A Traitor's Mistake
-October 10 1991-
It had been ten days since Little One was brought back home, and in that time, Voldemort’s desire to murder and destroy everyone who had a hand in his kidnapping increased dramatically. When Little One was first brought back, he seemed to be acting exactly like his usual self. However, a few hours after he woke up from his fitful sleep proved Voldemort wrong.
Little One refused to leave Voldemort’s side (which suited him just fine, as Voldemort didn’t want Little One out of his sight anyway). He stayed within two feet of Voldemort at all times, and when he wasn’t sitting comfortably in Voldemort’s arms, he was clutching Voldemort’s robes like a vice, his emerald eyes flitting back and forth as if looking for someone to try and pry him away from Voldemort.
He didn’t approach anyone, and he rarely gave out flowers. It was a sobering sight to see his precious act so drawn in on himself. He climbed into Voldemort’s bed after Voldemort tucked him every night, to the point where, eventually, Voldemort just started tucking him in in his own bed.
He was terrified of being far away from Voldemort, and when Voldemort tried to pass him off to the Malfoy Matriarch so he could attend a meeting, Little One had thrown an honest-to-Merlin tantrum.
(Voldemort had never, never seen Little One throw a fit before. From his time with those damned muggles, he learned to never make a scene and draw attention to himself. Even when he felt safe to show emotions around Voldemort, he was always docile and accommodating. Yet Little One kicked the ground and let out the softest cries and screeches and refused to let go of Voldemort’s robes.)
(Little One ended up sitting on his lap during the meeting.)
After a week of being in Voldemort’s presence twenty-four/seven, Little One mellowed out. He wasn’t insisting on being with Voldemort all the time, but he didn’t enjoy being away from him for more than a few hours. And Nagini had to be with him no matter what, or he wouldn’t go.
When he brought his concerns to Narcissa, she smiled at him and said with a sad tone, “He’s traumatized from the kidnapping. He was forced to stay away from his… father for a very long time without knowing what was going on.” she then frowned. “My Lord, had Little One told you what happened over there?”
Voldemort had shook his head. “He has said nothing.”
“Do you think they hurt him?”
Voldemort’s eyes had flashed at the thought, but he shook his head. He had sent her away after that, but the question rang in his ears for days after that. He didn’t think Dumbledore would stoop low enough to hurt a toddler, Inferius or not, and the fact that Little One used to be the son of two of his followers… No, Dumbledore wouldn’t dare… Would he?
Voldemort had found himself watching Little One closely after that, his eyes appraising every strange, out of character thing Little One did. He searched for any signs of abuse---flinching, greedy eating, ect.---but found nothing. But that did nothing to soothe his fears, after all, Little One was used to hiding abuse. (The very thought made Voldemort’s stomach roll.)
But despite the struggles Voldemort saw as Little One was adjusting, Little One seemed to be doing better. That was why Voldemort decided to have the meeting today.
For the past ten days, while Voldemort and Narcissa stressed over Little One’s strange behavior, Lucius and the rest of Inner Circle were conducting the search for the traitor.
Voldemort could see how strained things were amongst his ranks. Everyone who had been in the Dark Lord’s Castle when Little One was kidnapped had been locked in and brought back. No one was allowed to leave his Castle until the search was over and the traitor was found.
Voldemort could tell that everyone was on edge, and the traitor was close to losing it. That was why Voldemort wanted to hold a meeting with Inner Circle so he could figure out just how close they were and see who was under the most suspicion.
He looked down at the Inferius who was currently sitting in his lap. Voldemort had been sitting in his study for the past hour finishing up the last of his paperwork before he left for the meeting, and Little One had fallen asleep halfway through.
Voldemort smiled fondly at the child, and gently brushed his black fringe out of his eyes. His eyes trailed over the lightning bolt scar on his forehead with a regretful look. The scar had been his fault, purely by accident, but it didn’t absolve him of the guilt he felt every time he saw it. Voldemort had been duelling, and Little One wandered too close to the platform while he hadn’t been looking. A spell ricocheted off a shield and hit him in the forehead. The fear Voldemort felt when Little One had cried out and saw sluggish blood pouring out of the wound was indescribable. Because Little One was an Inferius, he wasn’t alive and any wounds he received would not heal by itself and whatever amount of blood he had left in his body would slowly pour out until he bled out. Voldemort was forced to heal the wound with magic and leave a scar. Voldemort knew that Little One didn’t blame him for the incident, but he still regretted it.
(Oh, how he had changed.)
Emerald eyes fluttered open and Voldemort smiled as his precious awoke. “Hello dear heart,” Voldemort cooed as the Inferius blinked sleepily at him. Little One rubbed his nose as he tried to wake himself up. “No, no,” Voldemort shushed. “Go back to sleep. I have to go to a meeting and Negini is out on a hunt. You can sleep in my room until I come back, okay?”
Voldemort knew that if Little One had been fully awake, he would never have agreed to that, but his drowsiness worked with him, and Little One nodded once before his eyes slipped close once more.
Voldemort didn’t really feel guilty for manipulating his child. It was necessary. Voldemort needed to go to this meeting, and the last thing he wanted was for Little One to attend it with him. They were going to be discussing the details of his kidnapping and kidnapper, and the last thing Voldemort needed was Little One to regress because of it.
He stood up, taking care to cradle Little One’s sleeping body gently, and walked across the hall to his bedroom where he tucked his child in sweetly. Voldemort sent one last look at his sleeping child before he swept out of the room, closing the door quietly.
He walked briskly across his castle to his meeting hall. He opened the door and walked regally to the raised platform where his throne and desk sat. In front of the raised platform sat a semicircle of chairs where his Inner Circle stood. They bowed their heads as Voldemort walked in and did not sit until Voldemort had sat down.
“Lucius, report.” Voldemort demanded.
Lucius nodded respectfully and stood. “There were thirty-seven people in your castle on the day of Little One’s kidnapping,” he said. “Three children of your followers, eleven lower level Death Eaters, eight medium ranked Death Eaters, nine upper Death Eaters, and six Inner Circle members.
“Every single person has been locked into the first floor of your castle for the past ten days---save for the three children who we determined had nothing to do with the kidnapping---and we, the Inner Circle, have been keeping an eye on their behavior.”
When Lucius finished, he bowed his head ever so slightly before he sat back down. Voldemort nodded his head before he looked over to Bellatrix. “Bella, report.”
Bellatrix smiled, a cruel and sadistic thing, before she jumped up. “My Lord, I have been watching the itsy-bitsy baby Death Eaters,” she said, her voice bleeding into a dreamy tone, one Voldemort was sure was caused by her imagining how best to torture them. “None of them have been acting spotty, but they seem very uncomfortable around me, always running away.” she cackled.
Voldemort raised an eyebrow. “Have you cast a cruciatus at them?”
“Maybe.” Bellatrix giggled madly. “Do you think that’s why they keep running away from me?”
“Indeed,” Voldemort drawled. “Tell me, Inner Circle, have we come any closer to determining my precious’s kidnapper?”
The Inner Circle was silent for a moment before Rodolphus Lestrange stood. Voldemort sat back, content to hear his answer, but before he had the chance to speak, a chilling scream rang through the castle halls.
“NO!” Voldemort gasped, instantly shooting upright, his chair landing with a crack against the stone floor as it fell over from Voldemort’s outburst.
Everyone had frozen as the scream echoed off the walls, their eyes wide with horror. The sound was high-pitched and full of pure terror. Though no one recognized the sound, they all agreed that it was a scream that did not belong in the Dark Lord’s castle.
Voldemort, however, did recognize the scream. It was identical to the scream Voldemort heard all those years ago. Down to the very gurgle at the end where the scream was silenced as the screamer choked.
That was Little One’s scream.
This was all Snape’s fault!
If that blasted, slimy, git of a traitor hadn’t brought the monster back, none of this would be happening right now! But instead, the greasy-haired bat got cold feet and sold them out! Oh yes, he knew all about the way Snape tipped the Dark Lord off about the Inferius. How else would he have known that Dumbledore had the thing?
He didn’t know how Snape had done it, yet, but he was going to find out. He was going to ensure that Snape got caught. It was the only way to keep his own loyalties from being found out!
He knew that the Dark Lord was searching for the traitor, but his methods weren’t aggressive yet---something he never thought he’d say about the Dark Lord---and if Snape was going to be found out, then something drastic needed to happen.
He knew that people underestimated him, thought that he wasn’t smart, but he knew the truth. He was always a brilliant student, and even during the war, he survived purely because of his intelligence. He had stood with the side that won, and because of that, he was rewarded handsomely.
He may have lost a few things in the process, sure, but the rewards outweighed the losses greatly. It wasn’t until much later, when he watched someone very close to him die at the hands of the Dark Lord, did he realize what a mistake he’d made.
He returned to Dumbledore, begging to be brought back. He wanted the Dark Lord to suffer for what he’d done. Dumbledore took him in but he had to swear his loyalty and promise to stay hidden. No one knew that he was a spy, and that’s why he was the best spy there was. Far better than Snape, who everyone distrusted.
Everything was going great, too. That is, of course, until Snape ruined everything. He had one job! One job! All he had to do was tell Dumbledore the Dark Lord’s weakness, but the traitor was too weak to do it. So he did it instead.
Everyone who was anyone knew the Dark Lord’s weakness; a green-eyed, mute Inferius called Little One.
When he told Dumbledore this, his blue eyes had twinkled at the possibilities. At the time, he’d been dismayed to find out that Snape had been tasked with bringing the creature to the Order, but in light of the recent disaster, he was quite pleased with the way things turned out.
He needed to find a way to get Snape discovered and hide his loyalties all in one step. With the way the investigation was going, that didn’t seem possible. He’d been locked in the Dark Lord’s Castle for the past ten days while members of the Inner Circle watched over them like a hawk, searching for any sign of a traitor.
He’d seen Snape glossing over people, and he always had to bite back a sneer at the sight. Snape was in the Inner Circle, and he knew the possibility of the Dark Lord investigating his Inner Circle was small. Something huge had to happen in order for the Dark Lord to resort to that.
Which was why, when he saw the Inferius wandering a deserted hallway absently, no guard in sight, he knew he’d found his chance.
He slipped his white mask over his faze, ensuring that his face wouldn’t be seen, and descended upon the oblivious Inferius.
He knew that the monster was mute, and couldn’t say anything about what was going to happen, and for that he was grateful. On the off chance that he didn’t finish the job, the Dark Lord wouldn’t be able to discern what happened.
He slams his closed fist into the back of the Inferius’s head, hard. The monster collapses to the ground instantly, a hand reaching up to hold the injured part of it’s head before it slowly turns it’s head. It’s green eyes are wide with fear and he uses the shock to his advantage.
He kicks the creature’s stomach, smiling gleefully as the Inferius let’s out a silent hiss of pain. He continues to kick at the monster until he’s certain the thing won’t try and run. By now, the creature is curled in on itself into a tight ball, tears streaming down the thing’s cheek. It sobbed silently.
Now, he didn’t know much about Inferi. What he did know, however, was that they’re dead. It’s incredibly difficult to kill the dead, but not impossible. In order for the Dark Lord to lose trust in everyone, including his Inner Circle, something drastic needs to occur.
What’s more drastic than the death of his personal monster?
He scanned over the trembling creature, his eyes greedily soaking in the sight as he searched for a weakness. His gaze zeroed in on the stitches on his neck. It was clear that they were holding the monster’s neck together and connecting the head to the rest of the body. Can Inferi survive without a head? He didn’t think so…
Ah, close enough!
He crouched down, his hand instantly slapping away a weak hand that had raised to defend itself, and pinned the decaying monster to the floor. The creature continued to sob silently, no noise escaping save for the panicked bursts of air. He was very lucky that the thing was mute, or he’d have to find a way to silence the thing.
The emerald eyes were filled with mortal terror, and he had to look away for a moment. He knew that thing he was killing was already dead, he knew that thing was just a mindless monster, but it was hard to look over the child’s body. He knew he wasn’t actually harming a child, but it was difficult to remember that as it was a toddler’s body.
He sucked in a deep breath, determination filling him, before he tore the first stitch out of it’s neck vigorously.
If possible, the thing’s eyes widened further. It’s mouth opened on a silent scream and fresh tears poured down the creature’s cheeks. His fingers pulled at the next set of stitches, his fingers slipping from the wetness of the tears.
There were a total of sixteen stitches running from the nape of it’s neck to the bottom of the thing’s left ear. There were only eight puncture sites, though, as the stitches formed an ‘x’ over the skin. And as each pair of stitches were removed, more of the original wound was revealed. He knew that life-ending injuries that killed an Inferius for the first time could never be healed, magic or no, so that’s how he knew that the Inferius died from some sort of neck-related injury.
He’d heard whispers of strangulation being the cause of the creature’s death, but if that were the case, why did it have such a large gash running down it’s neck? It looked as though someone had taken a knife and sliced open the thing’s neck.
The Inferius trembled as he worked, and as he tore out stitches, small pieces of skin broke off with them, as he was tearing them out of the thing’s skin viciously. Blood leaked out of the wound slowly, and he knew it was because the heart was not pumping, and the blood inside the monster was all that was left in it’s body for as long as it was undead.
As each stitch was removed, the head tilted farther and farther to the right, while the left side of the thing’s neck was torn open. By the time he had torn out of the final stitch, the only thing keeping the creature’s head from falling harshly to the right was his hand, still cradling the monster’s head from when he was working.
He soaked in the sight before him.
He was kneeling on the ground, his hand holding the head of the creature while the rest of it’s body lay sprawled out on the floor. The creature was laying in a pool of it’s own blood, and the crimson liquid continued to leak out of the neck wound. The monster was trembling, and the emerald eyes were filled with terror and agony and they were closed halfway as it fought to stay awake, and a continuous stream of tears poured down it’s cheek, leaving streaks of water in the splatters of blood that had landed on it’s face.
Satisfied, he stood, his hand leaving the supporting position on the creature’s neck. It wouldn’t be long now. Soon, all of the blood would leak out of the creature, and it would die for real.
He watches as the monster’s head flops to the side, and his eyes widen when the skin tears further, opening a larger gap. The creature’s eyes, hazy from pain and exhaustion, snapped open once more, it’s eyes coming into painful awareness.
He watches with horror as the monster’s mouth opens wide and screams.