Authors Note and Disclaimer: I do NOT own Harry Potter...I don't really own anything. I admit to having been inspired by many different stories-reading the past, changing the past, living in the past...I hope this one has unique points to offer, but I cannot claim ownership of any character. Further, I fully admit that I am a full-time college student who is rather busy as I graduate in May. Updates will probably be sporadic. To any who has found this story because they have me on Author Alert from Sarutobi no Jinchuuriki...I apologize for the long delay there, life changed, I got busier, and at the moment have no inspiration as the story is nearly complete but for some battles that I am not confident in my ability to write.

Chapter 1: Servants of the Dark Lord

June 1980

Severus Snape, a cloak pulled up over his dark, greasy hair, bowed before the Dark Lord, awaiting his punishment for failure. He had not had a mission to retrieve a prophecy, for nobody could have known it was to be made, yet still…Lord Voldemort did not accept failure. The young Death Eater had spied upon Dumbledore in his final years at Hogwarts, and knew better than to be caught. Yet he had.

The Dark Lord laughed, high and cold, an unnatural sound in the still night air. "A prophecy that a mere child will defeat me? Prophecies are for the weak, who bow before death. Death bows before me: Do not forget that. I find it amusing, to think I could meet my downfall by mere words, don't you?" Lord Voldemort paused, as if waiting for Snape to dare speak up, yet the man continued to bow his head. "I am afraid of no mere child. Why should the greatest wizard of all time fear an infant? Let it not be said that I fear an infant. Crucio!"

It felt as if burning knives were being plunged into him, as if his very veins burned. His muscles tensed in spasms and a scream tore itself from Severus' throat. The pain felt as if it went on forever, and then, abruptly stopped. His vision blinking black and white from the pain, Severus could only feel as his left sleeve was pushed up, and then his arm began to burn white-hot again. The Dark Lord had summoned his Death Eaters. Slowly the spy climbed to his feet, apologizing again and again for his failure to retrieve the entirety of the prophecy. As he backed into his place, a deathly whisper greeted the spy's ears: "You will hold your tongue, Severus." Snape bowed again and backed into his place in the circle as the first white-masked wizards apparated with loud, distinctive Craaaacks, into being at the meeting place.

"It is time, my faithful few. It is time we told that futile resistance, the filth who deny my right as Lord, and the supremacy of our kind, that they will not be tolerated. It is time to bend the knee. Victory is ours." Lord Voldemort paced around his circle, looking for holes, for weakness, for impurity of commitment. Seemingly finding his Death Eaters' loyalty unquestioned, if only for the moment, he continued, "What shall we do to those who have defied me?"

It was a woman's voice that spoke up: Bellatrix Lestrange. "My lord, we kill them all! All who would defy you should feel pain!" Her deranged laughter, and the laughter of her fellows filled the night sky.

The Dark Lord cast his gaze upon the woman. "Pain is it? Is that what you say?" He swept his gaze, eyes glowing red, face like pale melted wax, with the nose a tiny wax protuberance of two slits, around at his servants. "Pain, but unlike the fleeting pain of the body, so simply repaired. The body is weak, mortal, yet the heart weaker so with their pathetic holds upon others. The Dark Lord knows not the weakness of their hearts; he has never experienced such a weakness. Let us show them their weakness." A slow smile spread over his face, darkly sinister, and cold beyond compare, a smile that instilled fears in his faithful followers. "But, we will not be unmerciful: kill only the infants of those who dare defy us. Let all of the squalling brats born this summer die. Then we shall have victory, and the pathetic resistance will bend knee, and know our superiority."

Severus Snape felt a flash of fear, carefully shut down and trapped within him. His Lily…she wouldn't be hurt, would she? No…just the children were to be harmed, his Lord had said it to be so, and so it would be… He shrugged it off, after a moment. His Lord said that the brats would die, not the mothers. A child of Potter's was no concern of his. His mind carefully skirted around the question of why would the Dark Lord kill all of the children, if he put no faith in prophecy.

XXoXX

July 31, 1980

Nerves were high at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Several witches had come in pregnant, only to leave with a birth certificate in hand and tears upon their faces. Wizarding children were rarely lost at birth and yet already four had died. The Dark Mark had not been set over the hospital, but was instead over the homes of each family when they returned home. It was unnatural, and people whispered among themselves fearfully. Just yesterday had been the most recent death: Alice and Frank Longbottom had given birth to a stillborn child. At the previous prenatal appointment, just a few days prior, the boy who they had already chosen to call Neville was kicking his mother regularly, a fine picture of health, and already full-term.

After the recent deaths, the Healer who had been in charge of the Longbottoms performed a few scans upon the mother, and found trace elements of a poison in her system; a rare poison, with the faint taste and scent of mint, that would not cause lasting harm to the mother if monitored, but would be fatal to an infant's tiny heart. The healer knew that it took an incredibly talented Potions Master to create the poison, which was designed to speed up the pulse, and strain the cardiovascular system.

Alice Longbottom was still in the hospital, as the last traces of the poison wore out of her system: until it had worked its way through her body, taking a full 48 hours, she needed medical supervision to monitor the possibility of a heart attack. She and her husband had been given a private room on the third floor, as their grief was rather noisier than should be public. Healer Bones shook his head sadly, as he thought of the family he had helped give birth only yesterday. He did not even know when the poor woman had been given the poison—it had to be drunk. She could have been given it at the hospital, as she was in labor, or hours before inducing her contractions to begin.

The hospital feared that, whichever the case, mothers and infants (those were not known sympathizers of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named) were at risk for death. They had tightened security, but it was difficult. Everybody needed access to the hospital, so the Floo network could not be disconnected, or warded. All they could do was tighten who was allowed to visit in the wards. An auror was on duty, stationed outside of the small first floor "Life Ward," where witches gave birth. (The hospital had deemed this floor the safest for women to give birth in, as the as the Creature-Induced Injuries ward only healed minor injuries, rather than those such as werewolf or poisoned wounds.) Visitors into the ward were being carefully screened—only those invited by the parents were allowed into the ward. Bones worried that this would not be enough, as Death Eaters weren't precisely going to walk up and request entrance, were they?

He hoped the auror would be able to protect Lily and James Potter though. Nodding politely to the auror, —O'Malley—he entered the ward and walked on into the room where Lily Potter was currently fully dilated, according the junior Mediwitch, and ready for his assistance giving birth. The Healer hoped he would not be helping them give birth to another stillborn.

Inside the room he found a redheaded woman, with sweat being carefully tidied by her messy-haired husband. She seemed to be having a reprieve from pain at the moment, though when she contorted her face a moment later, with a low groan, the healer was able to see that her pain seemed well-managed, there but not to an extreme point. It looked promising for the baby to survive the birth, which Healer Bones noted with a tinge of relief. Yesterday had been awful.

Healer Bones smiled as the couple noticed his entrance a moment later, hoping to relieve their anxieties, "I hope you're ready to meet your little girl, I don't think that she'll wait much longer." He cast his mind back on what he recalled of the very young couples' medical record. "She seems rather insistent on being born in July, a week early, isn't she?" And he stayed in the room as the contractions continued well into the afternoon, chuckling to himself as the fiery red-head threatened her husband, that next time she was finding a charm to make him go through labor, rather than her!

XXoXX

Augustus Rookwood was an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries. He was smart, sneaky, and a fairly powerful wizard. He had contacts in the Ministry and throughout the Wizarding community who kept him up-to-date on the war, and what the heroes were doing to vanquish You-Know-Who. He also, secretly, was an invaluable Death Eater. Oh, the Dark Lord had other faithful servants in the Ministry of Magic, but none other in the Department of Mysteries. No other could obtain information on the prophecy for his Lord, which the Dark Lord had secretly told him about.

"Rookwood," he had said in that chill whisper, "I have been informed a prophecy has been made. Tell me, your Lord wishes to know…" Lord Voldemort had not confided in Rookwood what the prophecy was about, oh no, that was an honor for those greater than he! The Unspeakable consoled himself that he had, at least, been able to inform the snake-like man that many prophecies "died" and turned black, as they were not fulfilled. The future was not set in stone.

Rookwood still remembered the pain he had been given, as a reminder not to speak of the prophecy. As he had lain, fingers twitching in nerve spasms, as his mind tried to comprehend that the pain was over, the Dark Lord had spoken: "The future is ours. Those who are impure, weak, shall become what they are—and we shall cure Wizardkind of the disease."

Those memories were growing faint, a month had come and gone since that conversation, and Rookwood was currently on the task of assuring that all blood-traitor children born were to die. It was toward the end of the day when he heard a rumor, on his way back to his floor from a meeting, that he quickly made his way over to the nearest Floo, the Time Turner he had just collected still in his pocket. He had just heard, from no less than an old friend of the elderly hospital matron, that a little baby had been born to the Potters. He knew his duty, and Augustus Rookwood was nothing, if not diligent in performing his duties for his master.

Arriving at the Floo stations, Rookwood chatted carefully with an acquaintance for a moment, and then excused himself, "I must be going, I heard a friend managed to get on the wrong side of the strangling amulets going around." The man winced in sympathy—the amulets had been causing quite a problem, as they were identical to amulets that truly had a shield charm for minor hexes.

Climbing into the fireplace, Augustus Rookwood eagerly slipped his wand into his hand; the shaft up his arm sleeve so that just the barest tip of the wand was between his fingers—a good method for surreptitiously casting. With his other hand he threw a pinch of Floo powder into the fireplace and clearly told it where to take him, "St. Mungo's."

With the whirling sensation that always accompanied the transportation, the Death Eater found himself at St. Mungo's stepping carefully out of the fireplace.

He carefully made his way over to the first floor wards, and loitered carefully out of sight of the auror until it appeared as if they were the only two near the doors. Swiftly he tilted his arm and pointed his wand. Auror O'Malley never saw it coming, as he had never questioned a Ministry employee being at the hospital, talking casually to a few people. Rookwood was very connected, and knew people everywhere, from Ludo Bagman the famous Wimbourne Wasps beater, to the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement Bartemius Crouch. It was not surprising that he would visit the hospital and speak with acquaintances, with a war going on—it was something he had been known to do before. "Imperio," whispered the Death Eater.

A glazed look crossed over O'Malley's eyes, and Rookwood slipped his wand further up his sleeve. "O'Malley, what are you doing here," he asked slipping up to the man, keeping eye contact.

The man answered honestly, having no other orders: "There've been some suspicious deaths of infants, I'm keeping watch seeing that only certain people are allowed in."

"Babies? How awful! I can't believe anyone would do such a thing. I certainly hope Lily and James' kid is okay?" The auror answered in the affirmative. "Tell me where they are, I'm their friend and I need to go see them. I want to see the little one."

The glazed-over eyes didn't even blink at the order. "Healer came out with a big ol' grin—baby's doin' just fine. The junior mediwitch is supposed to be looking after her, doing some scans, while the parents sleep. Long day for them."

"Yes, yes, very long. Well, I'll be quick then, right back out in a few minutes. Let me in."

And as easily as that, the auror failed in his duty, and let the Death Eater in to kill the Potter baby. Rookwood walked through the door confidently, and headed straight to the room where he knew the mediwitches checked up on newborns, a room with small puffing gold scales, and clean warm blankets and towels, and small little baths.

Glancing through the small window in the door he saw that the mediwitch was in the room. That wouldn't do, not at all. Augustus Rookwood carefully pointed his wand, still hidden up his sleeve, at an abandoned food cart. With a clash the glass plates bounced off the cart and onto the floor. Quickly slipping behind the door as it opened, and the Mediwitch rushed out to see what the commotion was he slipped around her and into the room. That should have bought him a few moments, as the nurse would clean things up.

And yet as he slipped into the room, he heard another voice call out from the hall, "Jane don't worry about that, go on home. Your shift is just finishing anyways. I'll clean this up and go on in."

"Really, are you sure Susan? … You know what, no; I can't have you do that. You go see the charmer in there; I'll fix this up and be on the way. I think if I have to deal with anymore crying today, after how yesterday went, I'll just scream." The door clicked shut, snapping off further sound.

Fools rush in without plans, and Augustus Rookwood had been a fool this day. Normally he was smooth, sneaky, and deliberate, but he had not anticipated the changing of shifts, and had not spent the moments planning this murder out carefully—the Potter child had not been due yet, after all, and security had only just been tightened.

It turned out that Augustus Rookwood would not have any time at all with the baby. He hurriedly reached into his pocket with his left hand to grab the poison vial he had been keeping there for some weeks. The Death Eater was nervous—he knew that he could not be caught, as his position was essential to the Dark Lord. Realizing that he was out of time, and out of luck as the doorknob squeaked, Augustus Rookwood swiftly disillusioned himself as a final few strains of conversation made it to his ears, and he quickly withdrew his hand from his pocket to wait for a chance to kill the baby. Perhaps Susan would check on the baby and slip back out...He would bide his time—O'Malley wouldn't betray his presence, certainly not after he Obliviated him.

And in that moment as he turned, disillusioned, withdrawing his free hand from his pocket with his mind racing for a new plan, he stumbled on the hem of his chameleon robes, and from his pocket something fell and smashed over the child. Bright green eyes opened and a wail rose up from the healthy lungs of the newborn with downy black hair. The wail was abruptly cut off as the sands from the Time Turner touched the child, and got into eyes and mouth.

For a single moment, Augustus Rookwood's heart stopped in fear. What if…? No, the sands from the Time Turner would do the job as well as any poison. Adults, who touched the sand with even a tiny portion of their body, had that portion go from adult to infant and back again, forever. There was no cure for an individual who touched the time sands. The child was covered in sand. Lord Voldemort would be angry, for the death would not be as subtle, a silent testimony to the power of the Dark Lord, and the fate of all those who denied his power. But he had done his task, he just needed to leave, and go to the Potter home to set the Dark Mark into the sky.

As the Mediwitch hurried in to see to the squalling brat, Rookwood carefully stood still against a wall, his body matching the substance behind him perfectly, as if he were not there. The witch was too focused on the child to note the slight difference in depth. And then…the infant stopped screaming, and the Mediwitch started to scream.

No infant had ever touched the sand before—Augustus Rookwood could not have known what would happen. If he had known, perhaps he would have spent the moments returning the Time Turner to the Department of Mysteries. Or perhaps he might have planned the murder of the Potter child better. He had not, and could not have predicted what just happened to leave the tiny bassinet empty.