Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. This is a work of fanfiction, and no money is being made from it. This story was inspired by an idea I saw somebody explore a few years back. However, theirs was set during the first war with Voldemort and involved time travel. This story is set in what would be considered an alternate reality where the Potters survived the night Lord Voldemort decided to visit.

The Forgotten Will

He appeared on the gravel path and promptly fell to his knees, trembling uncontrollably as he screamed in agony. His screams were near silent, his swiftly cast charm muffling the sound of his pain. He remained there for several minutes as he tried to mentally work his way around the discomfort enough that he could move. He had to move; the longer he remained outside and exposed, the less chance there was of finding the help he needed. Help rested inside the tall metal gates blocking his path. To get help he needed to be inside the gates and to be inside the gates, he needed to move.

Slowly, painfully, he struggled forward. One small step at a time, barely standing as he tried and failed to steady himself. It took an incredibly long time to cross the short distance, but eventually he touched the metal gate and knew that was enough.

The pain consumed him seconds later and he barely had the strength to cancel his earlier charm. His survival relied upon the help of others and to help him they needed to hear him. Whether they would understand him was another matter.

He felt the gate move and a large hand touch his shoulder. He felt himself being lifted from the ground and had the sensation of being carried. As much as he tried to be aware of his surroundings, in his condition the best he could do was guess that he was still being moved.

Eventually the movement stopped, and he felt the floor beneath him. He heard voices, a lot of shocked voices. Then somebody touched his lips, and a small amount of liquid was poured onto his tongue.

Immediately he recognised it as a pain reliever. Its effect was miniscule, but it cleared his head enough that he could speak.

"Pack five," he hissed, his voice raw from screaming.

There was more shouting, instructions handed out as a box was retrieved from one of the drawers in a nearby desk and a selection of vials emptied into his mouth. With each potion he consumed he started to feel better, his mind focussing on the task at hand. The potion pack had been designed to allow a temporary, rapid recover in the event of serious injury. Its effects would not last, and he would not be able to use the same potions again for twelve hours, but it gave him time to explain to others what he needed and how he came to be in such a state in the first place.

"Thank Albus," he said quietly. Speaking was still uncomfortable. "He was angry tonight. Very, very angry."

"And what did you do to anger him so much that he tortured you like this," Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and leader of the Order of the Phoenix enquired.

Severus Snape, the school's potion master and an important member of the Order due to his role as a spy, looked around the office and made a note of those present. Some who knew him well enough were surprised this his face lacked the usual maliciousness they had attributed to the man.

"I did nothing. Nor did the others. The Dark Lord suffered a major setback tonight and decided to take his annoyance out on those he felt deserved it. Namely: everyone."

"Define setback," somebody commented. Snape resisted the urge to snap at them. Right now, he needed to explain and arrange treatment before the potions ran out.

"The Dark Lord had decided to take out what he described as a minor annoyance. Minor because the Dark Lord considered him a weakling and a coward. Annoyance because he had dared to interfere in the Dark Lord's negotiations with the vampires, forcing their neutrality... for now."

"I see," Dumbledore said. "I expect Tom was willing to make an example out of this annoyance in an attempt to change their minds."

"He thought that killing this man would put an end to the matter. He even decided that he would make a public statement while doing so by using the dark creatures already at his command."

There was silence, his audience waiting to hear more.

"I do not recall any reports of a large attack tonight," Dumbledore commented. "Surely an attack that size would have alerted the Ministry."

"The attack was in France," Snape answered. "The Dark Lord considered the man a small annoyance, but enough of an inconvenience to cross the Channel to deal with him. He took three of the Inner Circle and a dozen of his lesser servants with him. From my understanding once in France he used his contacts with the veela, giants and werewolves, and a few of the vampire clans already under his banner, to storm the man's home. They had been offered the village and all its occupants as payment for their services. Just over three hundred people they could feed on, turn, or just destroy. And the Dark Lord was confident there would be enough spare corpses to expand his Inferi army."

"So many lives dismissed so callously," Dumbledore sighed. "How many did he many to kill before things went wrong?"

By now the old man had guessed that Voldemort had led the assault and been stopped before he had a chance to kill his target. Perhaps the villagers had put up more of a fight than expected, buying enough time for the man to escape.

"None." He revelled in the shocked silence but decided to continue before that shock turned to outrage. "When they arrived, the village had been emptied. Not a single life was lost as the Dark Lord and his followers marched through. They destroyed the buildings and killed any animals they encountered, before they reached the home of the one, they were seeking. And then they died."

"What?"

"They died. Anything that stepped onto the property was killed before they could reach the front door. The wards cut them down like they were nothing. The Death Eaters he sent around the back of the property to make certain there were no survivors running out the back door, were cut down and deposited outside the fence."

It had been absolute carnage. The Dark Lord and his inner circle had looked on in disbelief as their comrades and hired help were savaged. And that had been before their intended target had deigned to open the door and step outside.

"You're trespassing," the man hissed as he moved beyond the threshold of the house. "We do not allow dark lords and their flunkies in this place. It upsets the neighbours."

The Death Eaters were angered that anybody would think to stand in front of their master and speak to him with anything less than sheer reverence. One of the lesser followers, eager to impress his lord, raised his wand and cast a particularly nasty gouging curse, only to see it returned without any effort by the other wizard as he calmly moved outside the gate. The Death Eater could only look down in shocked horror at the effectiveness of his spell and the large hole where his spleen had once been.

"You dare to trespass on my property and attack me?" he demanded. "I could destroy you all right here, right now."

"Kill him!" the Dark Lord ordered.

Surprisingly, the man had just burst out laughing as three of the darkest magic users in the Dark Lord's service raised their wands, and cast. And nothing happened. There was no indication that they had performed any magic except a slight glow at the tips of their wands. Their inferiors had decided to ignore their sudden inability to perform magic and had repeated their spells, growing increasingly panicked when their spells failed to appear.

And then he had struck back, stopping those that were trying to curse him by taking away their wands... and the hands that had been holding them. Which left the Dark Lord surrounded by a mess of dark creature body parts, wizard and witches lacking their hands and his elites slumped at his feet, stunned.

"If you draw your wand, I will cut you down before you can run far enough away to escape," he warned as he noticed Voldemort preparing to attack. "You are not welcome here, Lord Voldemort. Take your men and what remains of your army and leave. Forget whatever problem you believe you have with me and walk away while you can."

"You dare to threaten me," Voldemort hissed. "You dare to dictate terms to me?"

"Of course." The wizard smiled, but his there was a warning tone in his voice. "Just remember: I can perform magic and right now, your wand is just a stick."

"You stood in my way," Voldemort told him. "I cannot allow you to do that and live."

The wizard looked confused.

"You interfered in my negotiations with the vampires. You cost me my followers."

"This is about vampires?" the wizard asked. "Really? You're allowed me to slaughter a vast chunk of your army and hold you at wand point because of a few dozen vampires?"

"You instructed them not to follow me," the Dark Lord accused.

"Actually, I offered them some land I owe in Italy if they would remove themselves from my land," came the reply. "I never said anything about you or your offer."

That was true although given the travelling distance and the promise of a regular blood supply if they never stepped foot in France again, he could see how such a deal would have made recruitment difficult. Travelling to Britain from France was simple. Doing so from the rest of the continent required the sorts of permit that would draw too much attention for that coven.

"Do not attempt to blame me for your recruitment problems," he warned. "I don't want to involve myself in your war, Lord Voldemort, but if you force me to wade in, I will put an end to you swiftly."

"An alliance then," Voldemort tried. "Join forces with me and we can conquer the world."

"I have no interest in conquest," was the reply. "You're starting to bore me, Lord Voldemort. Please, begone."

And with those words, the Dark Lord found himself standing at the edge of the village surrounded by his stunned lieutenants, his crippled soldiers, and an army of dead creatures. He angrily revived those he could - for it seemed his magic had returned somehow - and created a portkey to return them to his hideout.

Which was when Snape and the rest of Voldemort's followers had been summoned so that their furious master could vent his anger upon them. The Death Eater who had lost their hands, despite the loyalty they had shown, were rewarded with a flash of green light for failing their master. The Inner Circle that had joined his failed expedition discovered the full extent of his displeasure; Snape was not entirely sure that one of them would survive his injuries.

And then the Dark Lord had taken it upon himself to prove that his magic was just as strong and every bit as dangerous as ever. After having his servants watch the events that had occurred and heard their empty reassurances that the other wizard had been lucky their lord had chosen to leave him alive, they had failed to explain how the wizard had robbed the darkest wizard alive of his magic and dismissed him like a naughty child. So, he had rewarded them with pain. Lots and lots of unending pain. And he had tortured them all until he was certain that they had gotten the message and finally let up. And at that time, he announced that those that were truly loyal would show the strength to recover and that the rest would be dead before they could testify against him.

The Dark Lord had sent them all away. He had taken their masks and deposited them back where they had been before his summons. And so, Severus imagined at that moment there were dark witches and wizards throughout Britain struggling to heal themselves so that they could face the monster that had nearly tortured them to the point of madness.

"And that is all I can tell you," Snape concluded, glancing around the assembled witches and wizards of the Order of the Phoenix. Some looked at him with pity, some with disbelief at the events he had described. What was lacking for the first time in many of their eyes was the distrust and enjoyment of his current condition.

"Very well Severus, your efforts as always are appreciated," Dumbledore said. "I believe if there were any doubts about the risk you take while performing your role, they have been laid to rest. Now, I believe you should make your way to the Hospital Wing for treatment."

Snape nodded and stood with a slight wobble. He was surprised when a firm hand gripped his elbow, and he was led toward the door.

"Oh, Severus," Dumbledore called before he could exit the room. He turned back, hoping he was not about to receive a rebuke for some incident earlier in the day. "The wizard that Voldemort was so interested in... what was his name."

Snape shook his head, realising how much the pain and the potions had affected him. Somehow in the process of recanting his tale he had failed to deliver some of the most useful information he could provide. There would be time to fill Albus in fully when he had finished his time with the school matron. But for now, he could at least give the old man a name to start his investigation.

"Peverell," he stated before walking away, turning away from the room so that he missed the shocked expression on the face of the elderly man as the door closed behind him.