Bohemian Rhapsody

moment twenty-three: the judgement of life (February 28, 1978).

Voldemort looked around the dank expanse of the cave, trying not to wrinkle his nose in disgust. It had taken him much planning to be here, even just to afford to be here in Nicaragua, away from the centre of his web. Events were moving quickly, and he needed to feel the pulse, to feel his touch as the world screamed. The hard core tactics of the new look Aurors weren't working nearly as successfully as the Ministry might have wished. More Muggles were dropping like flies, and wizards both Imperius-controlled and of their own volition were committing acts of sabotage and murder all around the world. The Death Eaters had spread to North America and Australasia, and would only grow further. And yet, he needed to be here.

It had not been easy, getting here without detection. The kind of long-distance Apparation would leave a trail of magic easy to follow, not to mention causing severe jet-lag, and so Voldemort made the journey in a series of short hops. All to see the scruffy man sitting opposite him, next to the fire that smelt of sacred herbs. The seer had no name, or at least none that Voldemort knew. He had a reputation though, and it was one that Voldemort would gladly kill for. According to rumour, the seer had started experiencing visions so potent, so real, that at fifteen he had abandoned the society of his tribe and gone to live in the mountain caves, so that the constant presence of people would not keep stirring the future into stark reality in front of his eyes.

Voldemort had seers in the Death Eater ranks, certainly. He had seers and prophets and visionaries, but he didn't dare entrust anyone of them with the question he was about to ask. He had trained his followers to believe in the survival of the fittest, which meant they fought and jockeyed against each other for position and status. He himself had no doubts that if any of his most loyal lieutenants thought they could best him, and carry his plan to fruition, he would have been dead by now.

It was fortunate he could not be killed.

"You seek Ixiptla", the seer said softly.

"I seek a vessel," responded Voldemort. "I seek a child who will be Ixiptla. I cannot be killed, but I feel Time grabbing at me, dragging me down..." His hands started to shake nervously, and he held them out, looking at the tremors, the pale skin, now lined with wrinkles. "The enemy mocks me even now."

The seer looked up at him. "You chose to give away your humanity. Why do you now protest?"

"Because I don't know what I'm turning into!" hissed Voldemort, and balled his hands into fists, so that they stopped shaking. "That is why I need the child. One of my followers have volunteered himself, and I have agreed, on the proviso he brings his partner over to my side."

The seer started back into the fire, breathing in the pungent smoke. "A birth from two men will be difficult," he intoned in the same soft low tone as always. "You will need to use many charms: one will need to transform himself into a woman to bring the child to term. Why do you go through this difficulty?"

"Lucius is my favourite," Voldemort murmured through thin lips. "He reminds me of myself - I am like a father to him, and what father is not indulgent of his son?"

"You are impotent in soul and body, Dark Man. You can have no son."

Filled with a sudden rage, Voldemort grabbed the elderly sage by his shoulders and hauled him to his feet, his own red eyes glowing hotly in the firelight. "The Ixiptla will be my son", he spat, "no matter whose seed goes into his conception. But tell me!" Voldemort grated, shaking the other man like a leaf. "Malfoy and Potter - what are the prospects for the birth?"

The seer looked at him with sightless eyes. "Theirs will be a fruitless union," he warned. "But Potter and Malfoy aligned will kill even you, Old Man."

Voldemort stepped back, shaken, musing over the knowledge. Potter and Malfoy aligned will...kill me? This could not be allowed to get out. Bending down, he picked up a lighted faggot from the fire, and in one quick stroke, drove it through the other man's chest, rubbing his hands together to clean them as the body slid to the dirt floor.

"Well," he murmured, turning to go. "Better go break up the happy couple, then."