes their prey to lose control of their bodies. For another, if he didn't clean himself and the floor up, the next spell heading his way would be the Avada Kedavra. Why was he still serving the madman? Oh yes; he had been promised a really good life.

Slowly tottering up to his feet, he cast the cleaning and air-freshening charm and cried, "Mercy, my Lord!" as he sank to his knees again. "I returned very late last night, and I believed you would not like to be disturbed during your rest!"

Voldemort evidently decided that it was an acceptable excuse, so the torture curse didn't find its way back to Peter again. He instead resorted to threatening Peter. "If you value your life, Peter, I want you to tell me everything, now!"

And so Peter told Voldemort everything. What he heard was rather excellent, Voldemort decided. The part where Peter was asked to be the secret-keeper amused him so much that he laughed outright (it was a curious sound, like an air-pump used for bicycle tyres). Potter had fallen into the trap that most people fell into – friendship and trusting another human, or indeed, for that matter, any other being that could think for itself. It was why he would be easy to destroy as would his entire family. Family; that word and the emotions people connected with it made him want to vomit. He gave an ophidian grin at that as he allowed himself to relish the thought of destroying three families. It made him feel all warm and tingly inside.

"Stand up Wormtail," he commanded and was instantly obeyed. "You have done well. I want you to go ahead with the plan. In fact, since they are, as you say, so insistent on outsmarting me, let me help you help them further..."

Wormtail would have smiled, but his heart wasn't truly in it anymore. He bloody ached. Damn this Dark Lord, damn his friends and damn spying! All he wanted was the riches and a good night's sleep now. When Voldemort was done, and he had jotted it all down on a piece of parchment, he left to accomplish his second need.

Once the rat had left, Voldemort paced some more. The prophecy; yes, it was a load of hooey. But he knew that these things had a way of coming true, if someone who actually believed in them, or was desperate enough, did things wilfully or otherwise to set them in motion. He personally would never believe it. Believing a prophecy meant believing in fate, or destiny or whatever. That meant believing in a power higher than Lord Voldemort's own power. And that was impossible.

On the other hand, there were a few things that he knew he could use the prophecy as an opportunity to work around. His first instinct was to let the children be born. The three couples in question were all powerful individuals, and he had no doubt that the children would be just as powerful, if not more. Of course, they wouldn't rival him in power, but still for commoners (which meant everyone who wasn't him) they would be respectably powerful. Killing the parents and raising the children to be his Death Eaters would be an excellent way out. But would that be really possible, when Dumbledore who had heard the prophecy would be looking out for them?

And there was the crux of the problem. He didn't want to leave it to chance. He didn't want some fluke of nature or magic to occur and push the prophecy into becoming self-fulfilling. He didn't want there to be any doubt about the power and immortality of Lord Voldemort. The Potter, Longbottom and Bones lines had to end. And he would start with the Potters. He deserved a birthday gift, after all, didn't he?

No, he decided. There was no way the children would be born. There was no need for any threats to come into existent. It would be the right thing to do, eliminating them l while the women were unable to fight.


26th December, 1979, Boxing Day


Dumbledore had just cast the Fidelius Charm on the house he was going to sacrifice. He hated that house. There were no good memories for him here. His sister had been hurt badly the first time close to this place and his father had been sentenced to Azkaban forever. His childhood had been abject due to the circumstances. His mother and sister had died right here in this house. His family had been destroyed there as well.

In a quirk of fate, therefore, this house was going to serve a greater purpose when it would be destroyed a year on with the most feared and hated Dark Lord in recent history. And given the fact that Gellert Grindelwald – another bad memory associated with this house – was around only three decades before Tom, that was, in a perverse way, quite the achievement.

He felt a strange urge to laugh, as the traitor, Pettigrew (he had been told; the Coven wasn't about to hide such important information at such a crucial juncture) accepted the secret-keeping duties. The trap was set, the bait was tied. Now the shikari would sit tight in anticipation.

Peter, however, had a surprise for them. "James, years ago, the Marauders made a vow to each other, a vow of loyalty and duty to each other. I invoke that today. I Vow on my very life and magic, to keep this secret, and protect it with my life and my honour, and my pledge."

Perhaps friendship and humanity weren't so dead after all. James looked at the traitor strangely for a moment. His face took a troubled mien, before a smile, not unlike the one he had worn before pulling off a spectacular prank blossomed on his face. Peter smiled uncertainly at his friend, something which the oldest among them caught.

Yes, decided Dumbledore. Peter had chosen the right side, after all.


Voldemort sat and listened gleefully as Peter recounted the casting of the Fidelius Charm. This had gone according to the plan, the masterful plan that he, Lord Voldemort had concocted. He had cleverly played on the weaknesses of his enemy. He had known for some time that the Order knew that they had a traitor in their midst. Offering a Vow, voluntarily, to protect the secret with his pledge, life and magic was the wording just as he had commanded Peter to use. After all, the Death Eaters had pledged their life and magic for their Lord to command. It was so easy to make a true Vow in words yet have it mean something totally different in meaning.

Now it was time to set things in motion. He sent for his resident Potioneer, Severus Snape. The man had quite the history with Potter, his wife, and his friends. Perhaps Severus would be up for some revenge and some fun?

"Milord," Snape addressed his master, as he prostrated himself when he turned up barely minutes later.

"Rise, Severus." Voldemort observed the man inscrutably for several moments. Finally he spoke, "We have a job for you Severus..."

Not knowing whether to acknowledge that in words or to remain silent, Snape decided to bow. That made Voldemort smile. He didn't like too many clever minions; he wasn't foolish enough to discount the power of a clever multitude (then again, maybe he was). But in Severus Snape, he was sure that he had a gem of a servant who was as good with his wand as he was with his brains. He had some ambivalent ideas regarding the risk that the man possessed, especially with the knowledge he now had, but with enough control, he could come to believe Severus yet. That would be quite the first.

"We believe you have heard that the prophecy you told us about has been set into motion."

"Yes Milord. I have heard something to that effect from what Pettigrew told me. He was not clear about the details however."

Voldemort remained silent to make it seem as if he wanted Severus to shut up, which he did. A full minute later, he spoke, "So Severus, I hope you remember our good friend, James Potter?" The savage snarl that broke out on the face of the otherwise stoic Snape nearly made Voldemort laugh outright. "You do remember," he said in an amused voice, stoking the fire of hatred that the Death Eater seethed with.

"Yes Milord," the greasy-haired man answered through gritted teeth. "I remember that blood-traitor."

Silly Severus; he was still unable to face the facts that he was bested in his obsession by the better man who was worthy of the mudblood, the Dark Lord mused. Even he knew that Severus wasn't worthy of anyone to breed with or even be with, let alone the witch touted to be the cleverest witch, and from his personal experience, also the most vicious witch of her generation. Even he knew that making someone fall in love with oneself was the pinnacle of manipulation, and he was something of an expert on the subject, having managed it thrice. The foolish women had been excellent sacrifices on the altar of his immortality. Snape had befriended people who hated Lily Evans on sight and had called her a mudblood, and had been among those who tortured and defiled her friend who was similarly handicapped in terms of her circumstances of birth. Severus Snape hoped to find a willing woman in Lily Evans? Hah!

Still, all the anger, hatred and irrationality could be channelled, couldn't it? Unless he was wrong – and he wasn't, for nobody knew better than he the ways to identify, manipulate and channel the negative 'emotions' and traits in a person – Severus was wallowing in self-pity, a feeling of betrayal, jealousy, and hatred for the man, and anger at the woman for spurning him. This was most amusing and useful. And he thought it was 'love'. Hah! Love was a myth. It didn't exist.

"Well then," he continued, poking at the one weakness of the man, "you will be most happy to hear that they have some very happy news! They are about to welcome a new little Potter within the coming year!"

Severus Snape was doing his utmost to prevent himself from bursting with all the rage he felt. Even his iron-control over his thoughts and emotions was unable to restrict the sheer betrayal and hatred he felt. Lily was now bearing the beastly spawn of Potter? She, who was his woman, had not only betrayed him, by somehow marrying the...the...he didn't even have words enough to describe Potter... and now was carrying his child?

Knowing that he had provoked Severus enough to make the man lose all rationality, Voldemort now started to direct all the hatred the man felt. "Well, Severus, it seems you are in luck."

The words barely made it through the haze of anger, but Severus jerked his head towards his Master.

"You brought the Prophecy, did you not? Well, the Potter spawn fulfils the criteria. Its parents have defied me thrice, and the child itself will be born as the seventh moth dies..."

It took some time for the words to percolate into Snape's brain, and for him to understand them. When they did, though, the savage anger turned into an animalistic sort of glee.

Now simply so that Severus could amuse him further, Voldemort allowed the man a free rein over his behaviour in his, Lord Voldemort's, presence. Severus rose shakily to his feet, breathing harshly and with a cruel glint in his eyes. He paced a bit to calm himself a bit, knowing he would be held under the Cruciatus for this. But if his voice rose, it would be worse. Finally, when he pronounced himself fit to speak to his master again, he faced Voldemort.

"Milord..."

"Speak, Severus," Riddle replied, unable to keep a hint of mirth from his voice.

"I beg for a boon."

"Speak."

"I beg that you spare the mudblood's life. I want her for myself." He would never call Lily by her name around Voldemort. He had to call her mudblood. But then, wasn't that the thing that had driven her into Potter's arms? Never mind. She would be his.

Voldemort completely expected it and also what was going on in his Potion Master's mind. But for appearances' sake, he asked in a hiss, "Do you mean we should spare this so-called threat to us?"

"No Milord," Snape backtracked. "That spawn of evil shall be...taken care of...of course. There are potions. I shall have them ready for you to administer to her by your own hands," he offered.

"And you believe she will come to you out of her old sense of friendship?"

"That no longer matters, Milord. I believe I shall be able to...convince...her..."

"Good."

There was nothing more to be said and Snape was dismissed. Voldemort stared at the door his minion had just left through with a weird expression. Then it started. It started as a low hiss, before it became a full-blown gale of laughter. Idiots! The lot of them were idiots! But all the same, the sheer diabolic nature of the 'plan' Severus had to win the mudblood over impressed Voldemort. He could recognise another driven man like himself. Severus was driven by the need to make the mudblood his own, just as he himself was driven by the ambition to be immortal.

The mudblood was important to his plans as well. Her presence – as he thought of it, his love for her, and therefore an inhibiting factor – would keep Severus from more grandiose ambitions. She would have to be spared.


31st December 1979


Severus Snape and Peter Pettigrew accompanied their master to Godric's Hollow. Each of them was in a similar state of mind. They were feeling a very miniscule sliver of guilt, which was very thoroughly overwhelmed by their anticipation of reward.

For Peter, it was only the slightest of guilt that he was sending Prongs to his death, along with Lily and their child. But he ruthlessly quashed it with the things he had been telling himself for quite some time. The Marauders had not treated him fairly. They hadn't treated him with respect. This meant nothing. Prongs meant nothing to him, nor did Lily. This was not betrayal. Hadn't James apprenticed under Mad-Eye Moody? He should have checked him. He should not have trusted him. James fully deserved what was coming for him, just as he deserved the riches and power he would be rewarded with for this.

Snape was entertaining similar thoughts. Potter would end with the year. Potter, who had tormented him through his school life, who had bullied him viciously, who had been the popular berk, who was liked by everyone and who had stolen his, Severus' woman, his Lily from him, would die today. Potter, who defiled Lily, would die today. And Potter's spawn from hell, would soon follow its worthless father. And then Lily would be his. The thoughts made him smile viciously. Lily would repent for choosing Potter and having the audacity to marry him and bear his child. She needed to be re-educated. He might have told the Dark Lord that he wanted her as a slave, but she would be his queen. A laugh was wrenched from him against all control.

In their respective anticipation and bloodlust, neither saw how ironic it was, and how horrible everyone would have found it that Peter Pettigrew, once a Marauder, and Severus Snape, sworn enemies, were working together to murder families and innocent, unborn children.

"James and Lily Evans-Potter live at 4, The Old Forest Road, Godric's Hollow," Peter declared. For once in his life, Severus Snape rushed in like a Gryffindor, Voldemort following languidly in their wake...