Author's Note: This is an alternative narrative to the Harry Potter series, which obviously (said in Snape's voice) means that some facts, storylines and even characters will be changed. This story is meant only for entertainment purposes. I do not own any of the original characters created by J.K. Rowling, only my own character, Rose Avery.

Chapter 1

Five Years Later
January 9, 2003

It might have been an hour, or it could only have been ten minutes, but my eyes are still fixed on my favorite spot on the library wall. A bit higher than eye level when I am sitting at my desk, I can't quite make out what the stain is on the wall, nor do I wish to unravel the mystery. I just know that I like to stare at it. It helps me to relax and clear my mind.

It has been almost five years since Harry Potter has died and Lord Voldemort took over the reigns in the Wizarding World. It was a hard battle, literally and figuratively, but here the Dark Lord was, the most powerful wizard in the world. When all the fighting, scrambling, praying, hexing, begging, fleeing, and hoping had finally ran its course, there was only surrender. Surrender to a pathetic, disgusting being like Lord Voldemort and there I am, with him at his every turn. Who is truly the pathetic, disgusting one; he who leads, or he who is led?

For the last five years I stood by this maniac, doing his bidding, providing an ear, and offering my advice. Once Hogwarts reopened under Voldemort's new leadership, he offered me my former position as Headmaster. I turned it down. My reasoning to him was that I had more important things to focus on. My real reason is that I couldn't rally up the courage or strength to go back. How could I look those students or faculty members in their eyes when they know what I really am; a dastardly backstabber who helped the most dangerous wizard in the world achieve his success.

No, I couldn't do that. I've been relatively quiet these last few years. I am technically second in command, with all the Death Eaters falling under me. I have been instrumental with the structuring of the New Wizarding World. I spend my days plotting, scheming, and instructing my fellow Death Eaters. I try to keep my hands clean. The last thing I want is more bloodshed because of me. I keep the heavy lifting to the Death Eaters. I am the "thinker" of the group. If they only knew the most "things" I think about are how to end my own pitiful life. I hate myself and just wish to die, but being the coward that I am, I can't even do that.

I am exhausted from my evilness, trapped in my own villainy that I don't sufficiently feel. I tire from hiding my thoughts and feelings from the Dark Lord, careful of every word I say, every gesture I make, every facial expression. The arduous task of being one of them, of always being scrutinized, surveyed, watched. I am sick of it all, but most importantly, I am sick of myself.

These last couple of months have been the hardest. Now that the witches and wizards have been beaten down to submission, the Dark Lord has shifted his focus on the Muggle community. He is actually meeting with Muggle leaders from around the world, demonstrating his awfulness and being extremely blunt about the ramifications of defying him. What good are their Muggle weapons up against skilled wizards and witches who can kill you in a variety of ways that would only require a swipe from a wand? If they were truly talented, such as myself, they wouldn't even need to say the words out loud or require the use of a wand.

The next step will be to reveal ourselves to the Muggle world. They either get with the program or suffer the consequences. These consequences could be death – the easiest way, torture, or imprisonment and that did not necessarily mean Azkaban. Some of his fellow Death Eaters and quite frankly, some of the sicker wizards out there who weren't officially apart of the Death Eaters, took a liking to "keeping" their favorite Muggles for their own nefarious reasons. They were free to do with the Muggles as they pleased.

The assaults against the Muggles, whether they were of a sexual nature, physical or mental, were the hardest for me to deal with. Even when I was a new Death Eater recruit, I never bought into the ideology that Muggles were inferior to wizards. I just always thought that Muggles were Muggles. They couldn't help that they weren't born with magical abilities. If anything, I felt kind of bad for them. Because I grew up in a half magic-half Muggle world, I had firsthand experience and from my point of view, being a Muggle was decidedly harder. With generations marrying into Muggle families, it was harder to find wizards or witches who were pure blood, which is why one of the first orders of business for Voldemort was to abolish Muggle marriages to anyone in the Wizarding World. Voldemort did decide as a "kindness" that he would not kill anyone already in a mixed marriage but prohibited them from procreating or procreating any further if they had already done so. I am certain this will change. Voldemort's efforts are on world domination right now. Once he has that, there will be no stopping him or his obscene will.

My thoughts are interrupted when I hear a low popping sound and know that someone has just apparated into my house. A Death Eater wouldn't dare do this on their own accord, so it can only be the Dark Lord himself.

I rise from my chair and open the door. There he stood, his fist raised in the air, getting ready to knock on my library door.

"Ah, Severus, on high alert as usual," Voldemort said.

"Always."

"May I come in?"

I move aside to allow him to enter.

Voldemort steps into the library and asks, "Working on something?"

"Yes. The talking points for the new Ministry of Magic. He will be meeting with various Muggle leaders from Europe in a few weeks and I want to make sure he covers all areas that you wish to discuss."

"Very good, very good, but I must say that I am disappointed in you, Severus."

A lesser person would have dropped to his knees and begged for forgiveness for whatever offense they may have caused the Dark Lord, but I am not a lesser person.

Instead, I cooly ask, "How may I have disappointed you, my Lord?"

He followed up my question with one of his own. "Do you not know what today is?"

"Of course. It's the ninth of January."

As the words leave my mouth, I realize it's my forty third birthday.

Lord Voldemort must have sensed my recognition because he gave a slight smile and said, "Ah, you remember now."

I return his small smile with one of my own. "Yes, I actually did forget. After a certain age, what's the point?"

Lord Voldemort chuckled. "I thought you might say that, which is why I have brought you something quite extraordinary for your birthday."

I frown. We have never exchanged gifts previously, so I find this to be all very curious. "My Lord, no need in getting me a gift. It's just a stupid birthday. I'll have another one next year."

"If you're still alive, you mean."

I don't know how to take this comment from Voldemort. Was he implying that there is a good reason to believe that I would not make it to my next birthday or was he simply pontificating on the fragility of life?

I clear my throat and say, "Well, I'm intrigued. What is it?"

"Come downstairs and you'll see."

Still feeling uneasy from our conversation, but needing to hide it, I simply follow Lord Voldemort down my staircase. There, standing in my foyer with magical binding on the wrists and feet is none other than Lily Evans.