Chapter 1 - MORSMORDRE CASTLE

Several pops were heard, as the four remaining deatheaters apparated in the shadowy corner of a deserted street. Without wasting a moment, they started walking.
A lamp illuminated only a small part of the cobbled pathway, flanked by rundown buildings. McAvoy raised his eyes towards the street-sign brought into focus due to the dimming bulb.
Hilder Street.
The men turned left and continued walking. Rows of buildings had given way to dried up trees. None of them bore a leaf. The full moon shone harshly on the lifeless branches; their slight creaking sounds the only ones permeating the silent night.
Malfoy shifted the small bundle of clothes from one arm to the other. His face was scrunched up in disgust at holding the baby.
Filthy child!
When Voldemort had abruptly cast the killing curse on the child, he hadn’t been too surprised. In fact, he was rather pleased. But, when it survived the curse, he was shocked, to say the least.
Un-natural muggle child. No child is supposed to survive a curse by the Dark Lord, especially that one! It is simply... impossible.
“Abomination!” spat Malfoy.
His three companions paid no heed to his outburst. McAvoy led them right to the end of the street. He stood by the last unlit lamp-post. Then he raised his wand and touched the lamp-post with its tip.
“Revelio!”
A small wisp of blue light travelled up the lamp-post towards the bulb. As it connected, a ripple of soft blue light flew away from it in all directions.
“This way,” McAvoy said.
The four turned towards the outline of a gate, its outline illuminated previously by the trinkets of light still hanging in the air.
“Augustine.” McAvoy said, and stepped across the gate. He stopped for a moment, waiting for the rest of the group. When Nott had also stepped inside the gate, he muttered “Finite Incantatem.”
The gate’s outline vanished. McAvoy turned, and started walking.
A four storied castle loomed ahead of him, its stoned walls gleaming under the moonlight. Its four corners were marked by four turrets, the opposite ones connected by arches rising just above the roof.
As they neared the castle, a couple of shadows flew out of the topmost windows of the north turret. Snape stopped and turned his head to see the creatures flying in a wide circle and then flying towards them. Pushing his foreboding feelings aside, he continued walking.
The temperature dropped several degrees as the three Dementors flew down towards the path. They stopped right in front of the group.
The baby, which had been deathly silent through the trip from the Vault, suddenly started crying at the top of the lungs. Snape turned towards Malfoy, who looked as if he’d like nothing better than to feed the child to the cloaked figures in front of them.
As if hearing his very thoughts, one of the Dementor drew a rattling breath and swooped towards Malfoy. McAvoy pulled the sleeve over his arm, revealing a skull with a snake for a tongue, tattooed in black.
“We serve the same master,” he whispered.
The dementor, which was bending its head towards the bawling child, stopped. It turned its head towards McAvoy. The rest of the deatheaters had also opened their sleeves, the Dark Marks glinting on their skin.
The three dementors swooped on the marks and then flew back up the tower. As the adrenaline left their blood, Nott and Malfoy suppressed their shudders.
Snape arched an eyebrow towards McAvoy, who, in reply to his silent question, turned and resumed walking. The baby had gone back to being silent again.

*

Voldemort sat on his chair in his study, his face serious. A five hundred year old mahogany desk was laid in front of him, a few papers stacked neatly on one side. Serpents were carved on the desk’s edges, their eyes glinting like diamonds under the light of the fire cackling in the hearth.
The presence of that child had put forward new problems to his plans. One of his spies in the Ministry had informed him of some secret project undergoing between the Muggle government and the Ministry. At first he had scoffed at the idea, but a few doses of the Cruciatus had confirmed that the spy wasn’t lying. Apparently, there were a select group of muggle officials who were aware of the magical community. They were high level scientists who were heavily involved in finding out what exactly makes magical people different from non-magical ones.
Voldemort, of course, immediately realized the potential advantages of such research in his hands. If he knew what made magic run in his veins, and not in the common dirty muggles, he could definitely find out the way to enhance his magical capacity, could he not? After all, if you have knowledge about the source of magic, what is there to prevent him from tapping it for more?
The spy had been useful, Voldemort mused. He had gone as far as to know the exact location of the warehouse where the laboratory was hidden. He even found out the ministry was appointing its own people, instead of letting the British Government, to guard the building. This had disappointed Voldemort slightly; the thought of slaughtering muggles was much more satisfying.
Yesterday, he had told a group of his followers to raid the building and come back with the research documents. He had put Malfoy in charge of the raid due to some very specific reasons. He knew Snape and McAvoy were better duelers and magically much more powerful than Malfoy. But both were half-bloods and he expressively needed to show favouritism towards pure blooded families. And Malfoy’s gold funded a majority of his activities. Showing faith, even though it being pretence, was necessary.
Pushing his chair slightly back, Voldemort got up and walked to the lone window of the room. His eyes scanned the open grounds in front of his castle. He saw his four deatheaters materializing through the main gate. As they started walking on the stone path, three of his dementors flew to meet them. A child’s wailing was heard over the slight whistling of the wind.
The muggle child.
Even the thought of having it inside his home brought such hatred in his mind. But he knew nothing else could be done. The child was special – there was no doubt about that. Survival beyond the killing curse was unprecedented.
Perhaps he’ll let some of his brilliant minds work on it. The thought of certain ‘experiments’ brought a twisted smile on his visage.
The four deatheaters had reached the gate of the castle. Voldemort spared one last look at the quartet, ten turned away from the window.
His thoughts back on the child, he wondered about the moment when he had looked into its eyes. He was a great judge of a person. He took pride in the fact that he could judge the capabilities of a person by having a single look at him. Of course, legimency helped.
When he looked into the child, he realized that this child promised great power. One look, and he knew, that this child, this muggle filth, could even be more powerful than him.
For a moment, this surprised him, even caused a tiny bit of fear inside him. But then he questioned himself, what is left of him to conquer in this life? What will make him rise above the rest?
He knew the answer of course; it was his sole purpose in life.
Immortality.
And so, he had taken a decision.
And he had raised his wand.

*

McAvoy led his three companions through into the main hall of the castle. Torches sporting green flames filed a singular line the along the stone walls, casting irregular shadows along the uneven stones and faintly lighting the rest of the massive hall. Black cloaked deatheaters, all with their hoods over their heads, were standing silently along the walls.
The sound of their steps sounded unnatural in the silence. The four stopped slightly in front of a magnificent throne-like chair, situated at the end of the hall. Malfoy walked towards the cloaked figure at one end of the line. After a hurried conversation, he passed the child to that figure and stepped back beside Snape.
It didn’t take long before Voldemort came walking from the stairs. Upon seeing him, all of those present fell to their knees, a murmur of ‘My Lord’ rippling through the crowd.
Voldemort walked to the only chair in the room and sat down gracefully. A casual wave of his hand and fire burst upon torches directly situated overhead, bathing the previous dark room with light.
“Report, Lucius.”
“My lord, our contingency had twelve people. Eight fell, four remained. Unfortunately, there were no prisoners.” Malfoy wanted to add “besides the baby” but decided against it. “Presence of research documents at the warehouse, although earlier indicated, could not be substantiated.”
Voldemort looked at the four deatheaters kneeling before him. They were some of his most loyal supporters, yet their foray today was a disaster. A mistake, he told himself, which cannot be overlooked.
“Crucio!”
Blood curling screams erupted from the four, echoed eerily by the bare walls. No one in the lines moved a muscle. After a minute of holding the curse, Voldemort released it.
Their bodies stopped twitching in agony, the four scrambled to their feet. But they remained bowed.
“You know the reason why you received that treatment, don’t you, my deatheaters,” Voldemort hissed.
“Yes, My Lord”
“You are most merciful, My Lord”
“Where is the child?” Voldemort enquired, his interest in torturing waning slightly.
The figure carrying the child moved one step ahead from the line. The hood was dropped to reveal a flawless face with platinum blonde hair. Narcissa Malfoy walked slowly forwards towards where her husband stood.
“My Lord,” she said, while bending down again with the bundle of robes.
“Bella!”
The figure on the left of the space previously occupied by Narcissa, walked confidently upto where Narcissa was standing. Bellatrix removed her hood and bowed low.
“Your orders, My Lord.”
“It is time you raised a child, Bella. I have chosen an heir.”

*

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