I, Too, Shall Follow—Chapter Sixty-Six

(Author’s note: I am due to leave for vacation in a couple of days, so it is unlikely I’ll be able to post again before I get back. Sorry, but that leaves about two weeks of no story. Feel free to read my other works if you haven’t, and as always, I love reviews and will respond when I get the chance.)

September 2, 1980

Cautiously eyeing the men idling about to his right, Severus made the long march across the stone floor. The master was troubled—huge-ass problem number one; he wanted to hear the prophecy again—potential problem number two. Lord Voldemort was no fool, he surely had the prophecy memorized, so why had he called Severus here to ‘recite’ it for them?

Perhaps he fancies my suave baritone voice, came unbidden to his mind, and in spite of himself he let out a barked guffaw, which he covered by pitching into a fit of coughing.

Dropping to his knees, he murmured, “Forgive me, my lord.” He shuffled forward to kiss Voldemort’s robes, then edged backward once more. “May I ask why you wish to hear it again, master?”

“Because I wish it,” answered Voldemort in what was a surprisingly non-threatening tone. Snape had anticipated something a bit more…villainous, maniacal even, circumstances considered.

Drawing in a deep breath, he spouted, “’The one with the power to vanquish the dark lord approaches…born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies.’” Only after he’d finished did he subversively muse that he should have utilized mystic, guttural speech for effect. And even as he thought it, he wondered what in bloody hell was wrong with his mind, pondering such a reckless, rash act. Not that he’d have dared do it…

Fortunately for Snape, Voldemort wasn’t paying him any attention, he was looking over his head at the three men clustered off to the side. “My Death Eaters, how do you interpret this?”

No one appeared anxious to put forth an opinion, let alone hazard a guess at a prophecy that could shape the future of their lives forever. Rookwood stared at an imaginary stain on the floor, lightly kicking the toe of his shoe against it. Yaxley glanced around the room as if hoping someone would magically materialize to elucidate the answers for him.

At the risk of misspeaking, a risk he was prepared to take if it elevated him above the dimwit level of his comrades, Lucius said smoothly, “It means precisely what you’ve already told us it means, my lord. There is a child born at the end of July to parents who have defied you; this child—forgive me, I’m only quoting—possesses the power to vanquish you.”

“Very good, Lucius,” replied Voldemort. “Now explain to me how this interpretation differs from the Smythe squib.”

Smythe squib? Severus furrowed his brow. That was a new one. He backed off gradually while Lucius spoke, until he was far enough away to stand up without fear of angering the dark lord.

“The Smythe boy was born July 12, not at the end of July,” answered Lucius, feeling a sudden compulsion to defend himself. “But he was the only one at all born in July, my lord, and you yourself ordered us to kill him.”

Severus rocked on his heels, stunned. Had he just heard what he thought he did— Lucius had finally crossed the line and committed murder? Then a recent front page of the Daily Prophet flashed through his mind: ‘Smythe Family Obliterated by Death Eaters’.

Voldemort gave an indifferent shrug. “I thought it prudent to hedge my bets, as they say. I never seriously took the boy as the fulfillment of the prophecy, and as time goes on I continue to have a growing, unsettled feeling.”

“Of course, my lord, with no magic the child couldn’t have any power to defeat you,” Lucius agreed, gritting his teeth in annoyance. This was exactly what he’d tried to tell Lord Voldemort when he commanded them to dispose of the squib to begin with!

The dark lord lowered his voice to downright ominous. “The prophecy says ‘as the seventh month dies’. Not died. The prophecy was made in early July, the end of the month had yet to come. Your new task is to discover if any magical children were born on July 31 of this year.”

It seemed the temperature in the room plummeted. The nauseated feeling Lucius had experienced at being ordered to kill Devon Smythe came rushing back in quadruplicate. Not only had the boy and his family been murdered for nothing, now the dark lord was concentrating on a baby, of all insane notions! If a squib of fourteen was helpless, how much more so was a child only a few weeks younger than his own tiny son?

“As you wish, my lord,” Lucius uttered, bowing.

Voldemort pointed at Rookwood and Yaxley. “This is your assignment as well. Find the names and any information available about them.”

“Yes, my lord,” they answered together.

“You may go.”

The three of them trooped out as Snape held back, not sure he’d been dismissed. In yet another show of obvious madness, he ventured to ask, “My lord, do you truly believe an infant is capable of vanquishing you?”

His answer came in the form of a high cackle, then Voldemort said with disdain, “Of course not! But the child will grow up to be a thorn in my side. Better to pluck him out and be done with it.” He made a shooing gesture with his hand. “Leave me now, I have thinking to do.”

Homicidal reflections take no holidays, thought Severus as he bowed. When he exited the castle, he noticed Lucius a short distance away, bending over as if he were—and then a stream of vomit came hurtling from his mouth. Snape averted his face. He waited to approach until the man was through retching and had straightened up in embarrassment.

“Are you alright?” Severus asked.

Lucius nodded as he wiped a sleeve across his mouth. That action alone told Snape he most certainly was not alright, because a Malfoy would never behave in such an uncouth manner without grave reason. Lucius’ eyes were glassy from watering; he spit into the grass again.

“Lucius, I have to ask. Did you kill that Smythe family?”

There was a moment’s pause. “No. Rookwood and Yaxley did, but I was there.” He looked like he wanted to scream with frustration. “It was all for nothing, and now we’ll have to kill a baby. A baby, Severus!”

“Maybe there won’t be any born on July 31,” offered his friend.

“There will be, I know there will, I can feel it. If this prophesied child could destroy everything we’ve worked for all these years, it’s probably best to be rid of him, but—he’s a baby!” he reiterated, his voice raising to an unhealthy volume. “Younger than Draco!”

Severus regarded his friend. What was there to say? If Lucius was ordered to murder an infant, he’d do so or be murdered himself. Yes, it was nasty business, but who’s to say this kid wouldn’t grow up to be a pain in the ass for them all? Evidently this war would go on until the one capable of conquering the dark lord was himself conquered. It shamed him to think it, but maybe it was better to kill him now, get this war over with.

“I despise myself for my weakness,” Lucius uttered.

Severus glanced back at the castle to make sure Lucius’ untoward shouting hadn’t been heard. “It’s not weakness to be repulsed by senseless death. We see it all the time, only this is a whole new level of depravity for you. We serve the greatest dark lord the world has ever seen, it’s only to be expected that he’ll ask us to do unconscionable things.”

“Not you. He only asks you to spy on Dumbledore and make potions,” Lucius retorted, jealously in Severus’ opinion. “He’s always known I don’t want to kill, yet if he ordered me to eliminate an adult, I’d do it with no problem.”

“No problem?”

“Shut up. The point is, being a Death Eater has forced me to become harder, more callous than I used to be. I can see it. Our lives intersect with torture and death on a regular basis, I’ve learned to deal with that. But there’s a line you just don’t cross…”

There are no lines for Death Eaters, Severus thought dejectedly. This wasn’t the time to make such an observation. He gave an encouraging grin that came off looking sickly. “Maybe Rookwood or Yaxley will be given that mission.”

“Maybe.” He didn’t look in the least convinced. “I feel like shite, I should go home.” Without even saying goodbye he Disapparated.

With no reason to hang around in the chilly evening air, Severus followed suit and Apparated back home. As he entered the kitchen, he remembered how very hungry he was.

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Work was over for the day, and none too soon. A weary Severus exited the Potions shop into Diagon Alley and paused. He was forgetting something, but what? Racking his brain, he stood motionless in the middle of the street. Groceries…no. Dark lord’s bidding…no. Something for the twins for school…no—wait! Their birthday was coming up in less than a week, he’d forgotten to get them a gift. Poor as they’d always been, they were his little brother and sister that he loved; he’d always tried to get them something for their birthday.

A second later he was spinning in a circle right before falling to the cobblestones, his robes splayed around him, his knees skinned on the hard stones. Sirius Black stood a few meters off smirking in that infuriating, cocky way that made Severus want to avada kedavra him to hell and back.

“Geez, Snivellus, can’t you stay out of the way? This is a busy street.”

Shoving down his ire, Severus got to his feet, very conscious of the wand Black toyed with between his fingers. For a brief moment he felt transported back in time to Hogwarts, felt the helplessness of being attacked en masse. A cursory glance revealed none of Black’s cronies.

“Don’t ever touch me again,” warned Snape in a menacing low tone.

“Like I’d touch you on purpose?” Sirius crowed, feigning shock. “That grease from your hair might be contagious!”

“Grow up, you son of a bitch!”

Sirius seemed mildly amused. “Well, I can hardly argue with that. My mother does leave something to be desired.”

Screw this! Severus overtly reached into his pocket and produced his wand, pointing it at Black in the same instant Black realized he meant business and aimed his. Hexes shot out from each man; they both deflected the incoming spells, but Severus shot two more in quick succession. The first Sirius turned aside, the other caught him right on the jaw like a punch. His head snapped to the side and he went down heavily.

For a brief space Severus debated cursing him again on general principles, but opted to forego it. People were beginning to congregate around the unconscious figure. Just as he started to walk away, he came face to face with none other than Sirius’ wild-haired sidekick, James Potter, running to see what the to-do was about.

“Well, well, Black’s lapdog,” he commented dryly. “I should have expected you.”

“What did you do to him?” demanded Potter.

“Nothing he didn’t deserve.” Severus made to move around him but Potter caught his arm.

“You’re always starting trouble, aren’t you? You—”

“For your information,” Snape clipped in a bare hiss, roughly shaking Potter’s hand off, “Black assaulted me, then tried to hex me. I am within my rights to defend myself.”

James opened his mouth, then closed it. He wouldn’t put it past Sirius to do exactly as Snape described; they’d both done plenty of it in their time, only James had outgrown the need to denigrate and bully Snape. Apparently Sirius hadn’t. In fact, he mused, if he hadn’t been meeting Sirius in Diagon Alley, the idiot might well have got himself hurt badly as he sought retribution.

“You’d better not have hurt him,” James grumbled, weaving past Snape to attend to his friend, who seemed to be coming around and trying to sit up.

“You instill terror in my heart,” Severus sneered, putting away his wand as he strolled off down the street. There were too many people gathered around for the jerks to fire upon him at will. How he longed for the day when someone would give those two talentless, arrogant ponces what they truly deserved. And when they did, he’d relish the opportunity to dance on their graves.

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September 25, 1980

“My lord, are you troubled? You’ve been out here a long time.” Bellatrix sidled up alongside Voldemort where he sat on a crumbling wall outside the castle, most unusual for him.

The night was breezy and crisp, with the smell of ocean hanging in the air; distant sounds of crashing waves could be heard. Not things the dark lord ordinarily cared for, and did his utmost to avoid. Tonight they didn’t enter his mind at all, he had too much to ruminate about. His Death Eaters had completed their assignment, they’d brought him names.

“The report is in, Bellatrix,” he said, turning to her with a twisted smile. “There are two boys who fit the profile, born on July 31.”

“Two?” she echoed, unable to hide her surprise. The wizarding population of Britain being as small as it was, to have two non-twin wizard births on the same day of the same year was highly atypical.

“Yes, and here’s the interesting part: both sets of parents have defied me thrice!” He began to howl with laughter, to which Bella couldn’t decide what she should do, so she merely sat down next to him and inched up close.

“Is that a good thing, master?”

Voldemort’s laughter subsided enough to explain, “At first when I heard the news, I was perplexed. Neville Longbottom’s parents are pureblood aurors who actively work against us. He seems the logical choice.”

“Do you want me to assassinate him?” she asked, brightening. “Or all of them?”

Still grinning in his eerily creepy fashion, Voldemort petted her hand. “Not so fast, Bellatrix. The other boy’s parents have come up against my Death Eaters more than once. Does the name Potter ring a bell?”

Bella’s eyebrows dipped as her eyes flashed with utter loathing. Her lip curled into a snarl. “Potter? As in James Potter, Order of the Phoenix bastard?”

“Precisely.”

“Filthy blood traitor mudblood lover! I’d murder him without a reason, but this is too much, my lord!” she fumed, huffing angrily. “Let me kill him and his halfblood spawn, let me kill all of them!”

“You do me proud, Bella,” Voldemort sighed. He hadn’t been in such a good mood since…well, ever. The one with the potential to defeat him was now within his grasp, all he had to do was crush him underfoot and the world would bow to him. How long he’d waited for this!

“So what are your plans, my lord?”

“Patience, Bellatrix. My Death Eaters in the Ministry traced the ancestry of each boy, going above and beyond their orders in researching these children. I’ve been sifting through the information, carefully weighing all considerations.”

Bella was so antsy she looked as if she’d wriggle right out of her skirt. “Why don’t we just eradicate them both?” she whined.

“Would it not be a pity to spill pure blood if it isn’t necessary? The number of purebloods is dwindling as it is,” Voldemort countered. Looking like the cat who ate the canary, he added, “Besides, I know which one it is.”

Leaning forward literally on his lap, Bella gazed upon him with rapt attention and asked in a hushed whisper, “Who, my lord?”

“Harry Potter.”

“How can you be sure?” she pressed, anxious to be on her way wreaking havoc, slaughtering blood traitors, eliminating her master’s enemies, and basically being the epitome of a good Death Eater.

“Did you know that I am descended from the Peverell line, Bellatrix?”

“So?” she grumped, pouting. This wasn’t turning out to be a fun night at all!

Voldemort stroked her hair as he laid her head down onto his lap. Every so often he’d weave his fingers into the thick mane and give a little tug. “The Peverell line of magic is the strongest; it only makes sense that if anyone had the ability to develop powers to rival mine, he must also be descended from this line.” He glanced down at her sulking, yet attentive face. “Harry Potter is descended from this line.”

“As if he’ll ever be able to match you!” she replied with conviction, rolling her eyes in obvious disbelief. “No one can equal you.”

“Nonetheless, better to play it safe. There’s been a prophecy, I’ve identified the brat it concerns, and now all I need to do is be rid of him.”

“I’ll do it!” she volunteered, leaping up, then falling back long enough to disengage his hands form her hair.

“I think I shall do it, Bellatrix. This upstart will be put in his place before he has the cognizance to know he’s a wizard.” And the world will grovel before me when I’m through.

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The end of September found all the Death Eaters gathered at the castle, masked and robed. A strange vibration electrified the place, a sense of foreboding and elation brought on by the dark lord’s presence. He waited until every one was present before stepping up to the head of the circle, joy contorting his features in exactly the same macabre way that torturing his followers did.

“My friends, I have excellent news for you—for our cause. Severus brought me a prophecy, as you know.” There was a general rumble of assent. “Our Ministry spies have rooted out the names of two boys who fit this description, and I have come to the determination that James Potter’s child is the one spoken of.”

Potter? Severus thought, his stomach doing somersaults. Lily’s baby? But he wasn’t even born yet, was he? Rapidly his mind scrolled back to his last meeting with Lily, when she’d been quite heavy with child. Oh, God! It could be!

“Your assignment, my friends, is to locate the Potter family, but do no harm to the baby,” Voldemort warned. “That delight belongs to me.”

Before Severus knew what he was doing, he’d rushed forward to throw himself at his master’s feet. “Please, my lord, spare the child’s mother! She’s done nothing.”

Voldemort looked curiously down at him as one would at a circus oddity. “The mudblood? You still have feelings for her, do you?” He gave a harsh laugh, echoed forty times over by the Death Eaters listening. It made Severus’ blood run cold. Raising a hand for silence, Voldemort said, “I am a merciful and generous lord. I reward the loyalty of my followers. Because Snape here has been a devoted servant, I will grant this request. None of you are to harm the redheaded wench. When we find her son, she will be spared as long as she stays out of my way and makes no attempt to hinder me.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Severus choked out, barely able to breath. This was the most he could hope for, yet it was pitifully inadequate.

He rose to go back to his spot, the overwhelming desire to weep enveloping him. As long as she makes no attempt to hinder him…of course Lily would try to protect her child! And then Lord Voldemort would murder her, too! His first friend in the whole world was to die because of the prophecy he’d brought to the dark lord. It was all he could do not to burst into tears. But tears would help nothing, they would only garner for him abuse and contempt.

As he stood filled with shock and remorse, he vaguely heard the master speaking like a buzzing in his ear, saying something he didn’t comprehend. He barely noticed when the Death Eaters began to Disapparate until he remained alone. How fitting. It was all he’d ever be, all he deserved…to be alone.