La Blue Wizarda HP fanfic by canoncansodoff

Disclaimer: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

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Chapter 5 - When the Dark Lord Makes House Calls 

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Two days after the seventh month died on the modern Gregorian calendar, and one day after Dumbledore revealed a portion of the Prophecy to two sets of parents, Charms Master Filius Flitwick paid a visit to the Potter residence.  He found a much larger gathering than he had anticipated…the new family had gathered in their sitting room not just with Emmeline Vance, but with Frank and Alice Longbottom, their newborn son, and Frank’s mother.  The Hogwarts Professor was quite surprised when he was informed that the spells that he would cast would protect something other but safe houses.  He was less surprised that neither family wanted Dumbledore to be their secret keeper, once he was informed why Fidelius charms needed to be cast.

An engaging discussion was held over lunch, as the gathering weighed the pros and cons of the proposed strategy.  Flitwick, of course, had a personal stake in the decision, since it’d be his life and magic on the line if powerful magic opposed his efforts.  They ultimately decided that if one of the newborn scions were indeed “The One,” that protecting knowledge of that fact wouldn’t be the same as trying to change that fact, and that the Prophecy’s magic wouldn’t align itself in opposition to the spell.

So it was that the two families went into separate rooms, each with their designated secret keeper.  Professor Flitwick then cast sequential Fidelius spells that were identical in composition, save for different names.   The casting went without incident; prophecy chose not to oppose his efforts to protect the knowledge  that Neville Longbottom and Harry Potter were each born as the seventh month died, to parents who had thrice defied the Dark Lord.

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Three days after the seventh month died on the modern Gregorian calendar, a small brown owl flew into the lair of the self-styled Dark Lord and delivered a letter to its final destination.  It was the end of a very long and circuitous path for the message…one that involved four different owls and three separate dead-drops. 

Once the designated minion by Voldemort’s side was dismissed, the Dark Lord cast the appropriate counters to the near-lethal privacy spells that guarded the envelope’s contents.  Inside that envelope was a simple list that had been hastily scribed by an unmarked operative in the early hours of the first day of August.  It was more of a table, actually, with the names of newborns that had been born at St. Mungo’s over the previous month:

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04 July –  Theodore Nott, parents Thaddeus and Heather Nott

12 July – Elizabeth Berger, parents Troy and Gwendolyn Berger

13 July – unnamed boy, parents identity protected by memory charm

16 July – unnamed girl, parents identity protected by memory charm

27 July – Patricia Ashburn, parents Edward and Joyce Ashburn

31 July – Neville Longbottom, parents Frank and Alice Longbottom

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While the Dark Lord’s eyes covered the entire page and all six entries, his brain only recognized the existence of five…such was the strength of the Fidelius charm that now protected the last name on the list...a charm than now protected the following secret:

"Neville Longbottom was born as the seventh month died, to parents who had thrice defied the Dark Lord."

The Fidelius charm's magic didn’t physically erase the words and numbers written before it was cast (by someone other than the secret keeper)…instead, it acted like an amped-up Notice-Me-Not charm, and kept anyone who looked at those words and numbers from registering their meaning.

“Five births…a couple more than normal,” Voldemort mused, as his eyes passed over Neville's name. “But two more anonymous births protected by obliviation...damn Purebloods and their worries about squib offspring and social standing…”  The Dark Lord also was well aware of the likelihood that an equal number of expectant mothers had given birth at home, and that their children’s names (like Harry Potter’s) wouldn’t have been recorded at St. Mungo’s.

Thinking it best to worry about omissions later on, Voldemort summoned a locked chest from a corner of his “throne room,” and opened it with appropriate counter-charms and passwords. Inside this chest was a scroll that, when unrolled and expanded, grew into a wall-sized piece of parchment.

Voldemort levitated the scroll in front of him, and used wandless magic to write in the names and birthdays within the annotated calendar.  A deep sigh then escaped from the Dark Lord’s mouth…the kind of sigh that he’d only let escape when his minions weren’t around to falsely interpret it as a sign of weakness.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches,” he said to himself for the thousandth time. “Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ...”

But which seventh month…on which calendar? Given the nature of prophecy, Voldemort was fairly certain that the most obvious answer wouldn’t be the correct answer.

The “modern” calendar used in the muggle orphanage that Tom Riddle grew up in considered the thirty-one day month of July to be the seventh month of the year.  And while certain portions of the wizarding world used this Gregorian calendar to mark time (for example, classes at Hogwarts always began on the first day of September), it wasn’t uncommon for “ordinary wizard folk” to follow a lunar calendar.  Some types of magic, in fact, required it…some rituals were linked to specific cycles of the moon, and certain magical herbs or plants could only be safely harvested or used at certain times of the lunar year.   And then there was Divination, where readings were often made and fortunes foretold based on lunar calendar birthdates.  And since prophecy was a form of Divination…

Which led to the separate question…which lunar calendar should he follow? There were choices, you see, even if one ignored the Chinese and Islamic versions.

The Old English lunar calendar was actually a heliolunar system, in that it was tied to both solar and lunar cycles.  The new year started at Yule (i.e. the Winter Solstice) and each month had 28 days.  So, counting out seven twenty-eight day months from 21 December of the previous year placed the end of the month “Afterlithe,” on the Fifth of July. 

But then there was the Celtic lunar calendar, favored by those who practiced Old Magik, which divided the year into a light and dark halves. As the day was seen as beginning at sunset, so the year was seen as beginning with the arrival of the darkness, at Samhain, the first of November. The light half of the year started at Bealtaine, the first of May.  So the seventh month of the Celtic calendar (Bealtaine) corresponded with modern month of May, and “died” on May 28.

The safest approach for the Dark Lord to take would be Biblical in scale…kill every baby born over the past year.  But that was both impractical, and unwise…birthrates within the magical world were low, and many of his loyal followers had taken the time to impregnate their wives.  Crabb…Goyle…Malfoy…Parkinson… even Nott had sired an heir (and he could have been crowned “Most Impotent Minion” had such a contest been held).

Then there was the fact that the Prophecy had a two-part test…”The One” was born to parents who “thrice defied him”.  Again, there was plenty of room for interpretation…defiance could mean anything from a Light-side wizard engaging him in a duel to a Death Eater family hiding a few galleons from their Lord’s purview. 

It was this last example that most troubled Voldemort.  Over the years, he had boosted his magical strength, ensured his immortality, and expanded his repertoire of lethal spells using the kind of Dark Magic that no Light-side supporter of Dumbledore would even be aware of, much less consider using.  How, therefore, could a “Light” witch or wizard, unwilling to soil their hands or their souls with the sacrificial blood of the innocent, even come close to gaining enough power to “vanquish” the greatest, most powerful Dark Lord in history?

But there were plenty of Dark witches and wizards would not hold themselves back based on quaint notions of “good” and “evil”…witches and wizards who not only knew about some of the rituals he had used, but who had participated in them.

“Yes,” Voldemort decided, as he pulled a self-inking quill from a robe pocket. “I must pay careful attention to my most loyal followers and their families.” 

The Dark Lord leaned forward and drew circles around the names of three children, two born in July, and the third in May.  Having thus marked those born as three different “seventh” months died, he rolled up the parchment, placed it back within the locked chest, and summoned an aide.

“Bring me Severus Snape,” he ordered.  “I have need of a travel companion.”

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Edward Ashburn was a low-ranking Death Eater with mediocre magical skills…the kind of minion that was recruited more for his family’s money than any ability to effective terrorize the wizarding world.  He had never personally spoken with the Dark Lord, and only come within arm’s reach on the night he was initiated.  To say Ashburn was shocked, therefore, when Voldemort and Snape paid his family a house call, would be an understatement.

The wizard was properly humble, and hastily assembled his young family within their sitting room.   When Snape produced a vial from a robe pocket, Ashburn and his wife showed no hesitancy as they allowed three drops of Veritaserum to fall upon their tongues.  And when Voldemort asked both husband and wife to identify every single instance in which they had defied him…

Silence.

A few follow-up questions confirmed that they had never knowingly gone against the Dark Lord.  Never ever.  Not in the least.

Thus assured that this was not the family of prophecy, Voldemort used the balance of the potion’s efficacy to ask questions of a more personal nature, more for personal amusement than anything else.  He was rather disappointed to learn that Ashburn considered his Death Eater duties to be more of a job, than a calling…he took no perverse joy in causing pain, and had no real hatred for Muggles and the Muggleborn.  His wife was just as boring…someone who, when asked, declared her most perverse sexual fantasy to be, “leaving the lights on whilst having missionary position sex with my husband.”

Voldemort almost killed the couple on principle…boring minions couldn’t be very effective Death Eaters.  But they were always good on their support payments and loyal to a fault…so he spared them, and turned the visit into a teachable moment…as the Dark Lord cradled his newborn child, Edward Ashburn followed his Master’s orders and buggered his wife on the sitting room floor while she sucked-off Snape.

With the lights on.

The subservience and willingness to debase themselves on the sitting room floor was worthy of a roll of the Dark Lord’s eyes.  But on the positive side, the husband appeared to enjoy the anal sex, and, once spent, declared that he’d be looking for that kind of “action” in the future.  And Snape certainly left the house with a smile on his face.  So who could say with a straight face that the Dark Lord didn’t provide for his followers? 

Voldemort crossed young Patricia Ashburn’s name from his list, and continued on to their next destination.

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Snape and his Master were welcomed into the Nott residence with a bit more tension in the air…not because the Death Eater and his wife thought they had anything to hide, but because they’d been allied with the Dark Lord long enough to know that, on occasion, having nothing to hide didn’t matter.

The assembled family included two older daughters, aged three and five, who both hid behind their mother’s robes as she held their month-old son in her arms. Lady Nott offered their guests tea, but wasn’t surprised when it was refused. 

Thinking that one of his longest-serving minions deserved the barest of explanations, Voldemort informed the couple that there was reason to suspect a traitorous family within the ranks.  The husband and wife nodded, and accepted the Veritaserum on their tongues more out of resignation than fear (each convinced that refusing to do so would automatically lead to their deaths).

As Voldemort expected, the Nott family wasn’t as blindingly loyal as the Ashburns had been.  When asked if they had ever defied the Dark Lord, they came up with two instances…their initial hesitancy when invited to become Death Eaters, and the sequestering of most of their wealth within a pound-denominated Muggle bank account (rather than within a Gringott’s vault that could be accessed by the Death Eaters when there was need).

The Dark Lord had long known of the first instance, and had suspected the second.  

Voldemort considered his options while the Veritaserum wore off.  It was a given that the Muggle account would be closed and the funds confiscated.  There would also be “penalties and interest” applied to the couple, with said application to be both public and painful.  But as for whether little Theodore was "The Chosen One"…the defiance was twice rather than thrice.

A thought occurred to Voldemort…that he could order Nott to kill his son, and if he refused that would make it three.  But then he remembered that the Prophecy said that "The One" was born to those who had already thrice defied him.  So it wouldn’t apply…or would it?

Needing more time to think once the potion wore off, Voldemort held another newborn in his arms and ordered Snape to cast Cruciatus curses on the couple for their defiance.  This allowed the Dark Lord to go back over the prophecy and review verb tenses a few more times.  Finally convinced that the Nott baby couldn’t be "The One", Voldemort ordered a halt to the torture.  He then instructed Nott Senior to have the pound notes stacked in front of his throne within twenty-four hours, and declared that baby Teddy would be held as collateral.

If Snape was disappointed that he’d gotten a babysitting job out of this second visit instead of a blowjob, he was smart enough (and skilled enough) not to show it.  With a hastily-packed and hideously-colorful bag of nappies on his shoulder and a baby in his arms,  Severus followed the Dark Lord out of the Nott residence and on to their final destination.

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The third child that the Dark Lord has unknowingly marked as his equal had been born that past May…as the seventh month on the Celtic lunar calendar died. That it was a baby girl, rather than a boy, was no basis for exclusion (since it was only the second portion of the prophecy…the part that Voldemort hadn’t heard…that contained gender-identifying pronouns).  It also mattered not that her parents weren’t marked Death Eaters…while they professed neutrality, the family was nothing if not practical and pragmatic.  If they thought that Dark rituals and virginal sacrifices would be needed to save their precious child, they wouldn’t hesitate to perform them.

Voldemort, Snape and the Nott baby got a mostly cold, but respectful reception when they were received into the house (it was “mostly cold” because the couple couldn’t help but snicker at the look on Snape’s face while he held a newborn infant).  The family received their guests from a position of relative strength…they headed a rich and powerful clan that controlled most of the potion supply business within Britain.  Neither Light nor Dark Side had therefore pushed them too hard, for fear of being cut off from this vital supply chain.

Pushed them too hard before now, that is…while Voldemort understood the need for this supply chain, he feared “The One” more than he feared the loss of ready access to bat wings and salamander eggs. 

Veritaserum was applied only after threats were made and a wand was thrust into the mouth of the ten-week old child, who was lying in a bassinet in front of her mother.  Questions were asked, and then answered…the couple had knowingly defied the Dark Lord on three separate occasions, when they turned down recruitment offers made two years, one year, and six months previous.

When the potion wore off, Voldemort demanded that the couple accept the Dark Mark and join his side.  For a fourth time, the couple refused.

The Dark Lord couldn’t be certain that that this child was “The One,” but she did meet the minimum qualifications (so far as he knew).  Deciding it better to be safe than sorry, he bent down over the bundled child and began the incantation for the Killing Curse.

A cry of immense pain that was layered on top of a cry of “No!” distracted him from this task.  The Dark Lord looked up, and saw the child’s father looking down at a stump where his wand arm used to be.  New blood-spurting gashes then appeared across the wizard’s chest, and he crumpled to the floor.

Voldemort narrowed his eyes, and turned towards Snape, who had a baby in one arm and a raised wand in the other.

“Non-verbal curse?” he asked.

Snape nervously nodded.  “Yes, My Lord.”

“Interesting,” Voldemort replied. “You’ll have to teach me that spell.”

“You honor me, My Lord,” Snape replied, with wide eyes cast downwards.

“Yes, I do…don’t I?”

The child’s mother used the time spent conversing to leap down to the floor so that she could cover her daughter with her body.

“Don’t kill my baby…please, I’ll do anything, I’ll take the Mark…just spare my little baby girl!”

The Dark Lord looked down at the witch and scowled. 

“Get out of the way, woman, there’s no sparing her!”

“No! You’ll have to kill me first!”

Voldemort agreed to her terms, then kicked the witch’s lifeless form away from the bassinet.

Snape’s horror struggled to burst out from behind his carefully impassive mask.  He was bothered that he’d killed, and used methods far bloodier than the Dark Lord.  And now his Master was going to kill an innocent child?

The phrase “Yours is not to reason why,” ran through Snape's head as he patted the Nott baby’s back and watched nervously as the Dark Lord once again pointed his wand and called out “Avada Kedavra!” 

This time Voldemort wasn’t distracted…although he might have wished that he’d been.

The sickly green curse struck the infant’s forehead, then rebounded and hit the Dark Lord in the chest.  The wizard fell face first to the ground as if he was a just-felled tree in the woods.

A good fifteen seconds passed before Snape’s brain absorbed what had happened well enough to allow movement.  He cautiously walked over to the Dark Lord’s body and called out his name.  When there was no response, he very gently reached down and turned the body over.

He immediately wished that he hadn’t.

A chilling black mist escaped from the bloody nostrils of a just-broken nose and passed into Snape’s open mouth.  The greasy-haired potions expert convulsed in pain, and let the Nott baby slip from his hands so that he could hold his throbbing head. A presence within Severus’s head sought entry, and he instinctively clamped down on the Occlumency shields that the Hogwarts Headmaster had helped him build that past winter.

There was a struggle that seemed like hours in length but was actually seconds, before the invasive presence gave up on its attack and dragged itself out of Snape’s body.  The black mist briefly coalesced in front of his face, then slipped out through an open window, and into the night.

Snape struggled past the pain and the cries of the two injured infants in order to access the situation.  While he didn’t begin to understand what had just transpired, he understood perfectly well the dire situation that he would face were he still there when the Aurors arrived. 

Not wishing to risk having his Apparition traced, Severus decided there was only one “least bad” option…collect them all, and let Dumbledore sort them out.

The Potions Professor-to-be transfigured the Dark Lord’s body into a portable piece of fruit.  Pocketing the apple and Voldemort’s wand, Snape gathered both infants against his chest and activated an emergency portkey to the Hogwarts Infirmary.

“Oh, my word!” yelled Madame Pomfrey, as she rushed to Snape’s arrival point.  “What have you there!”

Severus looked down at the bundles in each arm.

“This one is the Nott’s brat,” he announced with a head nod. 

“As for this one,” he added, as he passed the other bundle into the Matron’s arms, “this is Daphne Greengrass…The-Girl-Who-Lived.”

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A/N:  So ends the first part of the story.  The next chapter will jump forward eleven years, to the day that Harry Potter takes his first ride aboard the Hogwarts Express.