And either must die at the hand of the other…
September 4
Mortimer Grakiss shivered outside. The air was bitingly cold, a fierce wind had picked up. He drew his overcoat closer to him, though he was repulsed by it: he was a Death Eater currently dressed as a filthy Muggle. But the Dark Lord had commanded him to go to this house in the Outer Hebrides with incognito attire save the standard Death Eater masks, so here he was, freezing his arse off waiting for the others to arrive. Varmilke would be arriving with the new recruits soon, and the Dark Lord wanted them initiated with this wizarding family.
Twenty-six years old, Mortimer had served Lord Voldemort since his late Hogwarts years, but the stress of the war made him look three decades older. The man was gaunt, with a spine permanently curved into a hunch after an untreatable injury from a duel with Mad-Eye Moody. Lines were etched on his face, grooves and cuts in a chalky, alabaster complexion. But Mortimer still served faithfully…
Truth be told, Mortimer was fine with assassinating Ministry officials, slaughtering Muggles like the helpless sheep they were, killing Aurors in battle, and he itched to come face to face with any member of the accursed Order of the Phoenix and tear them apart.
But Mortimer thought there was something out of sorts showing up at doorstep of a random wizarding family and killing everyone, when the family in question had no suspicious allegiances of any kind. He might have been a bit too curious for his own good on occasion, but no matter what anyone thought, he wasn't some blind foot soldier like Crabbe or Goyle. He joined the Death Eaters out of respect and sympathy for their espoused principles and fierce hatred of Muggles, not to torture blood-traitors and half-bloods. He was a Ravenclaw, for Merlin's sake!
He went along with his orders, but didn't they need people like that? They needed to convince them why they were wrong and join the struggle for liberation, not die or be cowed into submission. Binns may have been a boring old fart, but one thing stuck out from the myriad of goblin and giant wars the ghostly professor droned on about: with rule by fear and terror, there will always be rebellion.
"You look like shit, Grakiss."
A voice broke him out of his reverie, and Mortimer spun to see Erik Varmilke sneering at him, wand in hand and lazily pointed in his general direction.
"I could say the same about you, Varmilke. Your robes are filthy. Couldn't be bothered to clean the blood after last time, eh?"
Mortimer put on an indifferent expression, but in reality Varmilke scared him a bit. He wasn't nearly as sadistic as Dolohov or as blood-hungry as Macnair, but the man definitely enjoyed torturing and killing, and had an especially disturbing taste for small children.
Varmilke looked down at his robes and scowled. "Filthy Muggles don't even know how to die without making a mess." A muttered scourgify made his black Death Eater robes stain-free. He looked at his comrade with disgust.
"And you can take off that Muggle clothing too. Your surveillance is over."
Mortimer nodded and with a swish of his wand his Muggle attire was removed, revealing the robes beneath. "Where are the new recruits?"
Varmilke jerked his thumb toward the house. "I left them behind that oak tree. Wanted to get you before the fun started."
Mortimer groaned, then slipped his hood over his head. "I hope they make it quick, I'm not in the mood for a long initiation."
"These aren't Muggles, Grakiss. It's a wizarding family. For these bunch of shit-for-brains kids, it'll be at least fifteen minutes. And you know they have to prove themselves before taking the easy way out."
Mortimer sighed as Varmilke put his hood up as well. Silently walking to the oak tree, the two Death Eaters found the three new recruits standing together. Mortimer appraised the finds: one would probably do well at this, his face seemed set as though he seemed to know what to expect. The other two Mortimer wasn't sure about, they looked a bit peaky, and one's eyes were darting from the Death Eaters' hoods to the house to his fellow recruits. The third candidate had his eyes fixed on the ground, muttering incomprehensibly under his breath.
"Alright," Varmilke's slightly muffled voice came from under his hood, "there are five targets in the house: adult wizard, adult witch, fourteen year old wizard, ten year old witch, and an infant wizard. Your task: subdue all members of the home, and then we'll come in and see what you make of the Unforgivables."
"This is a Pureblood family," and as he said it, two boys looked surprised while the third simply kept his eyes on the ground and muttered again.
"So don't underestimate them. Take them out quickly, then we can play with them."
Mortimer rolled his eyes under his hood. Of course Varmilke was getting positively giddy with the prospect of torture.
"This is your initiation. And I'll let you in on a secret," the Death Eater paused while all three recruits snapped their attention to him, "this mission is of the highest importance to the Dark Lord. Succeed, and you'll find yourself becoming a full-fledged Death Eater, with all the power and prestige associated with that. Fail… well, you don't want to fail. Not in this task."
"Sir?" and all eyes turned to the muttering boy, who had finally picked his eyes up from the ground. "Do we get hoods for this exercise."
"No. You earn your hood by how well you perform tonight."
All the recruits nodded. Varmilke simply gestured with his arm toward the house.
"After you."
The three recruits made their way to the house, throwing up silencing and anti-Apparition wards as they had been trained while Mortimer and Varmilke watched from the shadows. Mortimer was impatient, he hated these torture sessions on fellow Purebloods. Varmilke seemed to be checking the time elapsed on his watch, as the wizards had no indication of the status in the house besides the colorful jets of light flying through the house indicating curses and hexes.
"Ten minutes up. Let's see how they did."
Varmilke advanced on the house, with Mortimer bringing up the rear, checking for any witnesses. As he entered the house and shut the door, he saw that the three boys had done remarkably well in rounding up the family and disarming them. The father and son were held tightly in ropes, wands pointed at each of them. Meanwhile the mother sat free on the floor, holding her quietly crying daughter whose face was pressed into her chest.
"Well well, Mr. Holmsfin," Varmilke said theatrically, "Have you any idea why we're here?"
The man quailed under the stare of the Death Eater, but found enough strength to answer.
"N-no. We're Purebloods, never associate with Muggles, give donations to the Knights of Walpurgis, and don't support Dumbledore."
Mortimer raised an eyebrow under his hood: the Knights of Walpurgis were a charity front for the Death Eaters, espousing Pureblood supremacy but also engaging in philanthropy. It had been the original name for the Dark Lord's oldest followers, preserved to promote their ideals without connection to their "evolved" activities.
Varmilke paused to consider the man. "Well, those are certainly good qualities of your lovely family. But when you're an enemy of the Dark Lord, none of those things count in your favor."
The man paled and swallowed, casting an anxious eye over his cowed family.
"P-p-please, don't hurt them."
Varmilke tutted disapprovingly.
"No begging my good man, it's not becoming of a Pureblood."
He suddenly snatched the ten-year-old from her mother's grasp, who broke into hysterics and tried to rush after the Death Eater.
"Not Patty! Please don't take my daughter!"
"Incarcerous! Silencio!" The trainee with his wand on her silenced and bound the woman, tears streaming from her eyes and panic in her expression. The small girl was seemingly shocked with fear, and Mortimer hastily put a Silencio on the father and brother as they began screaming with outrage.
Varmilke looked at Mortimer. "Supervise their Unforgivable training. I'll be back soon."
Mortimer nodded, his throat constricting with disgust as Varmilke strode from the room carrying the girl. The recruits looked mildly apprehensive, one seemed close to vomiting. Mortimer turned to them and put the attention back on their captives.
"You," he rasped, pointing at the stoic recruit. "The second Unforgivable."
The trainee in question quickly moved his wand to move from the woman it had been pointed at to the teenage wizard.
"Crucio!"
The teenage boy began writhing, jerking, and screaming as the curse took hold. His father looked on helplessly, as the mother continued to cry silently. The young trainee kept his eyes on the boy, not letting the curse up.
"Good," Mortimer intoned. The trainee lifted the curse, though the teenage boy kept twitching on the ground. He looked to the peaky, frightened one.
"You. The first one. On one of the others. And be creative: the Dark Lord likes creative."
The peaky-looking boy on the verge of vomiting appeared mildly calm after hearing his task. His eyes darted between the mother and father, until he finally decided on the woman.
"Imperius."
The woman got up, slowly, and began to undress. She ripped at her bonds, cutting her wrists, and tore off her robes in a frenzy. Mortimer started to chuckle as the now naked woman proceeded to rub against her husband, her son, the banister of the stairs, and the stoic trainee, moaning and yowling like a cat in heat.
"Good," and the peaky recruit lifted the curse, the woman collapsing to the floor in shame and fear. "Humiliation is an effective form of torture."
Mortimer turned to the last recruit, the muttering trainee. "That leaves you. You know what to do."
The young man winced, and turned his wand on the father, who also seemingly knew what was to happen, and simply bowed his head and shut his eyes. While the son struggled beneath the ropes to get to his father, the man refused to look at his family, hoping that his death would be quick and that maybe they could be spared.
Swallowing, the youth pronounced his doom. "Avada Kedavra!"
A jet of green light, and the body of the man fell to the ground, unmistakably dead.
Mortimer patted the youth on the shoulder. "Well done." He looked at the two other trainees. "Kill them."
Both nodded, and Mortimer was relieved to see that the teenager and his mother both fell dead. The recruits were obviously stronger than he'd thought.
"What'd I miss?" Varmilke entered the room, looking around the entrance hall. He looked at his Death Eater comrade.
"Did they pass?"
"Of course."
"Good," Varmilke nodded. "Now there's only one left."
All of the men in the room tensed, the three trainees all visibly paling while Mortimer's heart began to pound in his chest. He tried to clear his throat, to swallow, but found he couldn't.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
Varmilke looked directly at him, and Mortimer could feel the intensity of his gaze under the hood.
"The Dark Lord said everyone in the house. Everyone. No exceptions. He made that very clear."
With that, the burly Death Eater began ascending the stairs. The three recruits looked to Mortimer, who was indeed revolted under his mask. Nodding sharply, he unwillingly followed Varmilke, and the three recruits shuffled after him. As they came to the master bedroom at the top of the stairs, they found Varmilke standing over a bassinet, wand in hand. One of the trainees gave an audible sigh, thinking the pressure was off. A bad choice.
"Come here. All of you," Varmilke beckoned.
The three recruits shared a glance, then slowly followed Mortimer and stood round the cradle, where an infant barely two months old lay sleeping.
"You're all going to have the opportunity to end this infant's life quickly and quietly," Varmilke said carefully, looking at the Death Eaters trainees. "Otherwise, it'll be left to me and you'll have to watch me do it. And I'm not known for my mercy," he added with a nasty smirk.
"You first," he said, pointing at the peaky-looking young man.
The recruit grasped his wand, but only got as far as pointing it near the bassinet before he spun around and vomited copiously in the corner of the bedroom. Varmilke ignored him, looking at the formerly stoic recruit who stood pale before the baby.
The boy grasped his wand, pointed it toward the bassinet, but couldn't quiet manage to say the words, nor to mean them.
"Av-v-v-v-v-ada Ked-d-d-abra," he said shakily. The wand emitted a small green vapor that disappeared nearly immediately.
Varmilke turned his attention to the muttering recruit, who had fear and revulsion in his eyes. He too pulled his wand and aimed it at the bassinet, but he also couldn't get the words out. Mortimer, who stood silently throughout, was slowly building his rage feeling strong hatred for Varmilke, and hatred for the Dark Lord for sending them on this task. He didn't have it in him to kill babies, but he couldn't see Varmilke torture the poor infant either. Pushing aside the muttering recruit, he spat angrily:
"Avada Kedavra."
Varmilke looked at Mortimer with something close to approval.
"Morty! I didn't know ya had it in you."
He left the room, only briefly pausing to throw a Killing Curse at the sobbing recruit in the vomit-filled corner.
As the Death Eaters and the two successful recruits left the house, threw the Dark Mark into the sky, and Disapparated, the Magical Birth Registry in the Ministry made a sudden change to a July entry, the second such amendment it had made thus far:
July 3, 1980 – September 4, 1980 ~ Damian Holmsfin (Pureblood)
*~*-*~*-*~*-*~*
September 9
"Your best chance is the Fidelius Charm."
Dumbledore addressed the two shocked couples in his Hogwarts office. There had been quite a few close calls in the month that the Longbottoms and Potters had been hiding, and after the disturbing revelation of the deaths of all other July-born wizarding children and their families, Dumbledore had ended their period of hiding to discuss more thorough and complete forms of concealment.
"What exactly does the Fidelius Charm do, Albus?" Alice asked softly.
James looked to his wife, her eyes gleaming as they had at Hogwarts when she was excited about a particular topic. As Dumbledore explained in detail the nature of the charm, James couldn't help but marvel at his wife's great love of Charms that overrode her intense fear of the scourge of the wizarding world hunting down their infant son.
"It seems then, that you will need to approach someone you trust explicitly to keep your secret," Dumbledore concluded.
James and Frank shared glances, and James voiced the thought both men had.
"Why can't we be each other's Secret Keepers? Then we are both in hiding, under the charm, and the secret is assured to be safe."
Dumbledore looked at him patiently, but Lily broke in first. "Well, James, it would certainly work: the secret would be kept and our families would be safe. But no one would ever find us again. We'd be cut off from the wizarding world completely and irreversibly. How could anyone get word to us if the war ended and Voldemort was gone?"
James sighed, defeated. He, along with everyone else in the room, also understood the unsaid flipside to Lily's last point: "How could anyone get word to us if, God forbid, Voldemort had won and taken over Britain?"
"So the Secret Keeper has to be part of the Wizarding World," Frank stated, "someone we trust with our lives, but maybe not the most obvious choice for Voldemort to target."
"Everyone is a target," Alice reminded her husband. "Though he may place greater value on the deaths of some rather than others, all lives in Britain, Muggle, wizard, or magical creature, are in danger and could be victims to Voldemort or his evil followers."
Dumbledore smiled sadly at Alice. "An astute observation, and sentiments that many would not share in these dark times, but a reminder of the hope and the good we aim to preserve." Lily looked fondly at the blushing young witch, while Frank hugged his wife.
"I would offer myself as Secret Keeper for both of you," Dumbledore continued, ignoring the surprised faces before him, "but it is a family decision, and I am known to be a consistent thorn in the side of Tom Riddle."
"Not that I have any intention of being caught or killed in the near future," and here Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, "but you must decide for yourselves. I will excuse myself to restock my supply of lemon drops, as I have recently run out, and allow you time to deliberate and make your selections in the safety of this office."
Without further ado, Dumbledore swept from his office, humming lightly. Frank turned to Alice and they quietly discussed their options.
"Lemon drops?" James asked his wife, puzzled, but she simply glared at him.
"Not now," she grumbled. "I think we should use Remus."
"Remus?"
James hadn't even considered Remus, but then again, he had been thinking about Sirius again. Sirius was brave, loyal to a fault, highest-ranking dueler among the Aurors, personal knowledge of the arsenal of Dark spells Death Eaters could use against him, and second only to Mad-Eye Moody in terms of constant vigilance.
But Sirius was gone for the foreseeable future, something that annoyed and concerned James to no end. Sirius would have been the Secret Keeper in a heartbeat and died to protect James, Lily, and little Harry, but could James really demand he return? He had half a mind to do so, partially for the Fidelius Charm and more because he missed his best friend. But he knew Sirius wouldn't have gone unless it was truly important. Dumbledore himself had suggested that Sirius was off doing important work for the order. So James was on his own, and he had to make the best choice, the right choice for Secret Keeper.
James thought about Remus. The man was certainly talented and smart, with a cool head and grace under pressure. But when it came down to it, he needed to know if Remus would yield in the end. Could he be loyal to his death and defend the Potters at all costs? Yes, of course. Would he die as readily as Sirius would for his friends? Yes, he probably would. But in the end, would it matter? Voldemort would rip his mind apart and discover the truth. Only if Remus didn't have the Secret could he escape with his life. And then, in a stroke of genius, James had the answer.
"Peter."
"Peter!" Lily looked at James as though he'd finally lost the last of his sanity.
"You must be joking."
"Don't you see, Lil? We let it slip to a few people that we're using Remus, but really, the Secret Keeper is Peter!"
James was excited now, bursting with happiness at the cleverness of the idea.
"I don't know, James," Lily said skeptically, a slight frown on her face. "Peter isn't nearly as talented or brave as Remus."
"Think about it," James replied earnestly. "Remus is intelligent, cunning, but also aloof and secretive. Peter may not be as powerful or as smart, but he makes up for it in loyalty. Peter would never betray the Marauders: he would never betray his friends. Remus… well, sometimes I'm not sure if push comes to shove, Remus wouldn't give us up for greater rights for werewolves or some big human rights achievement."
"James! How could you?"
"I was joking! Sheesh, I though you knew me by now, Lily-flower." Lily let out a low growl, and James hurried to finish his thoughts.
"Remus thinks with his brain, like you do Lily. But Peter, he thinks with his heart. Remus can handle himself if the Death Eaters attack him, that's why we tell people we've used Remus. But Peter needs more help, and as the Secret Keeper, he'd get the best levels of protection. With everything hinting at Remus, Peter stays hidden and unnoticed. And Peter would die rather than betray us…we're all he has, Lil."
Lily was still unconvinced. She had always liked Remus, while Peter… she couldn't put her finger on it, but she'd never really got along with him too well. But James had a point about the misdirection, and she certainly knew the four Marauders had an unrivalled bond. She sighed, giving up her reservations.
"Alright, we use Peter and claim it's Remus. But only if they both agree and know the risks," she added sharply.
James beamed at his wife and kissed her on the head, which mollified her somewhat. Frank and Alice had finished their discussion and turned to the Potters.
"We're going to ask Barty Crouch."
"Barty?" James scratched his head and looked at Lily. She knew he felt that the Head of the Auror office wasn't necessarily the wisest decision, but Frank revered the man as a second father. Lily turned to Alice for more information
"Frank wants us to use Barty Crouch. I'd prefer to use my sister, but she's out of the country and there isn't enough time. Even though he's a high target on Voldemort's list, the Auror office is extremely well guarded at all times, and Barty always has two personal bodyguards with him. We'll ask him tomorrow at Frank's final Auror meeting."
"We're using Pettigrew, but saying it's Remus," James confided. Frank nodded approvingly.
"Well, this may be the last time we see each other for awhile…"
Frank and James shook hands heartily, while Lily and Alice embraced, neither woman shedding tears but both with red eyes and somber faces.
Neither family knew just how accurate Frank's words would be…
*~*-*~*-*~*-*~*
For neither can live while the other survives...
October 31
Albus Dumbledore sat in the Hogwarts Headmasters office, regarding two photos of wizard families, deep in thought. Albus knew he'd seen ultimate evil, but Voldemort's culling of newborn witches and wizards convinced Albus that his foe was truly no longer human, with such blatant disregard for life. Not one child was spared in the genocidal Death Eater killings, whether Pureblood, half-blood, or Muggle-born: the infants and their entire families had been brutally massacred.
He looked down at the photos in his hands, the waving James and Lily Potter, and Frank, Alice, and Augusta Longbottom. Both Lily and Alice had bundles in their arms, smiling serenely and proudly into the camera. There lay the last surviving wizards born in July, and one was the potential future savior of the wizarding world.
Albus felt every bit his eighty-five years, as he looked at the pictures. He had no idea which child was the child of the prophecy, which would be the weapon to finally destroy that horror and perversion of a man. And he felt he no longer knew how Tom Riddle thought: the boy he had observed and felt he keenly knew had been replaced by a monstrosity, with whom anything was possible.
Fawkes came to land on Dumbledore's shoulder, musically humming softly. Albus stroked the brilliant bird's plumage, drawing strength from its presence.
"Albus!"
The doe Patronus of Severus Snape had appeared in his office, licking its neck nervously.
"Yes, Severus?"
"He is moving - tonight! Now!"
Dumbledore stood up swiftly. "Were the locations betrayed by the Secret Keepers?"
The doe seemed to glare at him. "You didn't tell me who they were."
"For your own protection, my boy."
"But I would have been the one person to tell you if they were Death Eaters!"
Albus felt his ears ringing. Peter Pettigrew and Barty Crouch were Death Eaters? He nearly refused to believe it.
The doe had focused on Dumbledore now, almost cognizant of his train of thought.
"Albus you fool. Still believing the best of everyone. Wormtail, Lucius, and Bellatrix are on their way to the Potters. He foolishly babbled their location out loud: the Potters are in the cottage at the end of the row in Godric's Hollow."
"I will go to them immediately," Albus declared. Fawkes let out a musical trill, and Dumbledore nodded at his familiar.
"Thank you for alerting me so swiftly, Severus."
The doe Patronus glared back at the aged wizard.
"If she dies, I will kill you myself."
"I'll do everything in my power to save the Potters," he said simply. "But what of the Longbottoms?"
The doe cast its eyes downward. "The Dark Lord was told the location by Crouch. No one else. It appears he is going to... confront the Longbottoms alone."
Albus's breath caught. He knew that the turning point had been reached, that Voldemort had singled out Neville as the child most likely to be dangerous to him. Oddly, it was not what Albus had expected, but he shook that thought off with dread, remembering that Voldemort was no longer the boy and young man he had known.
"Merlin help them," he sighed shaking his head and with a flash of phoenix fire, was gone from Hogwarts.