Be All My Secrets Remembered

La Reine Noire

Story Summary:
'Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall.' Spanning from spring of 1976 through the fateful Halloween night of 1981, the adventures and misadventures of Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, and their contemporaries, particularly those belonging to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, Toujours Dysfunctional. Warnings: contains dark thematic material, violence, innuendo, as many literary references as can be managed, and very mild slash.

Chapter 36 - Dies Irae

Chapter Summary:
Wherein everything converges upon a single night. Halloween, 1981.
Posted:
05/03/2007
Hits:
933


Chapter Thirty-Six: Dies Irae

October 1981

It was an odd sensation that greeted James and Lily as they stepped from the stairwell into the almost painfully familiar office. Various portraits of Headmasters past waved idly from the walls, though some had their attention focused in full on Dumbledore, seated behind his desk. When he raised his head, Lily caught her breath at the deep lines of weariness sketched across his face.

"Are you quite alright, Professor Dumbledore?" she found herself asking. "You look exhausted."

The Headmaster smiled faintly. "I'm quite alright, Lily, thank you. Please do sit down, both of you. James, my deepest condolences."

"Thank you, sir," replied James, lowering his eyes. "To be quite honest, I think she's happier where she is. Things were never...right after Dad died." As if drawing his attention back from some faraway place, he sat up straighter. "I hope you don't mind my asking, but what's all this about? We saw the Longbottoms on the way in and they looked..."

"All will be explained in time, James. I believe you know that Frank Longbottom's mother was also targeted?"

"Is she safe?" Lily asked. James reached for her hand and she squeezed it. "We heard they found the Dark Mark over her house, but she was on holiday or something?"

Dumbledore nodded. "She was elsewhere, thankfully. And yes, she is safe now. Although the attacks on her and your mother," he glanced toward James, "have succeeded in confirming something I had long suspected and feared." He steepled his fingers, pausing for a moment as if trying to think of the best way to continue. "There is a prophecy---now don't give me that look, James. I know neither of you cared much for Divination, but there are true prophecies in this world. I happened to overhear one in February of last year that foretold the end of Lord Voldemort."

For several moments, James and Lily could only stare at him. Finally, James recovered his powers of speech. "That's great news, sir! But what does it have to do with us?"

"The prophecy speaks of the one who will vanquish the Dark Lord. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies..." Dumbledore trailed off, frowning. "It predicts that the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal and that he will have power the Dark Lord knows not, though I've yet to quite unravel what that implies, precisely."

"But neither James nor I were born in..." Lily stopped short, the words congealing in her throat. "You can't possibly mean Harry!"

"That is precisely who I mean, Lily," Dumbledore said, his face grave.

"But he's only a baby. He can't possibly..."

"Not yet. Which is why Voldemort wishes to deal with him now, before he becomes a threat." He held out his hand. "Sit down, Lily."

She hadn't even realised she had jumped to her feet. "But you can't...what are we going to do?"

James, who had been sitting in silent thought during the entire exchange, finally looked up. "But you can't be certain it's Harry, can you? I mean, prophecies are dodgy things. There had to be any number of children born at the end of July. And as for that thrice defied bit...what does that even mean?"

"It means we can narrow the field to two children. Harry, and Neville Longbottom."

Which explained why Frank and Alice had been there. Lily did not feel comforted in the least by that revelation. "Why didn't you tell us this before?" The words emerged louder than she had intended, and earned her a surprised look from James. "If you heard the prophecy last February, why didn't you tell us earlier than this?"

"Perhaps I should have done, Lily, but I couldn't take the risk. I didn't know how much Voldemort knew. And the fewer people who had heard the prophecy, the safer it seemed. But we know now, and we need to see to your safety." Forestalling any arguments with a quelling gesture of his hand, he continued, "Where is Harry now?"

"With Padfo---er, Sirius," James corrected himself. "He's safe there..." Shooting a glance at Lily, he added, "for now, I suppose. We'll get him as soon as we're finished here. Though where do you think we should go? Padfoot's cousin Andromeda and her family have been hiding out in Muggle London and nobody's tried to come after them."

"You can rest assured that Voldemort will have all of his Death Eaters searching you and the Longbottoms out. There is a better way, I think. A safer way." Dumbledore lifted up a parchment roll and a small paper-wrapped parcel from his desk and held them out. "These are instructions to perform the Fidelius Charm. You remember what that is, do you not?" At their confirming nods, he went on. "I've also enclosed any ingredients that are not found in most households. You must perform it as soon as you've found an appropriate Secret-Keeper."

"Secret-Keeper?" echoed Lily. "Oh, the only person who knows where we are?"

"Yes. I am happy to serve as Secret-Keeper for you if you wish it. Believe me, it would be no hardship for me. I've already offered my services to the Longbottoms and they've agreed that it would be the best course of action."

James was shaking his head. "Then surely that's enough for you, sir. We'll ask Padfoot." At Dumbledore's frown, he bristled. "He's my best mate and Harry's godfather. Might as well be my brother. I'd trust him with my life."

"I don't doubt it. But you do realise that making him your Secret-Keeper will also expose him to a great deal of danger?"

"He won't care. He'll do it." James turned to Lily as if for support, but she was lost in thoughts, gnawing on her lower lip. "Lily? Lily, what do you think?"

She blinked. "About Sirius? I trust him, James, but it might make him a target. Surely you don't want that." The Death Eaters hadn't spared his brother, after all. Who knew what they might do to Sirius to get him to talk? The very thought made her shudder. "But sir," she addressed Dumbledore, "wouldn't he immediately think of you? Wouldn't he come after you?"

Dumbledore smiled unexpectedly. "He could try."

"So long as we're the only people who know that Padfoot is Secret-Keeper, I don't see how Voldemort could find out," James pointed out. "He'll be fine, Lil."

Despite her misgivings, Lily nodded slowly. Dumbledore, after glancing between them, leant back in his chair. "It's settled, then. I would suggest you perform the charm as soon as possible." As they started toward the door, he stood. "Lily, James." They glanced back. "Best of luck to you both. And be very careful."

Lily managed a wan smile in response, reaching out to squeeze James's hand as he replied, "We'll do our best."

***

"The Fidelius Charm?" Sirius repeated. "Can you actually do that on your own, Prongs?"

"The three of us can," James said. "Top of our class at Hogwarts, remember? If we can't perform it, who can? Besides, Dumbledore hasn't precisely given us an alternative."

"Can't he help? Just in case?" At James's look of bafflement, Sirius shook his head. "Never mind. It's just been a long time is all. You know what I mean. Lily's the only one who's done any remotely complicated charms recently."

"It's not quite as difficult as I thought," Lily's voice floated from the kitchen, "since there are three of us. Most of the difficulty is coordinating everything and we should be able to manage that."

"So, Padfoot. Can we trust you to keep secrets?" It was difficult to tell whether or not James was just teasing. Sirius shifted uncomfortably. "Careful. You'll kill me with your enthusiasm."

"It's not that," Sirius protested. "You know you can trust me, Prongs. That isn't the problem. I just wonder...if the Death Eaters are looking for you, who do you think they'll come after first?"

"That was what I said," Lily put in. She was leaning against the doorway to the kitchen, Harry clinging to her neck. "Anybody who remembers you from school would be able to guess."

"Are you saying you won't do it?" James demanded, brow furrowed. "We need you, Padfoot."

"Prongs, if it comes to that, I'll do it, no questions. But think for a second." He glanced back at Lily for support as a plan began to take form in his head. "Make the Death Eaters think it was me. I'll lead them a merry chase and distract them, and all the real Secret-Keeper has to do is lay low and keep quiet. It's genius in its simplicity."

"I take it you have someone in mind?"

"Wormtail."

James blinked. Then, after a few seconds, he finally ventured, "Do you think he'll do it?"

"Of course he'll do it," Sirius replied. "We've been friends for how many years now? Besides, all he needs to do is skive off work for a week or so and not leave his flat. I'm sure he'd relish the chance."

"I suppose..." James looked doubtful. "Though Dumbledore told us to involve as few people as possible."

"Are you saying you don't trust Wormtail?"

"He's not saying that, Sirius," Lily put in, one hand absently fussing with Harry's curls. "Have you seen Peter these days? He looks exhausted. Worn out. It doesn't seem fair..."

"All the more reason to give him an excuse to stay in," argued Sirius. "It's not difficult, Lily. We're not asking him to do anything we wouldn't do for him if it came to that."

"What about Remus?"

The question hung in the air for several seconds. Sirius, visibly uncomfortable, looked to James, who shook his head slightly.

Lily frowned. "What's going on? I don't like that look."

"Lily," Sirius ventured, "you've not talked to him lately, have you?"

"Before the full moon, earlier this month," she replied. "But I don't see what that has to do with anything." Then, as she took in the expression on Sirius' face, she shook her head. "No. You can't possibly think..."

"Somebody's been spying on the Order, Lily. I know it isn't me. It can't be you or Prongs since Voldemort obviously wants you both dead...unless you've got some complicated plot brewing and you'll need to kill me now that I know." James cracked a small smile but Lily just shuddered. "And Wormtail's not mad or idiotic enough. Not to mention the fact that he can't keep a secret to save his life." Looking at Lily again, he held up his hands in a gesture of futility. "And before you propose anyone else in the Order, answer this: Who else could have given the Death Eaters what they needed to get Prongs' mum?"

"There's got to be another explanation," Lily persisted. "James, you don't believe this, do you?"

He sighed. "I don't know, Lil. I don't want to..."

"You know Voldemort offered the werewolves their freedom," Sirius interjected softly. "Our side just wants them put down or in Azkaban."

"Nobody actually believes anything he says, do they? Other than the Death Eaters, obviously," James finally said, after several moments of almost painful silence. "He'll tell them what they want to hear, nothing more. Moony's not stupid. He'd never believe that."

"And you're wrong, Sirius," Lily said in a low voice, as if she had to force the words into being. "You've got just as much reason as Remus does to turn to their side. More so, in fact. Your family would welcome you with open arms. Even your mother might, now that your brother's gone. You can't tell me you haven't thought about it."

Sirius could only stare at her in undisguised horror. Then, with a bitter smile, he murmured, "Have I thought about it? Yeah. But you forget---my family isn't bright or cheerful or decent. The only family I have that's worth anything at all isn't named Black. Not anymore. I'd never go back. Not after what they've done. No matter what they offered in return."

Harry, sensing the tension in the air, began to squirm fretfully. Lily turned slightly in order to comfort him. "Sirius, I didn't mean...I just can't believe that of Remus either. And surely you don't. Not really?"

Sirius swallowed. "But what if he's desperate, Lily? Desperate people do stupid things all the time. He's a bloody werewolf! We can't possibly understand what he's gone through. Reg was desperate--look at what he did. Got himself killed when he could have waited one more day and Dumbledore would have protected him--"

"Right, that's enough," James interrupted, his voice firm. "I'll talk to Wormtail. Padfoot, why don't you go home for now? Lay low. We'll be performing the spell on..." he glanced enquiringly toward Lily.

"Tomorrow evening," she supplied, still not looking at Sirius. "We're closer to the new moon than I'd like, but there's nothing to be done for it."

"Can you be here at six? Even if Wormtail's going to be Secret-Keeper, we could use an extra set of hands." James was watching him warily now. "And if not..."

"I'll be there," he replied quickly. "No worries." Moving to Lily's side, Sirius hesitated before placing one hand on her arm. "I'm sorry, Lily. I didn't mean to...I don't know."

"We're all frightened, Sirius." It was an acceptance of sorts. With a faint smile in her direction, he tousled Harry's hair briefly and left.

***

Much though Remus hated to admit it, when Professor Dumbledore told him that the Potters were performing the Fidelius Charm and that Sirius was their Secret-Keeper, his first reaction was relief. Followed very quickly by concern, and with ample reason. He immediately penned a note to Dumbledore, expressing that concern.

Are you quite sure he's capable? I don't doubt his sincerity--Sirius and James were always the closest of the four of us--but this past year has been difficult. He had hesitated on that last part. There was so much he wanted to point out. Sirius' betrayal of four years ago. The traitor in the Order. Dorcas. Regulus. Tell me it wasn't my fault. But he did not; chose instead to couch his protests in as rational terms as he could.

Of course, there was nothing he could do about it now. The charm had been performed and all he gained by warning Dumbledore was perhaps an extra eye on Sirius, for what that was worth. A quick visit to Peter had been equally unenlightening, except for what seemed an unprecedented level of paranoia on his friend's part. If he hadn't known better, Remus might have thought Peter had been targeted alongside Prongs and Lily.

But he knew that wasn't the case. Peter was just on edge. They all were.

***

Hindsight, Peter had decided, was the worst invention ever. It didn't get you anywhere and yet you couldn't just ignore it until it went away.

Well, he attempted to reason with himself, he couldn't very well have refused Prongs, could he? Peter had a long history of never being able to refuse James Potter anything, whether it be borrowing notes from Charms because Prongs had been off enchanting the gargoyles near the Slytherin Common Room to insult anyone who walked by or being entrusted with the lives of the entire Potter family. Somehow Prongs didn't seem to believe this was a problem.

Of course, there was one good thing about hindsight. He could blame all of it on Sirius Black. It had been Padfoot's idea in the first place; Prongs had just gone along with it because that was what Prongs did. All you need to do is stay in for a little while. Lay low. Let Padfoot lead them in the wrong direction. Peter could have screamed aloud. Instead he'd asked why they hadn't asked Moony, and had dropped the cup of tea he was holding when Prongs answered.

It was so inescapably wrong. And so inescapably Padfoot. And if something goes wrong, you know who they'll blame.

"Stop it," he whispered. "Don't even think it. There has to be another way."

He could go to Dumbledore. There was something so very comforting in that sudden thought, as if the walls of Hogwarts could protect him. Like they protect everyone else in the Order? He tried to drown out the questions but they persisted nonetheless.

"No. I'm going to tell him. I have to tell him. He's the only person who can help." The only person strong enough to protect him from the Dark Lord. The only one he feared, or so the rumours claimed. Peter never knew whether or not to believe them.

That was when the Mark began to sting unmistakeably, summoning him. Peter threw one hand over it as though to make it stop, but, as ever, it did not work. A knock sounded like clockwork on the door and he had to fight the urge to try and escape through the window. Instead, he straightened and stepped forward. Hood concealing most of her face, Bellatrix stood there, one hand outstretched. "In case you thought you'd stay in."

Somehow, he kept from glancing longingly at the fireplace, at salvation. There was no hope of that now. Although anything could happen. How the hope continued to spring, he had no idea. Especially as Bellatrix pushed him into the dark-panelled study in the Lestrange house that he had come to know so well and he stumbled over the rug to land in a heap on the floor.

"You know something." The Dark Lord paced before him, though he kept his eyes focused on the floor. "I assure you I am aware of it. You would do better to tell me."

"I don't know anything." Already he sounded less convincing. He should never have listened to Prongs. Why in hell had he listened to Prongs? For the same reason he always had. Prongs never found himself in this sort of mess. "I swear, My Lord, I don't know anything."

"You're a terrible liar, Wormtail."

At that, he nearly started laughing. He was a brilliant liar. None of his friends, who had known him for years, suspected him of being a Death Eater. Instead, they had turned on the loyal one, condemned him for no reason beyond circumstance. No, Peter Pettigrew had convinced the world he was innocent as Wormtail watched Dorcas Meadowes die. "I swear--"

"You've begun to bore me. Crucio!"

One would have thought frequent exposure to Cruciatus would give a person some sort of immunity to the pain. Unfortunately, no. It seemed as if the curse adapted itself to whatever would hurt the most. He curled into a foetal position, his own screams echoing in a ghastly chorus. "I don't know anything, I swear it, please stop..."

"I'm afraid I don't believe you, Wormtail." He finally looked up, unable to do otherwise, and felt the inexorable scrambling of the long thin fingers within his thoughts, uncut nails seeming to scratch. "What's this? The Fidelius Charm?"

I tried, Prongs. I tried. You have to believe me. "I don't know. I told you. They're hidden by the Fidelius Charm. Nobody knows where they are."

"Except their Secret-Keeper," the Dark Lord mused. "You."

"Me?" He tried to laugh, but it emerged as a harsh gasp. "Why would they do that?"

"Because, dear Wormtail, they trust you." He could feel the ghostly brush of the Dark Lord's robes as he knelt beside him. "You've made certain of that. And now you will tell me everything. Otherwise...Cana corruptis!"

The now-familiar warmth began to course through his left hand, and he squeezed his eyes shut. He started counting down the seconds. Two minutes until his flesh began to melt. He knew it, had seen it before. Travers had been the one to track it down in some falling-apart tome, and used it without mercy. He had seen what was left of some of the victims. His arm was growing progressively warmer, as though he had accidentally touched boiling water. He could not open his eyes, could not bear to. "Please stop," he whispered. "Please."

"You know what you need to do." Just tell me, Wormtail. The heat was growing unbearable as the Dark Lord's voice now sounded within his skull. Tell me and it will all be over.

"They're my friends. My best friends. I can't. Why can't you see that?"

Really, Wormtail, why do you protect them still? All he wanted was to shut out that voice, that horrible insinuating whisper, but it was trapped inside his head, jangling even as he clamped his hands over his ears. They're so very cruel to you to put you through this. Surely you know that.

"But you're cruel too," Peter whispered, shoving aside Wormtail's cringing subservience for just long enough. "You're worse."

Am I really? I never pretended to be otherwise, did I?

He did have a point. Of course, Wormtail wasn't about to admit it aloud. The fact that the Dark Lord could read his mind was bad enough, surely. Another flick of the wand, and he could feel himself wrenching backwards, then doubling over once more, curling as far into himself as he could, ignoring the agony in his left hand. "Please stop," he all but sobbed. "I don't know anything. I don't."

"Poor boy." It was a new voice, one Wormtail--and Peter, however faintly--recognised with a lurch of his already churning stomach. "It needn't hurt anymore, you know. You can make it stop."

The words all began to circle now, vulture-like, inside his head. They don't care about you. All they've ever done is hurt you. Surely you want them to know what it's like. Not like this, what few shreds of Peter remained in Wormtail's shattered mind begged. They were his friends. His best, dearest, closest friends. He could not do this. They obviously don't care now; look at you. You're alone, Wormtail. Only you can make it stop. All you need to do is speak, and it will all be over.

Wormtail finally opened his eyes, looking into the dark, beautiful, lying depths of Bellatrix's, and began to speak.

Once he began, however haltingly, the words flowed in a torrent. The Fidelius charm, Sirius' plan, his own reluctance--a sneer curved at the Dark Lord's lips as he related this--and finally, the address in Godric's Hollow. When he looked at his hand, it was whole. Not even a scar remained. But somehow he could still feel it, feel the flesh melting from his bones.

They left him then, though he could still hear Bellatrix's protests at being left behind. No, the Dark Lord decreed, he must do this himself. There was to be not a whisper to anybody. No, not even Malfoy. He had other plans for him. Bellatrix was to stay with Wormtail--and Wormtail could feel the Dark Lord's eyes on him now--to make sure that informant did not suffer any inconvenient attacks of conscience.

"We can't have all our plans coming to naught, can we?" He was smiling, Wormtail could tell even without looking. "You've done well, Wormtail. Far better than even I had anticipated. And you'll be rewarded, of course. I'll have Malfoy see to it."

And that was that. He was dismissed, sent off with Bellatrix and a casual healing spell that made it slightly easier to walk. When they reached his flat, Bellatrix needed little encouragement to leave him and Wormtail had no particular desire to stop her. He stumbled through the door, barely able to lock it behind him. A pile of unopened letters lay on the table, the first addressed to Peter Pettigrew in his mother's handwriting.

He swept them aside with one hand sending them flying into a corner as the movement sent him reeling against the couch. Godric's Hollow. Oh God. There was still time, surely. Time to warn Dumbledore---But remember what happened the last time you considered that? Do you truly believe Bellatrix won't know if you leave? She always followed the Dark Lord's orders in her own way.

No. It was done. He'd saved his own skin, guaranteed himself a future when the Dark Lord finished tonight's business. That was worth more than thirty pieces of silver, wasn't it?

"Stop it," he whispered. "I can't change it now. Nobody can."

In front of him was a photograph of all of them at Prongs and Lily's wedding. "I had to, can't you see that? He'd have killed me. Would you even have noticed?" Sudden hatred surged for those smiling, unthinking faces. "It wasn't meant to be like this."

His voice cracked. "I'm not brave. I never was. Why did you even ask me? Why didn't you just leave me be? I never wanted this. I'm just so tired. I've had enough." Then, as he pulled the photograph from the wall, he murmured, "You never understood. Why would you start now?"

Peter managed to stumble to the armchair that sat close to the fireplace. Holding the photograph over the hearth, he cast Incendio and stared until it had turned to ashes. At least it would be quick. The Dark Lord wouldn't bother with pain when he already knew everything. It would all be over soon.

***

Severus had left the room after what seemed like a requisite five minutes. Unlike Bellatrix, he had no interest in watching torture. Nor was he needed. That creature Wormtail obviously had the Dark Lord's full and undivided attention. He had also recognised the pitiful figure for the first time--Wormtail had never been brought to his notice and Severus had never thought to look--and the ramifications were...unsettling, to say the least.

He wondered if he ought to tell Dumbledore that one of his precious Gryffindors had turned traitor. The Headmaster would no doubt insist that he could be saved, brought back to the light. At that, Severus laughed shortly. No such hope for any other Death Eater.

"Is something funny?" It was Malfoy's voice behind him. "Tired of the show?"

"I have no interest in watching that pathetic excuse for a wizard piss himself if that's what you're asking," Severus replied, feeling his lip curl in what had become almost habitual disgust.

"Well, you missed the interesting part," Malfoy observed, glancing back over his shoulder. "We were sent on our way, as it seems that 'pathetic excuse for a wizard' knows the whereabouts of the Potter brat and won't say."

Severus froze. "Do you think he'll tell?"

"Of course he will." The blond man shook his head wearily. "The Dark Lord and Bellatrix? It's only a matter of time."

"Malfoy, what..." Severus paused, trying to slow his threatening panic. "Do you think he means to kill them all, or just the boy?"

Malfoy studied him in bemusement. "Are you quite serious, Snape? Do you really think his parents will just stand by and let the Dark Lord kill him? Hardly likely. The fewer members of the Order to deal with, the better."

"You mean..." It was growing more and more difficult to keep his cool. "It doesn't seem...excessive at all to you?"

Now Malfoy was looking at him as though he had sprouted a second head. "Compared to the usual run of things, three people might even qualify as 'civilised'. Snape, you do realise you aren't making sense?"

She was going to die. The Dark Lord was going to kill her and he was apparently going to stand back and let him do it. "Malfoy, there's something...I need your help." An idea--it would have been blindly optimistic to call it a plan--had finally formed in his mind. "I need you to ask the Dark Lord something." After a second to marshal his courage, he burst out, "Ask him to spare her."

"Spare who? Not Lily Potter, surely?" Malfoy blinked. "You know he won't do that. Why on earth would he?" He adjusted his gloves, as if in preparation to leave. "I'm already in his bad graces, Snape. I can't risk it, even as a favour to you."

"I'll owe you for it, I know." The obvious urgency in his own voice made Severus cringe inwardly, but he went on regardless. "Malfoy, it's important. You know I'd not ask otherwise."

But the older man was already moving away. "I understand that, Snape, but I really do mean it. I'm sorry. I can't help you."

"No, you don't understand. You know, don't you, that this is the woman who saved Narcissa's life?" That stopped Malfoy in his tracks and Severus watched as he turned, eyes narrowed. "At the Ministry party two years ago. I assume you recall that?"

Malfoy's lips were pressed so tightly together that they had lost all colour. "You presume too much, Snape. That debt has been paid in full."

"But what of Draco?" He was grasping at straws but he did not care. "You owe her your son, Malfoy."

"I'm quite certain life-debts don't work that way," Malfoy informed him coldly. "Now, if you'll excuse me."

"Lucius, please!" The words leapt out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he froze, staring at the older man in sudden horror. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."

"No, I do believe you did," was the reply, accompanied by a wary stare. "This really troubles you, doesn't it?" Severus nodded dumbly. "Why? What is she to you?"

"She never did anything to anyone, Evans didn't. She's not the one he wants. It's the boy." He wouldn't call her by her married name. Or refer to her son. That much he could control. "Just ask him. What harm can it possibly do?"

"Enough that you aren't willing to do it yourself," Malfoy said, continuing to regard him suspiciously. "What precisely would you have me do? Ask him nicely? And what do I tell him when he demands a reason?"

"That she saved your wife's life."

"After he tried to kill her!" Malfoy had to stop and take a breath, glancing once again over his shoulder to make sure nobody had overheard. "Snape, you can't possibly expect this to work."

No, in all honesty, he hadn't. But he couldn't trust himself to ask--not with Legilimency in the mix. It was far too dangerous. Malfoy had nothing to gain or lose by asking. It was all Severus could do not to scream aloud in frustration.

"Snape?" Malfoy seemed to have calmed somewhat. "Why do you care so much? She's just another Mudblood. I acknowledge that she saved Narcissa, but that debt has been paid in full. But what is she to you? More than you've let on, I'll wager anything."

"It's nothing, Malfoy." Severus forced the ice back into his voice and even managed a shrug. "Never mind."

"Oh, I wouldn't do that if I were you," the familiar voice advised from somewhere behind Severus. He turned, but kept his eyes deliberately lowered. "Snape. Is something the matter?"

"Nothing, My Lord," Malfoy interjected casually. "The question was mine."

"Was it?" The tone was markedly colder, but Severus didn't dare look up. "Well, speak up."

"It had to do with Lily Potter. I'm afraid there's a rather inconvenient life-debt--it's a long story, I'm sure you've got no interest--and I don't suppose you'd consider...ignoring her?" Severus could almost hear the shrug, the dryly self-deprecating smile. "It's the boy you want, after all. She's irrelevant."

The Dark Lord gave a sharp bark of laughter. "Smoothly done, Malfoy. I almost believed you. But I'm afraid I've got very good hearing."

Severus glanced back over his shoulder just in time to catch a barely perceptible shake of Malfoy's head. "As you say, My Lord."

That sonorous voice was in his head now, insinuating with disconcerting sweetness, I can spare the Mudblood, Snape. Was that what you wished to ask me? If you could have her? Malfoy looked baffled. Severus supposed he ought to be thankful for small blessings, but somehow that was not working.

"I have no idea what you mean, my Lord," he said aloud, more for Malfoy's benefit than anything else. The last thing he needed was to lose his only ally in this place, dubious though he was.

"Don't play me for a fool, Snape. You know precisely to what I am referring. I do not make such offers twice." He paused. "At least I will do what I can. I can make no promises."

Forcing his mind clear, Severus raised his head. "Yes, then. If it is possible, of course." It was, after all, the only choice he had.

"And Malfoy...I've a favour to ask." At that man's doubtful glance, Snape had to bite back a smirk. The Dark Lord didn't ask favours. "I need you to go to Kent. Three others should be sufficient." He lowered his voice and murmured what Severus assumed were names, and Malfoy nodded wearily. "Just a favour. A reward for services rendered."

Wormtail. It had to be. Though who would he want dead? Severus didn't especially care, though he spared a wishful thought for who it might be.

Malfoy sighed with a shake of his head. "I should have left before. You kept me here," he reproached, though without force. "I don't suppose you'd come. You're far too preoccupied."

"I'd argue, but then you'd make me go," he replied dryly.

"Clever." Malfoy smiled. "I'll see you later."

"Thanks, Malfoy." The words escaped before he could think. "For earlier. I mean it."

The other man shrugged. "Nothing at all. You're welcome."

He vanished through the door, leaving Severus alone with his rapidly disintegrating thoughts. He had to get word to Dumbledore somehow. A fine spy he'd be otherwise. With a quick glance round to make certain nobody was watching, he ducked into a nearby room, out of sight. The message, once he finally concealed it to his satisfaction, was brief: Brutus turns on Caesar. The Dark Lord strikes tonight.

***

Godric's Hollow, contrary to popular belief, was not actually a village, though the name had grown to encompass a nearby Muggle village as far as wizards were concerned. It was literally a hollow, a lake tucked into a wood, where it was said that Godric Gryffindor saved a little girl from a creature living in the lake. Sources had never agreed on what the creature was, and even so, the story had been declared apocryphal and visitors to the lake dwindled. Finally, sometime in the nineteenth century, a gentleman named Henry Potter managed to acquire the land from the ailing Gaunt family through what most people claimed to be dodgy dealings. Potter neither confirmed nor denied the allegations but concentrated his attentions on building the small holiday home he wanted.

Now the house had been empty for two years, since the death of James's grandmother. Lily had spent the first two days washing the dust sheets that had covered the furniture, for fear Harry might suffer some sort of allergic reaction. Harry, in his turn, spent the days playing in the mud by the lake, much to his mother's chagrin.

Lily staggered back into the bedroom with a yawn. "Isn't this supposed to get better? Isn't he supposed to learn to sleep through the night?"

James muttered something unintelligible.

"You're useless," she murmured fondly, drawing the covers around her. "Goodnight, love. Nox!" That last pointing her wand at the lamp in the corridor, the last light remaining in the house.

In the distance, a shadow detached itself from the trees and moved forward, wand outstretched.

It was Lily who first heard the strange noise, almost like a car's horn. "James! James, what on earth--"

He jerked awake, blinking owlishly into the darkness. "The protection spells...they've been here since Grandfather built the place...someone from the village stumbled into the garden, I'll wager." Sighing, he dragged himself from the bed, picking up his glasses and wand on the way to the window. The moon barely deserved the term 'crescent', and Lily heard the muttered Lumos moments later.

"I assume they'll stumble back out, won't they?" she managed through another yawn. "You know those teenagers. Probably out for a snog by the lake."

"No..." There was something in his voice that caught Lily's attention, and she half-rose. "That's not a kid. That's--"

"James, what on earth is going on?" Fully awake now, she scrambled from beneath the covers, groping for her wand on the bedside table.

"Lily!" He was moving already, having grabbed his wand before running into the corridor. "Take Harry and go! It's him!" With a horrible sinking realisation, it occurred to Lily who he was. But it couldn't be. Peter---"Go! Run! I'll hold him off--"

"James, no!" she tried to call, though it only emerged as a whisper as he all but flew down the stairs. Lily nearly followed, only to stop at the unmistakeable whimper from Harry's room. Turning, she hurried in and lifted him from the cradle. "Shh, sweetheart. Mummy's here. Just stay quiet, love. Shh."

Below, the front door opened beneath a simple Alohomora, murmured even though the protective wards must have already given away his presence. At first, he saw nobody. Just a front hall with open doorways leading to rooms on either side and behind. Silently, he cast Lumos, and amber light spilled from a nearby lamp.

"Expelliarmus!" He threw up a shield just quickly enough, and caught sight of a shadow just beyond one of the doorways. "Stupefy!"

"Reducto!" Voldemort snarled, pointing his wand at the shadow. A large chunk of the wall came loose, scattering dust all round. An ominous creak echoed through the hall. "Incarcerous!"

The shadow--presumably James Potter--managed to dodge the curse by diving behind what appeared to be a couch. Advancing, Voldemort cast Incendio and the young man staggered back from the flames, seeking some other cover.

It was Voldemort's turn to slink behind the half-destroyed wall. From the corner of his eye, he caught another shadow on the stairs and shifted his focus, casting Incendio again and setting the banister aflame. No escape that way. At that moment, he heard a hissed "Impedimenta!" from the far corner and ducked out of the way. The spell ricocheted and slammed into another wall, knocking yet more plaster and wood free.

The fire was spreading to the rug and curtains. Potter had managed to sneak around him as he was dodging the spell and was on the far side of the staircase. Lazily, Voldemort cast yet another Incendio, this time hitting the curtains in the far room. If all else failed, he would smoke them out and, if they burned, so be it. The smoke had now all but filled the hall and he took advantage, letting it mask him as he stepped forward. "Expelliarmus!"

He hadn't actually expected it to work, but the spell caught, and the wand clattered to the ground in front of him. That was when Potter threw himself forward, fists raised.

"Stupefy!"

His target threw up his arms but flew backward, slamming into the burning banister with a howl of pain. Still he rose again, voice hoarse from exhaustion. "Come and get me, you bastard. Is that all you've got?"

He stared the young man down, fingers curled almost lazily around his wand, and he remembered Wormtail's half-rapturous monologues. Ambition, talent, intelligence...perfection.

Pity, then, that perfection was, by its very nature, fleeting.

"Avada Kedavra!" he said, almost lazily, and watched as the light dimmed from the man's eyes and he sank to the ground, glasses slipping off his nose to shatter beneath the weight of his body.

The clock struck midnight.

***

Sirius couldn't sleep. He hadn't had a full night's rest since the day Dumbledore had told James and Lily how to perform the Fidelius charm. Since they'd convinced Wormtail to take his place.

It wasn't cowardice, he told himself. Lily had said it aloud: who was the most obvious choice for Secret-Keeper? The Death Eaters had known things far better concealed than the identity of James Potter's best friend. So Sirius would keep them off-track, lead them on a merry chase, and Wormtail would do what he did best. And when all this was over, they'd go away.

He'd take Prongs and Lily and Harry to Bermuda, he finally decided. Teach Harry how to swim and build sand castles, and put some colour back in Lily's cheeks. When all this was over. Uncle Alphard's old beach cottage was still there; Sirius hadn't had the heart to sell it. It was the sort of thing godfathers did, wasn't it?

Puck nudged his hand, purring noisily. "You're not coming," Sirius informed him. "You'll bunk with Emmeline, and who knows? I might even decide I don't like you that much and let her keep you."

The cat looked at him with eyes not terribly unlike Lily and Harry's. "Or I could give you to Harry. He'd probably like you. You're not half-bad, as cats go."

He glanced up at the clock. Quarter to midnight. Why the hell couldn't he just sleep? As if to mock him, Puck curled up amidst the tangled sheets and closed his eyes. Giving up, Sirius got up and padded out of the bedroom. He'd promised to visit Wormtail on Wednesday, no earlier. There couldn't be any suspicion.

Sirius didn't believe in premonitions. He'd sat in on a single Divination class, on a dare from Prongs, but all he had been able to see in the crystal ball was a cloud of fog. But, no matter how hard he tried, he could not shake off the feeling that something was wrong.

He prowled around the flat, checking the locks and the windows. The streets were empty, as one would expect in the middle of the night on a Tuesday. No watchers, no spies, at least not as far as he could tell. Of course, how long it would take the Death Eaters to come to the Fidelius Charm was anybody's guess. It could be weeks before they even started seeking him out. Finally, he settled on the couch with a book, though he found himself reading the same two lines over and over.

Stand still, you ever-moving spheres of Heaven,

That time may cease and midnight never come.

"Thank you for that irony," he muttered. Midnight had come and gone. "Oh, to hell with it." Tossing the book aside, he grabbed his coat and strode out.

***

There came a noise from behind him, in the shadows of the staircase. A breath caught on a sob, what might have been a name. He turned, only to catch a flash of red hair as she dashed back up the stairs, out of reach. But not for long.

After casting Finite Incantatem on the flames in his way, he took his time climbing the stairs, though they creaked ominously beneath his weight. The fire had weakened them. Pausing in the small corridor, he listened until the unmistakeable sound of a sniff--almost certainly the baby--broke the silence.

The mother was near the window when he thrust open the door to the nursery. In her hands was a twisted sheet, one she was obviously trying to Transfigure into a rope or something equally futile. He couldn't help it--he laughed. Though he couldn't have said why, to be honest. At the sound, she turned and threw herself between him and the cot, wand in hand. He won it from her with barely a fight, a wordless Expelliarmus as it slipped from her fingers. With one hand, he snapped it in half and tossed it onto the floor.

"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!" Tears were streaming from her eyes, caught in dark lashes, refracting green. Such a pretty young woman. Not like his mother, if his uncle were anything to go by.

That was when the thought occurred to Voldemort, and he could feel the corners of his mouth tug upward just a little. His mother, Merope Gaunt, a pureblooded witch descended from Salazar Slytherin himself, had died giving birth to him in a filthy Muggle orphanage. If there was anything he knew now, it was that she could have saved herself. She could have survived. For him. But she had made her choice and damned him in the bargain.

What would pretty Lily Potter do, given such a choice?

"Stand aside you silly girl," he finally said, impatience making the words far sharper than they could have been. "Stand aside now." Stand aside and live was the implication.

"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead--" She choked on the words. But as the green eyes stared at him, he knew she understood. She knew exactly what he was offering her. The price was a small one, surely.

He watched her as she glanced over her shoulder at the child in the cot, watched when he could have easily felled her with a Killing Curse. Curiosity stayed his hand. If she accepted, he might find out what hold this woman had over two of his lieutenants. He might even grant Snape's request, a rarity at best.

"Not Harry!" she whispered, turning back to him. Her words caught on a sob and she repositioned herself between him and the cot. "Please," she looked up at him, eyes imploring, "have mercy...have mercy..."

Curiosity sated, he merely shrugged. "Avada Kedavra!" He did not look at her again.

It was with a curious sort of melancholy that Lord Voldemort drew close to the cradle, frowning down at the toddler, who gazed up at him through his mother's eyes. He did not cry.

The last thing Voldemort saw was the widening of those eyes into a blinding flash of purest, perfect green.


Cana Corruptis comes from The Stroppy Professor. The two lines Sirius read are from Act V of Doctor Faustus by Christopher Marlowe. ...and we’ve come full-circle now. First and foremost, I want to thank Krysa and Adelynne, my lovely beta-readers, for getting me through more plot holes than I can count, keeping the plotbunnies under control, and catching the very strange inconsistencies that periodically popped up. And to everyone who’s been reading and offering concrit -- I really do read it and take it to heart, and I’m glad people have enjoyed the story. It's been more than two years in the making now, but it was a lot of fun to write. Special thinks to WinterofourDiscontent for the quick last-minute beta on this chapter. That being said, there's still an epilogue...