the dark lord voldemort (ex_dark_lord747) wrote in blurred_lines, @ 2009-08-07 20:08:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! [1980-08] august, alice longbottom (née prewett), frank longbottom, lord voldemort, severus snape |
Who: Alice, Frank, Neville, and Voldemort with Snape looking on.
What: Murder
Where: Longbottom house
When: night of 7 August
To the tune of: http://www.box.net/shared/8j6esvmoi
Status: Complete
Rating: R
On nights like this, it was difficult to remember that there was a war on. It was a fact never truly removed from their lives -- they were too good with patronuses, and their wands, even when they were in the safety of their own home, were never out of immediate reach -- but on evenings where the sky was clear and dark above them, dotted by the specks of light that were constellations he'd never learned to read, a comfortably cool breeze allowed into the homestead by windows that had been left ajar, the ravages of the past year suddenly became very, very distant.
Of course, the fact that Frank and Alice were currently peering at the gurgling infant who had been nestled in a blanket between them could've been the reason the rest of the world and its concerns amounted to very little at this given moment. Really, anyone who knocked on the door right now would be told to bugger right off, because Frank was far more invested in catching his son's gaze by wiggling a velveteen dog in the air above him.
"Oi, Neville, look here."
The infant Neville, barely a week old, was too young to do much more than look up at the toy with interest, his large, blue eyes locking on the dog, minuscule fingers curling into tight fists, his face, still pink, scrunching slightly. Alice thought, though, that the way that her son's eyes followed the dog, that he surely knew that this was something exciting, though for Neville, the whole of a world he hadn't yet seen or experienced was exciting. Like any mother, she was sure that she saw intelligence in his features, his parents' determination. Certainly he would grow up to be strong, smart, gifted, handsome, she reasoned. All of the signs were here already, from his adorable face to his curious gaze.
The last few days had been raucous in a different way, diaper changes and late night feedings and everyone in the Order wanting to see, not that Alice was entirely sure she was ready to share yet. It was a different kind of busy, but she was enjoying it, strangely, and a part of her wished that, all those months ago, she had agreed to leave the country, so that she could live a quiet, blameless life where all that concerned her was getting to know her son.
"I don't know if he's old enough to appreciate it yet, Frank," she mused, pushing away thoughts of flight, of war, of worries about everything other than whether or not his little fingers and toes and mind were developing correctly.
And with a small pop, the stars felt blotted out behind the Dark Lord's robes, and a little bit of goodness, somewhere, was quashed out. He was in a chilled, murderous, mood, and with the location of the Longbottoms and their still-weak wards, he no longer had to wait. Severus would be rewarded for his information, but right now he could think of nothing but the danger to his throne that lay behind those doors. Striding quickly for it, he kept his hackles raised. It would not do to die on his way to godhood.
Space shuddered and in an instant, the door was ripped from its hinges and landed fifty yards away, enflamed. He entered in a billow of smoke and robes and in his eyes were written Murder.
Whatever hint of an indication either adult Longbottom might've received about the wards bending so easily to an unrecognized individual (before the full aftereffects struck like a wave) was engulfed by the abrupt violence that reverberated throughout the house. Frank's reply to Alice, an almost boyishly impatient then when? -- because he wanted Neville to graduate from toy dogs to train-sets and quidditch brooms really soon -- died unspoken in his throat as he automatically curled his frame toward Alice and Neville, toy clenched and then allowed to drop away as he scrabbled for his wand.
There was only one thing that he could think of to answer the question of what the hell was going on, and his belly was suddenly gripped by ice as the figure of Voldemort became visible through the dread smoke and flame. At the realization that the Dark Lord, the creature they had spent so much time and effort and blood fighting, was standing in their house, a part of him buckled -- to the panicked chant of: no, not now, not here, this was not supposed to happen, why hadn't they gotten any warning? -- but the fear was hastily, forcibly shoved aside.
"Get out," he rasped, his throat dry, and the command, although his stare was fixed on that of Voldemort, was meant for Alice.
If Frank thought that Alice was just going to leave, leave her husband and her child and her home, he was mistaken. She did not react well to having what was hers disturbed, she was roused in protecting what she had built, what she had fought for, even though fear gripped her like a vice, an unfamiliar emotion, even after all this time. Her hand reached for her wand, laid, unnecessary but never far away, on the nearest table, and the little bit of wood that was her only weapon seemed to find her fingers, as though it new the danger its owner was in.
"Avada Kedavra!" she shouted, wand trained on the cloaked figure she recognised. When Voldemort himself was in your home, there was no point in playing games or beating around the bush. If more were coming, they needed to leave, and when the green light had ricocheted out of her wand, she cast an unsteady Shield Charm in front of the infant who had started to scream, startled and frightened by the noise, even though she knew that the charm would not, could not protect Neville against the worst.
The Dark Lord was a man and -- as such though he could certainly not be accused of being like any other -- as such he was vulnerable to the killing curse.
His body was vulnerable, that was.
His magic, however, provided an exceptional barrier to even the most deadly of magic, and with a visceral smile and slash of his wand, green shattered and fell to his feet. As would all their defences. As would they.
A flash of green swept towards Frank, another towards Alice. The Dark Lord was so calm in his slaughter, so elegant. He barely broke stride as he pressed on, on, on towards the infant.
The first Avada, aimed by his wife, cast the room in that sickly green glow that meant death was close at hand. His breath caught in his throat when Alice had aimed it at Voldemort rather than take Neville and go, and there was a brief second where he felt an immense frustration at her own bloody-mindedness.
Then there was no time for anything else, for green was being met with green and he was meeting the effortless curse with a far more rough defense of his own: the coffee table that stood between them and Voldemort, flipped up and cracking straight through as at least one of the curses was absorbed into the wood. He was grabbing the screaming infant before the first half even hit the ground, shoving himself to his feet as he started the summoning spell to bring him a portkey that, he knew, lay in the pocket of Alice's cardigan, currently crumpled on the kitchen table.
The Portkey, an innocuous bracelet made of cheap, slightly tarnished metal, was caught in Alice's hand mid-air, and as her wand conjured shields, haphazard blocks of wood that hovered mid-air, a physical barrier between them and any curses that might come their way. The bracelet was slapped onto the squalling infant's wrist and she hoped -- no, prayed that it would work, he would disappear into nothingness and arrive at the safehouse, where confused Order members would surely care for him.
It wasn't in Alice's instinct to run, it was in her training to fight, and if the portkey took Neville to safety maybe, just maybe, the two Longbottoms could finish this, finish it once and for all, leave the Death Eaters without the beloved leader and all of this could be over. She couldn't leave her husband here alone to die, and so her hand curved spells that issued so quickly that she wasn't even sure what she was casting. Flashes of red, green, gold, and purple burst from her wand so hard that the force almost knocked her over.
As Severus kept to the shadows outside of the window, watching the Dark Lord enter the dwelling, Frank and Alice both reach for their wands, and he shook his head, brows furrowed together as Alice reached for hers. Why did she not take the child and run? What woman stayed to fight the Dark Lord while her child could not protect itself? But then, Severus knew that she’d also been fighting while pregnant – and at the same time part of him knew that if he were a woman in the same situation he would stay and fight and so Alice had. Severus’s hand clasped tightly around his own wand his palms surprisingly dry as he clasped the dark wood. Nearly a year of training in Occlumency meant that his nerves were as steely as they ever would be during moments like these - he somehow always managed to stay clear during the moment, it was afterwards that things tended to fall apart.
But there wasn't time to consider that truth at the moment. Severus moved his head back, further into the shadows, although he kept a clear line of sight into the room and his eyes were on the deadly green light flickering throughout the room.
Severus’ decision had been made. With the Longbottoms out of the way, the Potters would be safe. At the very least, Lily would be safe, and so ultimately the decision had been a clear one for Severus to make. Turn the Dark Lord towards the Longbottoms and save Lily and in the process perhaps save the Wizarding World as well. He would get no second chance for this.
Voldemort was in an instant, all malice and awareness and fury; they would not escape, he would make sure they did not escape if he had to level this entire city (and the temptation flashed through him in an instant). But no, he had self-control enough to find the wards of the house and, in the time it took for the bracelet to reach Alice's hand, let free a deafening pulse that ripped into them, twisted them, corrupted them. There would be no apparition, no portkeying, no escape. He wanted them here and now and dead.
Another curse swept after Frank as he batted away Alice's pathetic attempts to protect herself and her child, and this once it was not a killing curse; rage had given the Dark Lord one moment of spite and he wished to hear Longbottom scream as he descended on his wife and child. And he did, robes flowing after him like a surreal, obscene black cloud.
Avada Kedavra.
There should've been some violently breaking horror at the realization that the Portkey wasn't working, that Neville, wailing and tear-stained, was still nestled in the crook of his elbow, one little fist tight against his sleeve, instead of at the safehouse. But the time for such luxuries was long since past, for if Frank allowed this entirely new, still unfamiliar parental fear to overwhelm him, he would not be able to do what he was trained for. And so there was no acknowledged horror, only a shift into the next plan of action as the wards around them were fouled by the Dark Lord's influence: he strengthened Alice's Shield Charm with a single slap of his wand, the second motion with the implement bringing forth the familiar luminescence of a patronus that would, when completed, safeguard their son as they turned their attention to offensive tactics instead of defensive ones.
When the curse hit, the dog was only half-formed. The silver outline bled into the black as all thought was extinguished, leaving only the recognition of the white-hot core of agony that folded him into the floor, Neville clutched convulsively close as sounds he didn't even recognize as his own emerged from somewhere within his throat.
The sounds of Frank's tortured screams joining Neville's terrified and confused cries heightened Alice's worry, and she turned her head as her heart skipped several beats. Her first instinct was protectiveness, painfully sharp as she lunged to free her child from Frank's arms, lest he be crushed under the weight of someone so much larger than him.
In that harrowing moment of fear and protectiveness, all defences except one -- save her baby, protect her child, who still hadn't learned to walk or to talk or to ride a broom, hadn't learned to laugh or smile or recognise his parents as anything more than the creatures who provided food and comfort. Voldemort's curse tore through the Shield Charms that could not hold it off, narrowly missed one of the planks floating in the air, and Alice slumped to the floor with mundane finality, with no chance for final thoughts of anything but fear for her child.
Victory was short and sweet and only one third complete, and the Dark Lord turned his attentions in an instant to the others, no remorse, no discomfort, no second thought, even, given to the woman crumpled on the floor. He watched fragments of silver bleed into nothingness as the squalling child -- the threat, clung to its screaming father, and, heartless, he turned his wand first upon Frank. He could be merciful. Kind even.
Green smeared the air.
There was nothing but this pain as it tore through him, this fog of hurt that made him blind to Alice's collapse and deaf to the cries of the child they had brought into the world despite all the odds rallied against them. There was to be no begging for Alice, no pleading for Neville, because Frank was indifferent to all of it, lessened to a twitching mass of firing nerves and meaningless sounds of agony as his wife's existence was reduced to that of a vacant body by his side.
He clutched Neville to him, not out of protectiveness, but from the instinct to curl around the rawness until it waned into nothing, until he could draw in a breath without having it squeezed out from his chest again.
And then the green light faded, its waning marked by the thump of a limb hitting the floor as his body went slack and Neville spilled from his father's lifeless grip.
One left, and Voldemort dispassionately kicked Frank's body away from that of the screaming child so that there could be no mistakes, no misunderstandings. He trained his wand upon the baby, barely a week old, and with all the hate and rage and fear of death he possessed, he uttered the words that would shape his survival: "Avada Kedavra." The killing curse ripped free of his wand. The child grew still and silent.
And in the wake of this unmistakable triumph, as he stood above the bodies of the devastated family, the Dark Lord allowed himself a single, unparalleled moment of relief and exultation in which all the world was blotted from his thoughts. For this moment he was raw. Vulnerable.
Victorious.
Severus did not allow himself a wince as either Longbottom fell, but the green light aimed at the baby did create an internal pang. It was a child – a child that had done nothing and Merlin only knew if he would have done something. But now there was nothing else in Severus’ way. No possibility that something could hit amiss, that someone might step in the way, or that the spell might not hit and he would be given away before he could do what he had determined to do. There was no time to think on how he had meant for this evening to be different, that he had hoped for better timing, that it had not been his intention, after all, that the family - but particularly not the child - would die that night. There was no time for this, because Severus did not know how long the Dark Lord might stand there before he left. And while the Dark Lord was arrogant enough to assume there was no danger left to him, Severus could not - would not - bet the fate of the Wizarding World on the assumption that he would revel in his victory. The Dark Lord was, after all, a man and men were unpredictable.
And men could be killed.
Severus raised his wand, his previously dry hands now clammy. Hours of thinking, planning, and mentally debating, had gone into the action he was about to take. The decision had been made days ago as he’d sat in his living room his own eyes on Agatha’s curls against the back of her neck, his journal open to a photo of Lily, and he had realized that there was only one thing that would end this. He was tired of living in fear that the next Order member dead would be one of the most beautiful and talented witches he’d ever had the pleasure of knowing. Tired of living in fear that the wards he’d placed on his house wouldn’t be enough to keep safe the woman he’d vowed to protect. He was tired of losing friends – family – for a cause he not only didn’t support, but no longer even wished to be associated with. He was sick of telling lies to protect. Opportunities and ambition, fame and fortune – the stains on his soul had been too high a cost for his name in the Daily Prophet and a ministry paycheck.
Men could be killed.
There was the smallest chance that he was wrong – that the Dark Lord was the one man who couldn’t be killed – but it was a risk he had determined had to be taken. If it was the case this would be his last breath, but then there would be no more lies, and no more fear. Whatever he had earned in this life, whatever pitiful penitence he might have been able to offer the world in return for crimes committed, would be at an end and only that end would determine whether it was enough for redemption.
His hand might be clammy, but his purpose was sure; and after the briefest tremor so was his wand hand.
Avada Kedavra.
Severus had regretted too many deaths, but tonight there would be no regret. If meaning the spell was the key of an Unforgivables effectiveness, there was no possibility this killing curse would be anything but.
…If the Dark Lord could be killed.
The barest flicker of green on nearby surfaces was not enough warning.
All the preparations in the world, the world he'd murdered and betrayed and stepped on others to shield himself from, could not have protected him from this treachery and cowardice. The Dark Lord had only time enough to realise whose mind it was that lingered outside his previously rapt attention, and whose spell was racing for his back before, with a horrible scream that shattered everything in the house and rent Severus's wand into however many millions of splinters, his once-solid form collapsed beneath black robes and sank into the floor.
And all was silent, as if the air itself had been drawn back in uncertainty, for seconds. A minute. Five. He'd slaughtered his way to an empty room and now there was nothing.
Severus didn’t know what he had been expecting. He had seen wards go down frequently enough to know that they could contain powerful magic. He knew enough to know that magic uncontrolled could be hugely dangerous and that magic controlled could be even more so, but the magic that the Dark Lord radiated through the entire house and Severus was too close to the window and the wand had been in his hand and even as he had moved with the scream to duck – run? – it hadn’t been quick enough.
The skin of his face and wand arm was torn with glass and wood splinters and he had no wand. If it had not worked he was helpless, and the Dark Lord most certainly knew he was there. He stood frozen despite the nerves screaming from his hand and his body and he had no idea what to do. Running was out of the question – Apparating more so – wandless magic, regardless of how frequently he had practiced, was limited to basic basic defensive things and still required huge amounts of focus and resolve – something that he found wavering as his skin cried out for his attention. He supposed he should be lucky that nothing seemed to have lodged in his eyes – his arm had taken the brunt of the shrapnel and he could still see.
The seconds stretched out into minutes and there was nothing from the house. The silence after the cries of the Longbottoms and their baby, after the scream of the Dark Lord was absolutely deafening, and Severus himself stood outside of the window, unable to force a foot forward to ensure there was no mistake. It was movement in a nearby bush that finally forced it as he realised he had no idea what sort of protections the Dark Lord might have put into place. Would he disappear - would the Inner Circle be alerted? He should know - in theory - if that happened, but in the meantime would someone show up here?
He swallowed, tasting blood on his lips and he pressed them together tightly. One foot in front of the other, he moved through the blasted door, through the house that had once been a home, his eyes and every sense on alert for anything out of the ordinary.
A wand was the first order of business and even as the Dark Lord did not move and Severus was uncertain he could protect himself even if he had one - certainly he had not expected the curse to backfire as it had. His eyes on the room in front of him he now did wince at the family on the ground. He never got used to it - and he had hoped - but there was no point in hoping. He stepped over Alice's body, fighting back fear that the Dark Lord was still under the cloak - still somehow alive. Frank's wand was nearby, and Severus reached down to grab it in his hand.
The cloak hadn't moved, but he had to be certain. He was afraid to touch it, afraid to really do anything with it, but he had to know that the Dark Lord was in fact dead. If he didn't know that - couldn't attest to it - then it would have all been for naught. He stepped forward, training Frank's wand on the cloak, and waving the fabric to the side.
He didn't know what he had expected exactly, but under the cloak there was nothing but bones. Clean, polished, bones, and Severus stared at them for a moment. Whatever magic had done that - it was certainly not a living being of any type.
Severus breathed out and closed his eyes to it, but the images seemed seared on his mind. He turned around then, his hand tightening around the wand and he nodded briefly at Frank. He'd surprisingly liked the man - surprising because he had expected after everything that Pepper had said to not like Longbottom at all - but in another world the two might have been friends. Would Longbottom have considered it a worthy sacrifice? It was a fruitless question and Severus was not certain the answer would have made him feel any better.
"I'm sorry," he whispered and turned on his heel, Frank's wand still grasped in his hand. He would need to get far enough away from the property that he could Apparate safely, and return home. Alert the Death Eaters that the Longbottoms were dead, and alert... Moody - he supposed - that the Dark Lord was and then figure out with Moody what their next step would be.
And take a bath and heal those wounds that could be healed before he had to fight again.
This could be won. Merlin, Severus hoped that this meant it could be won.