The Prince

“Do not question me,” the Dark Lord instructed, looking on at his followers. “I have given you your mission. And you are to kill anyone who tries to stand in your way.”

Severus Snape sat amongst the hordes of Death Eaters, nearly all of whom were eagerly waiting to be given final direction. But Severus was different. This task was different. They had never before been told to unleash chaos upon the Ministry, and certainly never the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; the Dark Lord had simply never been bothered.

But then came the prophesy. Severus could remember it almost word-for-word; “The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives...” And that changed everything. That was why the Death Eaters had been given their current task.

“Go,” commanded the Dark Lord, and his followers disappeared.

--

The Death Eaters stood in front of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, waiting for a moment before breaking down the door. But the Aurors were prepared, as Aurors were always expected to be. They had their wands at the ready and were in stance, guarding each other.

The spells began flying almost immediately, and Severus searched desperately for the familiar faces. He wanted nothing more than to warn them of the impending danger so that they could escape, hopefully unharmed, but he couldn’t. It remained imperative that he maintain his cover.

“Crucio!” two Death Eaters shouted in unison, and Severus turned to glance at the victims.

The bodies of Rupert Prince and his son, Oliver, lay sprawled on the floor, contorting themselves against the pain of the curse. Oliver, who was no more than eighteen years-old, was convulsing; his body seemed so small underneath the shadow of the Death Eater who stood over him.

The two Death Eaters, Rookwood and Yaxley, were smiling and laughing at the warped bodies, but it made Severus sick to his stomach.

“Severus,” Rupert managed to choke out to his cousin, in little more than a whisper. Oliver was gagging for breath.

Severus tried to speak but couldn’t and closed his eyes. There were no words. There was nothing he could say. He had betrayed them, his family. He was a coward.

In that moment, Severus feared the sight before him more than the anger of the Dark Lord. Though he could feel the mark on his left arm searing his skin, he could not open his eyes, and then—

“Avada Kedavra!” Yaxley and Rookwood cursed together.

And Severus forced his eyes open.

The scene in front of him was almost too much to bear. The casualties of the battle lay strewn throughout the office, but the ones that lay in front of him caused him to shake.

The battle was over, and the Death Eaters left, leaving Severus alone in the office graveyard. Rupert and Oliver lay next to each other, their wands, the only source of defense they'd had, only inches from their hands, their figures slumped over on the ground. His knees gave out, and he fell to the floor next to the only family he had left, and he cried.