Ein weißer Stern singt ein Totenlied in der Julinacht,
Wie Sterbegeläut in der Julinacht.
Und auf dem Dach die Wolkenhand,
Die streifende, feuchte Schattenhand
Sucht nach meiner Mutter.
ELSE LASKER-SCHÜLER*
Lord Voldemort had got
unsettling news. He had got word of a prophecy, not quite knowing what to do
with the knowledge. Young Snape had overheard it, while on a mission to trail
old Dumbledore – Voldemort was still determined to get a foot into Hogwarts,
and he would introduce a spy there, some way or other. However, Dumbledore had
met with some witch arrogating to be a seer, and this seer had fallen into a
trance, in which she had proclaimed that a child would be born, with the power
to vanquish him. He was inclined to mistrust both the skills of that woman and
her prophecy, but he had never been one to take risks, not in such
matters, anyway. He needn’t consider his chances for long – he’d see to kill
the child in question and that’d be the end of it. Simple enough.
He made enquiries about the
possible candidates. The child would be born at the end of July, to parents
that had fought the Dark Lord three times without losing their lives. That
narrowed the suspects down to two couples in the following months – Frank and
Alice Longbottom, both Aurors, and James and Lily Potter, all members of
Dumbledore’s order. The more obvious guess would have been the Longbottom boy,
of course, a pureblood from an honourable family, bound to achieve greatness
one day. Somehow, he tended to think though that the other boy would be the
true menace. He didn’t recognise his own bias here, because it was the fact
that the child’s mother was a Muggle-born witch which made him believe that this
was the announced threat. Like Voldemort himself and young Snape, this boy came
from a shady background, that would kindle his hunger to prove himself, to show
that he was as good as all the others…
He communicated his decision
to his faithful Death Eaters – as soon as the child had seen the light of day,
he would be murdered together with its parents, and their task was to
find out the whereabouts of the young family and keep track on them. He told
his inner circle why he was so interested in the child – a mistake, all
along the line, although he didn’t know that.
Severus Snape, who had made
a comet-like rise since forwarding the message, was utterly devastated, and if
anyone had bothered to take a closer look at him that night, they would have
noticed instantly how wrought up the young man was. That Lily Potter… He knew
her, knew her better than he would have acknowledged to anyone. If someone had
asked him, he would have sworn how much he despised her, for what she was, for
the man she had married – James Potter had been the bane of his existence, ever
since their time in school. That jerk! That arrogant, cocky, complacent jerk!
And Lily – his Lily! – had married this total prick! Because Lily Evans,
as she had been called then, had been – was still, on a second thought –
the only girl he had ever loved. He quickly excused himself and left the Death
Eater gathering, claiming he wanted to continue his pursuit of Dumbledore. In
fact though, he did nothing of the kind. He simply had to be alone.
Oh god! Oh lord! Oh Lily!
How on earth could that have happened?! Lily! Marked for death!
And he was the one to blame, he had brought Lily into that deadly
peril – for nobody survived once the Dark Lord had marked them to die. What was
he supposed to do, for Christ’s sake?!
How well he had nurtured his
grudge of old. How she had ended their old friendship on the spur of a moment,
on the cue of one wrong word. How furious he had been – and how miserable – but
he had rather focused on his anger instead, because the sadness was just too hard
to endure. And then, she had started going out with Potter – Potter of
all people! Severus thought he could have lived with everyone else at her side,
if only she hadn’t chosen Potter, that arrogant, cruel prick, if only she
hadn’t chosen the one guy who had gone out of his way to make Severus’ life as
miserable as he possibly could, who had scorned, humiliated, injured him
whenever he had seen the slightest chance…
Severus had thought that he
had never forgiven her, and had consequently wallowed in his self-righteous
anger. He had taken his fury and built an altar for it, had put all his
indignation and disappointment with her betrayal of him and their friendship on
a pedestal. Only in the night of hearing her death sentence, he understood that
it wasn’t his rage on that pedestal there after all. It was just her. A way to
keep her in his life after she had long walked out of it.
Sitting in the dark behind a
Muggle church in his old home town, with a bottle of cheap schnapps that he had
absent-mindedly purchased in a Muggle shop around the corner, he realised that
he had never stopped loving Lily just the tiniest bit. And that realisation hit
him like the impact of a mighty curse. The anguish to have lost her, the
bittersweet memories, the extent of how much he missed her, all these pictures
in his head, real and imagined alike… And tomorrow, she could be dead already…?
That must not happen! This was just – just – wrong!
He tried to be rational; the
alcohol soothed him slightly, made him calmer, calm enough anyway to reflect on
the situation. No, she wouldn’t die tomorrow. The child had not been
born yet. It was scheduled for the end of July to be born. That were still more
than three months. Much could happen in three months. The master wanted to wait
for so long. Maybe he could be persuaded that he had erred?
He quashed that idea at once
again. Hinting that the master had erred equalled a sentence of death
with his own name on it. But it wasn’t impossible to voice mild scepticism, as
long as it was done properly and – subtle. Severus could stress the point of
the Longbottoms being possible candidates, maybe he’d manage to push the vote –
three months was a long time – or maybe there was someone they hadn’t even yet
considered because the mother’s pregnancy wasn’t known yet… But the Dark Lord
was nothing if not thorough. He was bound to have triple-checked his facts
there. Still – the Longbottom child could be that miraculous threat, and
it was not impossible to make the master see this, was it…
He chuckled mirthlessly. A prophecy!
Pah! Prophecies were murky at their best. Most of them were false to begin
with. Their correct interpretation was a science of its own, and failed the
point in 999 out of a thousand cases. To counteract them was even more futile.
God, Severus had even got an ‘Outstanding’ OWL in that ridiculous subject – and
he had learnt from a master sceptic to get that far. He had learnt from
Narcissa. Who didn’t believe in the concept as such, but had still mastered an
Outstanding both in her OWLs and her NEWTs, sly thing that she was.
“It’s all about
superstition, Savvy,” she had used to say. “About anticipating what your
opponent wants to hear, fears to be told… Know the ropes, learn about the signs
and details – the rest is sheer psychology and manipulation.”
Too right she had been.
‘People want to be fooled!’ Oh yes. What a shame that she hadn’t
imparted her wisdom to the Dark Lord! But maybe it wasn’t too late yet, maybe…
There must be something he could do. He – he just couldn’t stand
by and watch – not this time! Not when it was Lily’s life at stake! She mustn’t
die! She mustn’t be as much as injured! And neither her child! Lily’s
child, regardless that the father was an ass! What should he do, what could
he do – he must prevent this, he must, he must…
The husband of Severus’
primary Divination teacher had listened to his master with increasing interest,
too. A child would be born with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord…? What did
that mean? Certainly, a mere child couldn’t do anything, but that child
would grow, and so would his powers… In twenty years, this boy could turn out
to be a great wizard, right? He had learnt to close his mind, so the Dark Lord
didn’t find out about his musings. He would have guessed Lucius’ other notions
on the subject too easily.
Admittedly, when joining up,
he had enthused about his master, the Dark Order, the power he had achieved. He
had been proud that the Dark Lord himself had trained him, that he had quickly
risen within the order – but long before he had been made the master’s right
hand man, he had begun to have his doubts. This was the reason why he had put
so much effort into learning Occlumency in the first place. The older he had
got, the clearer he had seen that he had given the Dark Lord far too much power
over himself, and what was worse, his entire family. He had put Narcissa in
danger, and he would never forgive himself for that.
Nobody resigned from the
Dark Lord’s service and lived to tell the tale. That was not an option. He had
kept still and given his master no reason to reprove him, to take it out on
Narcissa in order to punish him for something. But things had changed – for
better and worse. Now Narcissa was pregnant with his son. In less than six
weeks, there’d be two people in his charge, and one of them perfectly helpless.
Lucius had never pictured
himself as a father. Not really. Aware that he would have a son sooner
or later, he had never managed to get a clearer idea of this. In his head, he
had foreseen disaster and that was about it; he had found the thought too
depressing to ponder. Cissa had been far more positive. She had believed
in him and his potential to be a good father when he hadn’t managed to believe
it himself. She had pointed out that he wasn’t like Abraxas, just like she
wasn’t like Elisabeth, and that the line ‘history will repeat itself’ was a
mere phrase, and not a very original one either.
Abraxas had been nagging for
years that it was about time, and kept on uttering his Kassandra warnings, how
Lucius was likely to be killed in the war, until Narcissa, ever so polite and
obliging when dealing with her father-in-law, had been at the end of her
tether, and sniped at him how appalling she found it that he seemed to be more
scared for the continuation of his bloodline than the life of his only child. That
had silenced Abraxas for a while, but ultimately, Lucius himself didn’t
want the dynasty to end with him either, and he had suggested to his wife that
they could give it a try, and that having a good mother might make up for a
not-so-good father.
“You will be a fantastic
father, mon amour. Take my word for it,” she had assured him with her most
radiant smile.
“You mean you would…?”
“I’ll be proud and happy to
bear our child, Lucius. In fact, I’ll be the happiest creature in the world, I
believe.”
So they had spoken the
incantation that would counter the ancient curse controlling the continued
existence of the Malfoy family – one child in one generation, always a boy –
and had literally celebrated the conception of their baby in that night. Lucius
could pinpoint the second in which his son had come into existence, the
expression in his wife’s wide-open eyes, all the hope and faith and trust, and
most of all – the love. She loved him as much as he loved her, and their
child was a child of this love, and everything would be fine, they would
come through because they loved each other and they would be
great parents and his son would not despise him. In that very second of
conceiving the boy, Lucius had known that all would be well.
He was looking forward to
the little fellow’s birth, while it also scared him witless, if for other
reasons than before. The jobs he had to do for the Dark Lord became more and
more dangerous. There was a war out there, damn it! The Dark Lord was
determined to overthrow the Ministry and wreak havoc over the entire wizarding
population, anyone standing in his way. He got the help of whole legions of
dark creatures, werewolves, vampires, giants, trolls, a swarm of Dementors… And
most of them weren’t fussy. But the crucial point was that he, Lucius, was
demanded to fight in this war. This was a risk in itself – the Aurors killed at
sight, and they weren’t fussy either. It also bore the risk that he was
discovered to be a Death Eater, meaning that he’d spend the rest of his life in
Azkaban. This must never happen, not only for his own sake – he had a wife to
take care of, and soon, he’d have a son, too, totally dependent on his father,
and he had sworn many times that he’d be a good father. He wouldn’t be
like Abraxas – he would be there for his son, and he couldn’t do that if he was
dead, or locked away in that stinking dump of a prison!
As always, Narcissa was
still awake when he got home that night. She was lying in bed, cuddled up in a
thick blanket and reading some book, but put it away as soon as he opened the
door and tiptoed in. “You ought to sleep in your state,” he muttered fondly and
kissed the tip of her nose first and her swollen belly next. “You need to sleep
for two.”
“How can I sleep when you’re
not here!” She tried to smile, and overwhelmed, he wrapped his arms around her.
He knew just how scared she was every single time when he left on the Dark
Lord’s orders, and the pregnancy had made her skin even thinner.
She made a brave face now,
took his hand and pulled him down. “You know I can’t sleep without you. I don’t
know where to put my hands… My head… What to do with my legs…”
She caressed his shoulders,
but in that moment, she noticed the pensive look on his face and asked tensely,
“What is it?”
“Nothing, chérie. Nothing
you want to know.”
Narcissa scrutinised him,
stopping to fumble with his clothes. Yes, they had a deal. Narcissa didn’t want
to know a lot of things – practically everything connected with the Dark Order.
She found it barbaric, she couldn’t stand the idea what that awful butcher was
forcing her beloved husband to do, into what peril he constantly brought him.
But the precariousness wasn’t to be born with either.
They snuggled up, Narcissa
found her usual position – their legs entwined, one hand on his belly, her head
on his chest – and murmured flatly, “Is it something that’ll make the Daily
Prophet tomorrow?”
“No, nothing like that…” he
whispered, gently stroking her belly.
“Come on, Lucius, I can see
that you’re worried. Do I need to be worried, too? I’ve got to know that, don’t
you think?”
“It’s – it’s nothing that
directly affects you, Cissa, honestly. Not indirectly either…”
“If it doesn’t concern me,
it will make no difference whether you tell me or not in the first place!”
The baby inside her was
kicking, or at least the becoming father believed it did, and shrank with the
notion how much it must hurt her. She claimed it didn’t hurt, and that she
found it all rather exciting, but he thought she only meant to spare him the
horridness. His free hand tightened his embrace on her.
“My angel, you must not be
excited in your state –”
“In my state! I am not ill, mon amour, just pregnant, and
speaking of it – you think this state of ignorance does not upset me? Every time you leave, I fret when, or if, I’ll see
you again!”
“This is different... It
isn’t – it’s just...” He pulled himself together. Never lie to her, he’d sworn
that, to himself, to her and to all the world at their wedding day. She’d asked
him a direct question, and as his wife and soon-to-be mother of his son, she
deserved a direct, honest answer. He cleared his throat. “I’m prohibited to
even mention this, all right, so you must never give as much as a hint
that I’ve spoken about it – least to Bella…”
Narcissa groaned. “What’s
she done?”
“Nothing! Nothing – well,
yet. At least in this regard... It doesn’t refer to anyone close to you, don’t
worry.” He felt her tension waning, and proceeded to tell her about that
prophecy – that there would be a little boy that was supposed to be capable of
overthrowing the Dark Lord… She listened in silence, and waiting a whole minute
after he had finished, before tentatively whispering, “That could be as good as
it could be bad, right?”
“What do you mean?” he asked
eagerly, hoping she’d confirm his own notions.
“Well… If the Dark
Lord was overthrown, his supporters might be in quite some trouble, am I
right?”
“That could happen, I
s’pose…”
“If he was not
overthrown, you might eventually be in trouble, too –”
“Yeah…”
“But our chances would be
much, much better if he was vanquished, and we could properly react,
right?”
“That’s what I was thinking,
too, yes…”
“Who are the parents?”
“The Potters.”
She raised her head in
surprise. “Lily Potter?”
“Yes. That’s the one…”
“And V-… – excuse me, honey
– he wants to kill her? And her little boy?”
“And the kid’s father.
They’ve defied him three times already, he wants to get rid of the lot of
them.”
She goggled at him in
incredulous shock, silent for a while, before murmuring at last, “There’s no
sanctity in the whole idea!”
“What’d you mean?”
“Everything, starting with
the mere idea of a prophecy prompting
him to kill a baby… I don’t believe in any prophecy that I haven’t
forged myself. I’m astonished that he does.”
“You think it’s a fake?”
“You don’t?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know… He
believes in it, and that’s the end of the Potters.”
“Not only does he believe in
that prophecy, he also believes that this boy could be a threat for him?!”
“So it seems.”
“How?”
“I have absolutely no idea.”
* Ein weißer Stern... A white
star sings a song for the dead in a night in July – like a peal of bells for
the dying in a night in July. And on the roof, the cloudy hand, the groping,
clam, shadowy hand, searches for my mother.
*****
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