by Persephone Lupin
andrea@phoque.org
Chapter 2: The Nightmare continues
Helena touched the doorknob and suddenly shuddered. Strange ..., how could it feel so cold? It was a nice warm day in May, but oddly enough, the knob felt cold as ice. Something definitely was wrong, but what? Apprehension and fear crept into her heart and made her shiver. But she calmed herself down again. This was her apartment, situated in a nice and friendly muggle-neighbourhood, and, as always, she had locked it with several security-spells. The spells were still intact. Anyhow, she didn't work in any sensitive aerea in the Ministry but only as an apprenticeship in the department for muggle artefacts. There had just recently been incidents involving Aurors and employees of the Department of Mysteries being attacked for some unknown reason, but never anybody from her section, she assured herself. Her job was safe.
Since Helena was muggle-borne, she was pretty good at her job; she actually knew more about muggle artefacts than the rest of the staff, including her boss. Therefore, she was almost sure that she would get an offer for permanent employment before the start of holidays. She also enjoyed her work and did a lot of overtime. Working hard kept her from thinking too much, from falling into depression again. If only those dreadful nightmares didn't haunt her still ... But she kept a steady supply of Dreamless Sleep Potion, so her nights weren't that bad after all. Though she didn't think of herself as happy, she had found some balance in life again, thanks to her mother. If she had not taken control of her daughter's situation, arranged the apprenticeship (with some help of Professor Dumbledore, she suspected), found the apartment, and, most of all, taken care of her unwanted child, she most probably had ended up in the gutter, Helena thought thankfully. And with the reassuring image of her mother in mind, she opened the door and entered her apartment.
Everything looked quite normal. Helena took off her muggle coat and shoes, and risked a quick glance into the mirror. Yes, she finally had gained some weight and didn't have this pale, haggard, haunted look about her anymore. Turning towards the living-room door, she suddenly felt a cold draft that chilled her to the bone. The door opened as if by its own will, and then she heard the laughter, high pitched and cruel like death. Panic-stricken, she staggered backwards toward the wall, shaking all over. This could not be, this must not be, oh, let me wake up from this never-ending nightmare!
"How are you doing, my dear?" The smooth and vicious voice asked as Tom Riddle slowly approached her, wand in hand. „You didn't tell me you were with child," he continued dangerously.
"I ... I ... " Helena was so frightened she couldn't think straight, only stutter.
"So, it didn't occur to you that I might be interested in the fact that I have a son, did it?"
Now Riddle's face was no more than inches away from hers. The cold emanating from him took her breath away and she almost fainted when looking into his eyes.
Rising his wand and pointing its tip at her brow, Riddle inquired, death in his voice, „Where is the boy?"
„I ..., he ..., he's not here," Helena finally managed.
„Where. Is. The. Boy?" Now his eyes were glowing red with cold hate and fury.
„What do you want with him?" she whispered shakily.
„Oh, I won't harm him, that is, if he is worth living." Riddle sneered. "He's at your parent's place, isn't he? Do you really believe I would tolerate my son being raised by a pack of worthless muggles?" he spat. „Answer me!"
When Helena did not respond immediately, Riddle raised his wand and shouted
„Crucio!"
A searing pain shot through her body as she fell to the floor. Red hot pokers seemed to tear her apart, and she screamed, screamed ... When the pain finally ebbed away -was it minutes or years?- to her utter dismay she heard a voice, her own voice, sob her parents' name and address.
„Evans, Andrew and Achillea Evans, Park Lain 5, East Kensington ..."
His laughter, full of hatred and malice, rang in her eares. Then, there was a blinding flash of green light, and then nothingness ...
* * *
When Achillea Evans returned into the living room after having sung little Perseus into his sleep, she suddenly felt a chilling draft accompanied by a soft 'pop.' She froze. A stranger had appeared out of thin air and was standing in the middle of the room. He was shrouded in a black cloak, and only his eyes were visible beneath the dark hood, eyes black as coal, somehow familiar eyes …
"Where is the boy?" the man inquired softly, but in a tone that tolerated no excuse.
Fear flooded through Achillea's mind, and a dreadful apprehension. Oh goodness, this must be the child's father …
"What do you want with him?" she managed to ask through her fear. If only her husband was here, he would know how to deal with the situation. He should be back from his job any minute now …
"Crave, what is mine if he's worth it!" came the answer, almost a hiss.
"I won't give him to you! You sick bastard raped my daughter! I won't let you destroy her son, too!"
"And how do you think you can hinder me? Me, the most powerful wizard in the world, the heir of Salazar Slytherin? Kneel down, pathetic muggle bitch, and beg for your life. For I am Lord Voldemort!"
The last words he shouted like a thunder blast, and Achillea staggered backwards, her hands to her ears. A baby started crying. With a smooth, snake-like movement, the hooded figure glided to the door of the nursery. But Achillea wouldn't give up the fight. She reached the door a fraction of a second before Voldemort and barred it with her body. Simultaneously, the main door opened. Andrew Evans stared at the scene that was unfolding before his eyes in disbelief. His wife struggling desperately against what was apparently a dangerous burglar.
He jumped at the man, not noticing the wand in the intruder's hand. In mid-movement he was hit by a flash of green light and slumped heavily to the ground.
"Andrew!"
Achillea rushed to her fallen husband abandoning the nursery door.
"Andrew, say something! It's me, your Lea, can you not hear me?" she sobbed. But Andrew didn't stir.
When Achillea looked up again, she saw the man, who had just killed her husband with a swish, standing in the doorframe holding little Perseus in a claw-like grasp.
"I guess, he'll make a passable wizard, if he gets the appropriate upbringing. I can feel Salazar's blood pulsing through his veins. He'll make a true Slytherin, still, a son to be proud of." Voldemort's voice was smooth like silk, so as if nothing had happened. As if there was no corps lying prone in the middle of the room. The little boy looked up at his father with large black eyes, mesmerized.
"Don't take him away from me, please!" Achillea crawled towards the black figure, tears streaming down her face. "You don't love him!"
"Love," the man began to laugh, a laugh more terrible than anything. "What does he want with love when I can give him everything that is important in this world. When I can give him POWER!"
And with those words he pointed his wand at her.
"Avada kedavra!" Achillea fell to the floor as the flash of green light hit her in the chest.
"Power to kill, my son, you'll learn it soon ..."
Voldemort stepped out of the entrance and directed his wand at the house.
"Inflamare!"
Instantly, flames began to spread inside what had been a happy family home just minutes ago.
* * *
The muggle authorities would never find out what had caused the inferno of flames. Nor did anybody know what to make of the huge skull and serpent of green light which seemed to grin down from an impassive night sky onto the burning house. The same horrific image that had loomed over an apartment house not that far away, and where, the next day, would be discovered the dead body of Helena Evans. Her death, too remained a mystery.
* * *
Orestes Evans visited the old graveyard frequently, almost daily in the beginning. And often, he brought little Lilly, who reminded him so much of his dead sister, along with him. Lily loved to go there. She loved the ancient trees, the old, weathered headstones covered with ivy, and the heavy scent of many roses. But what intrigued her most was the little angel figure of white marble decorating the small headstone on the children-size grave of her cousin. But the grave was empty. Perseus's body had never been found.
* * *
That very night, when the Dark Mark showed for the first time above muggle London, a hooded dark figure glided down Knockturn Alley. It stopped in front of a narrow, dilapidated house with a rusty sign above the door telling the customer that he was entering Snape's Most Potent Potions-Shop. Here, you could find anything from a harmless potion against tooth-ache to powerful and very illegal poisons. That was one of the reasons Tom Riddle was a frequent guest at Snape's. The other reason was that Scelestus Snape had been devoted to the beautiful black-haired and black-eyed witch that had been Tom's mother. And now, he was as devoted to her son. Voldemort's most loyal and exceptionally useful follower. Tonight, the self-declared Lord had another task for his minion, admittedly a rather unusual one, but of great urgency. He entered the gloomy house and found Snape in the shabby living room, a half-empty bottle of whiskey on the grimy table in front of him.
"Scelestus, old friend," Voldemort said softly.
Snape spilled his Whiskey, but quickly recovered from his surprise.
"My Lord!" He kneeled down in front of his master, kissing the hem of his robes. "How can I be of service to your Highness?"
"Get down your wife. I have a present for her." A vicious smile curled his lips. "But make haste, I don't have all night."
Scelestus scrambled to his feet. He was back within a few minutes dragging his young wife behind him. Voldemort shot her a calculating glance. How on earth had this hook-nosed impotent bastard managed to capture the heart of this raving beauty, who was at least 20 years younger than her husband? He was a pure-blood, true enough, of an old family. But his ancestors had drunk and gambled away their fortune ages ago. So, neither money, nor good looks, nor a nice personality, for sure. Probably a potent and very illegal love-potion? This must be it. The woman's apathetic demeanor and the clouded gaze from those beautiful dark eyes were a telling sign of potion addiction. That sly bastard obviously did not only hide her away but also kept her drugged permanently. Otherwise, she would surely have run away with some handsome young man at the first opportunity. Well, this made everything much easier. An obedient wife who had no social contacts whatsoever, who was entirely restricted to the house, would make the perfect mother for the boy. Nobody would ask questions. There was even a kind of resemblance, at least what concerned the raven hair, dark eyes, and pale skin. Sylvia Snape definitely resembled his mother as he knew her from the one picture he had found in the Hogwarts year-books. Probably that's why Snape had chosen her in the first place. And not a bad choice. One of those days, he would pay her a more private visit ...
"My Master, here she is." Snape forced his wife to kneel with a brutal grip. But she didn't seem to notice, just stared blankly at the floor, eyes wide open. Voldemort lifted her chin with a long, pale finger while reaching into his cloak with his other hand.
"Sylvia, dear, I brought something for you, I'm sure you'll like it." He drew a large bundle from out of his cloak and placed it in Sylvia's lap. Then he pointed his wand at the bundle.
"Finite incantatem!" Sylvia watched intrigued as the bundle began to move and a soft whimper came from beneath the covers. For a fleeting moment, her eyes were lit with curiosity and she slowly removed the blankets.
"You will take care of him for me! Now, leave us alone, I have business to talk with your husband!"
* * *
"Nobody ever is supposed to know that the boy is not yours! Not until I myself declare him mine, is that clear?"
"As you wish, master. Not a word."
"Good. And, Snape, make sure your wife doesn't spoil him. I have no use of any weakling. But neither have I use of a doped idiot, so be careful with those potions of yours. I'll come and check on him once in a while - as his godfather… . Understand?"
"I'll do my very best, my Lord."
"As ever, I'm sure. This is a sign of my trust for you, and you better not disappoint me! Now, the boy needs a name, let's see…"
By smoothly waving his wand Voldemort wrote the name Perseus Evans in golden letters into the air. Then, the letters began to move and rearrange in a dance of shimmering light. Finally they stopped, forming a new name.
"Severus Snape, that's perfect. And very Slytherin. I do have the feeling he'll make a powerful wizard."
And in a swirl of black robes, Voldemort disapparated.
T H E E N D