DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling.

~ Styx and Lethe ~

His most loyal follower stood before him with her child in her arms - a child that could be the one from the prophecy, as it technically fit the specifications. And yet, for some reason, he hesitated.

Was it because when he had first seen her with her son, a soft smile on her face as she tenderly cradled the child against her chest, he had briefly wondered what his life would have been like if his own mother had lived to raise him? No, surely not. It was the mysterious "power of which the Dark Lord knows not" that made him wary of attempting to harm the creature, that was all.

Ah, but she knew her master well and she sensed his hesitation.

"My lord," she put forth tentatively. "Would you rather I did it?"

Yes, he would prefer not to kill the child of his most loyal follower. But if she could, then that would mean her child was not the one from the prophecy after all. He had no desire to carry out the task himself, not with her standing there watching him, but he had to know...

"Do it," he commanded.

"My lord... if I do this thing for you, will you grant me one favor?"

"What favor?" he inquired, frowning.

She shook her head. "To be named after the child is dead."

What price would she ask in return for the life of her firstborn son? He sighed. Best to get this over with now and worry about the compensation later.

"Fine. I will accept your terms."

She set the child down and drew a knife from her sleeve. It was sleeping and made not a sound as she slid the knife into its body. She did not pull the knife out, leaving it in place as she slowly backed away. The small body convulsed for a moment before going utterly still.

He laid a hand on her shoulder and she jumped, startled by the unexpected touch. He increased the pressure on her shoulder until she finally turned to face him rather than the corpse of her child.

"What is it you want from me?" he asked.

She looked confused for a moment before she realized what he meant. The unnamed favor she had extracted from him beforehand...

"Kiss me," she demanded.

That was what she wanted? That was what she was willing to murder her child in cold blood over, so small and meaningless a thing?

Then why the knife? he wondered as he leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers. Why the knife and not her wand?

The kiss was gentle and quickly over. Their lips were still so close that he could feel hers brush his as she whispered, "Avada Kedavra."

When had she drawn her wand? Had the kiss merely been a ruse to distract him? How exactly did the horcruxes work and what would happen to the remains of his soul once his body died?

It wasn't until she collapsed against him that he realized the spell had not been aimed at him.

~end~