Footsteps of our Fathers

A/N: I'd firstly like to thank anyone who helped me to form this fanfiction that I am writing. Particularly my beta-reader and also to anyone who gave me suggestions.

If you got confused by the summary, I'll explain the AU again. Instead of killing Harry Potter, Voldemort managed to kill Neville Longbottom and his parents and continues to rule the Wizarding World. Apart from that, the Wizarding World has been cursed by the spawn of Severus Snape. Some of you might not know what is worse :P

Chapter One - The Reasons Why

It edged closer and closer to midnight on a humid late July. The stifling heat of the day was fading but the lack of wind kept the air uncomfortable and sticky. The sky was a deep aubergine hue with thick, pink-grey clouds which concealed everything expect a few glinting stars. The clouds loomed over the Lancashire moor lands, which were lit only by the street lamps and car lights far in the distance. The clouds cloaked the infamous,brooding Pendle Hill. In a day with no haze, Pendle Hill clearly lay in melancholy scarred by the ancient stone walls of fields, the harsh yellow grasses that thrived upon the hill, the dull lilac of heather and the rough black stone faces of the imposing hill.

Far in rural Lancashire sat a large flag stone house. Long ago, it was constructed to rear cattle in the frosty winters of England. But one dank November day in the eighteen century, the pureblood Diamant family stole the old barn from the feeble and aged muggle farmer, feeling no remorse, though the old man consequently starved to death. As the years rolled by, the Diamant family neglected their holiday home in the moors; they immigrated to America from France to avoid criticism of their blood-purist views. The abandoned house aged. It was not until the twentieth century that a young Athena Diamant returned and within time brought her husband and gave birth to two children.

Evidence of the old family remained in the house, paintings and photographs of distant memories. Unhappy memories echoed within the grim stone walls. The floors and panels smelled recently polished; the stench of wood polish fumes still heavily perfumed the air. The stone fireplace in the living room was grand and wide but neglected and unused. The furniture had been left to waste within these walls for centuries and their once glorious sheen had been worn by age. From the ceiling of the spacious living room were the shuffling footsteps of two people.

A girl stood in the hallway at the head of the mahogany stairs. She was around fifteen and held a dying, flickering candle. A daydreaming boy of around seven trailed behind her, appearing more interested in the flowing train of her white nightgown than of the girl herself.

The girl commented solemnly, "Mum isn't back; I bet she's still there..."

The little boy looked at the girl. "What's there, Desdemona?"

She gave him a look of disdain. "You know what I mean, Antenociticus."

"Oh... so, is mum still being tortured by the Dark Lord?"

"Yes, Ant. I think so, anyway." Desdemona paused in thought. "But she might still be at the Department of Mysteries doing late-night research. She used to do it all the time before you were born..." After she murmured this, she winced uneasily and regretted mentioning such a thing.

As Desdemona's foot touched the first step downstairs, Antenociticus suggested, "Shouldn't we wait for mum downstairs?"

Desdemona turned to face her brother. "What do you think I'm doing, Ant?"

"Oh..." He mumbled to himself as he continued to follow his older sister down the carpeted stairs. His pale blue eyes focused on the patterns on the silk rug that trailed down the stairs, stuck by magical bonds. There were oriental flowers, blossom trees, and dragons flowing across the rug in a swirl of gold, scarlet, crimson, and pale cream. His eyes didn't see his big sister leap down the last half of the steps in one jump. But his ears picked up on the distinct thud her dainty feet made as they hit the wooden floor of the living room.

"Stop doing that. It freaks me out..." Antenociticus whined.

Desdemona scoffed. "What's wrong with a little bit of magic?"

He remained silent as he stepped slowly down the stairs, only to be greeted by his sister's folded arms.

"Finally..." She sighed quietly as she walked down the long living room, her feet dragging across the oak floor.

Her eyes gazed out of the window, hoping to see her mother coming any second. The loud, hypnotic ticking of the grandfather clock against the wall disrupted the silence of the room.

Antenociticus' dishwater grey eyes turned towards the many picture surrounding the fireplace. His eyes narrowed at the last picture of the whole family taken before his father died. In the family portrait his father was glaring, dark-eyed, at his spacey mother Athena with a kind of venom he had never witnessed before. His older sister sat on the chair, frowning, with her arms crossed as always. Ant sat on a high stool, only a toddler, but even then his eyes looked detached and deeply immersed in a daydream.

Whenever he asked his sister why their parents loathed each other, her expression froze and saddened and she said nothing; not even a single hint why their parents detested one another.

Desdemona's sea-green eyes stared at the grandfather clock. Both the cast iron hands were narrowing upon midnight. She shuffled her feet, her face becoming more distressed with each "tick" of the clock.

Antenociticus suddenly blinked. His head felt odd for a second: dizzy, light, and disorientated... he wondered what was wrong. "Mona....?" he asked in a nasally voice.

"What?" growled Mona, turning to face her brother. She gasped.

"What the hell happened to your nose, Ant?"

Antenociticus' shaky hand felt his nose. Once its profile was aquiline and bumpy, but now it was smooth and straight.

"Whaa...?" His hand continued to stroke his nose, wishing it would turn back to normal.

"Look in the mirror for goodness sake!" Desdemona spat harshly as she turned her brother to the cracked mirror on the far wall.

Antenociticus blinked at his changed reflection. His lanky seven-year-old build remained. His face, however, even though only one feature changed, looked completely different. It was far too familiar, his face, like another man's. Not his father's.

His mouth gaped. I can't believe it. "I think I know why mum and dad hated each other."

"Why?" Desdemona asked, trying to squeeze an answer out of her brother.

"I... I can't believe it." Antenociticus' eyes blinked furiously at his revelation. "He's not my dad, is he?"

"Who's not your dad, Ant?"

"Your dad."

"Oh," Desdemona replied.

"Well, you're very shocked aren't you?" Antenociticus said sarcastically.

"I always knew our mum was a bit of a slag."

"You shouldn't call her that!" Antenociticus growled defensively. "Wait a minute.... How did you know?"

"I'm a smart girl, Ant," Desdemona told her brother, her arms folded again.

Antenociticus looked up at his sister. "Did Dad know he wasn't my father?"

"Of course he did," she chuckled, as if it was a ridiculous question. "We both knew you were a Black, not a Snape."

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Desdemona tolerated her curious younger brother's many questions about what his real father was like. Unluckily, Desdemona spoke with obvious bias due to her parents' experience with him. The grandfather clock slowly turned its short cast iron hand from twelve to five; they lulled into slumber as Antenociticus' questions became less and less frequent.

The peachy glow of sunrise gently fell onto them as they slumbered on a faded aged couch. Desdemona's face twitched as her eyelids fluttered open. Quietly as possible, she rose from the burgundy couch to see whether her mother had returned. Her eyes darted to the hallway, but the watercolour picture hanging on the door was still a sepia tone; her mother was still away with the Dark Lord. Just another charm her mother was talented at.

Noticing her brother's straight nose was still there from last night, she wondered what kind of charm it was. Even with her lack of knowledge in the field of charms she knew that a powerful spell fading suddenly wasn't ordinary. With tired steps, she walked towards the small room her father dubbed the library.

The bright morning light peered through the netted curtains, pouring its peachy-cream light into the room. The air in the room seemed impure, somehow. It smelled odd; the light was murky and dusty and the echo trickled through your spine. Desdemona's wintry eyes glanced at the delicately crafted chandelier hanging despondently on the ceiling. Only one candle remained lit, left flickering to its death. The chandelier's only companions were the ancient cobwebs which have inhabited the carefully carved ceiling for decades. Desdemona slowly glided,her dress trailing behind her, through the thick, mahogany doors into the library.

Without dawdling, she spirited to the bookshelf. Her eyes scanned the rows of stacked books and found a bookcase stuffed with charm theory books. She flew towards with feline airs. Her fingers slowly traced across the spine of each leather-bound book in front of her and then... she halted at one book. Down its worn, dusty, royal blue spine shone '"The Nature of Appearance Charms" in a glimmering gold font. Her small, refined hands pulled out the book. Within seconds, she opened the book at a dog-eared page. Her mother must have used this before.

Permanently charming another's appearance is a difficult process, taking time and patience to perfect. Sometimes known as a Persona Charm due it's history as a charm used by Greek Actors in Ancient Greece to save money on masks. It is viable; it will not fade until the caster's death, unless the caster dispels the charm themselves.

Desdemona's eyes halted and the first tear trickled from her eyes. She knew her mother couldn't have dispelled it; Voldemort had her mother's wand. Her mother, Athena Diamant, was dead. Just like Desdemona's father.

A shrill cry came from the living room. "MONA! Where are you?"

Desdemona didn't reply, her eyes still transfixed on the leather-bound book in her hands.

"MONA!" Ant's voice echoed with urgency. "MONA! ARE YOU THERE?" His footsteps sounded closer and more hurried. He scuttled into the library. "Why didn't you say nothin', Mona?"

"She's dead," she whispered, shutting the royal-blue leather book.

"Who's dead?"

She turned to face her brother. "Our mum... is dead." Desdemona gazed blearily at her brother's bewildered expression. "She really is, Ant."

"Does it say it in the book, Mona?"

"Yes, it does. And we need to.... we need to--"

"Need to what, Mona?"

Desdemona sighed and slid the book back into the bookshelf, "We need to hide. He'll come for us soon, I bet. You know how much he wants me to be in his inner circle."

"Why does he? You're a girl! There's only like two woman with the Dark Mark... not even mum has one!"

"Have you seen those trophies in my room? The dueling ones? That's why he wants me Ant."

"He won't come after me though, right?"

Gulping, she continued, "We never thought he'd kill dad... but he did. We never thought he'd try to make mum a Death Eater, but he did. We never thought that he would kill Mum, but he has!"

"He won't kill us though, will he?"

"Oh, Ant!" she whimpered shakily.

"Will he, though?" he asked curiously.

Desdemona wailed with such intensity that Antenociticus covered his ears, just in case she was actually a banshee. Antenociticus watched with amazement and horror as his sister whimpered , tears streaming down her inflamed cheeks.

"Mona?" he asked, walking up to her apprehensively.

Desdemona sniffed, gulped, and attempted to calm herself. "What is it, Ant?"

"What are we going to do?"

"How the h-hell am I s-supposed to know the answer t-to everything!" she spluttered. "I-I don't know what we are g-going to do! I'm only a-a kid and t-then I have to look after my l-little brother! All I ever wanted was to..." She trailed off as her eyes glanced outside the window.

"What are you looking at?"

Desdemona sniffed again. "You wanna go for a walk outside? I always walk when I can't think straight."

Antenociticus gave a little noise in agreement.

"Come on, Ant. Let's go then," she suggested, slinking out of the library, the train of her nightgown flapping behind her.