Twisted Faerie Tales

Author’s Note: Many thanks again to Deb, Mary and Shannon for their beta assistance here.

Snow White and the Seven Weasleys – Part 1

“Mirror, Mirror on the wall. Who is the most powerful of them all?”

Voldemort glared into the glassy surface of the mirror and waited for the answer he always received. That he, Tom Marvolo Riddle, was the most powerful wizard in the world, and that no one could stand in the way of his plan to dominate the wizarding world and abolish the Earth of Muggles.

“You, Lord Riddle, are powerful, true, but a babe was just born more powerful than you.”

Tom smiled, an icy curl of his lips that would be imperceptible to most, but that pleasure faltered as he realized the mirror hadn’t spouted its usual glowing praise and instead, spoke of a newborn that it considered more powerful than himself. It was preposterous!

“Show me!” he demanded, his voice a deep and throaty growl.

The mirror shimmered and parted like water being dispersed by a boulder and a cloudy image came into view. The picture grew clearer and clearer until Tom could easily make out the tidy, blue bassinet rocking gently in the corner. A woman’s voice, soft and sweet, sung to the child as she rocked him. Riddle recognized the woman at once, her deep red hair and bright green eyes made her impossible to mistake, as Lily Evans Potter, the woman his faithful Death Eater, Severus, had been pining over.

Voldemort took a deep breath and waved the image away. There was no way that this infant could be more powerful than him. “He’s just a child, not even of age to practice magic yet,” he grumbled at the mirror.

“As a child, he surely poses no threat, but when Potter comes of age, he will ensure your death,” the mirror answered and all that could be heard throughout the manor was the furious screams of Lord Voldemort.

A year went by and it became clear that Harry Potter, son of James and Lily, would have to die if Voldemort was to live. Each day the mirror grew more and more certain that this boy would grow into a powerful and well-loved wizard if left alive. The Potter family was pure of blood and strongly opposed to Voldemort’s rule, so it only made sense that their son would be bred to loathe him just as much. It grated his nerved Voldemort’s every waking moment to know that there was someone out there who possessed the power to defeat him, and he eventually decided it was best to thwart the boy while he was still without magic.

Late one autumn evening, Tom Riddle went to the Potter’s home in Godric’s Hollow intent on murdering the child and the entire family if he must. Before the door was cracked to discover who called on them, hexes went crashing through the wood, splintering a path to Voldemort’s body. He’d anticipated retaliation, and sent his own curses flying, not caring who they struck. An anguished scream sounded from inside and Voldemort crashed into the foyer, seeing the body of James Potter lying limply against the banister. His wand was still outstretched, as if hoping to whisper off one last curse before he died, but the light was quickly fading from the man’s eyes and a simple Avada Kedavra finished him off.

He knew without searching that Lily and the boy would be upstairs. He could tell by the way James had fallen that he was trying to protect the upper floor, so Tom kicked the body aside and strode quickly up, pausing when he saw the room he’d become so acquainted with in his mirror’s prophecy. When his gaze landed on Lily, standing with wand raised to protect her son, the moonlight reflecting on her brilliant red hair, Voldemort’s heart faltered for a moment. He saw what his servant had seen in this woman, strong, brave and beautiful, and he could see a way to preserve his life and Lily’s as well.

Turning on the charm, Riddle lifted his hands into the air, to show he meant the woman no harm. “I have a proposition to offer,” he told her, but instead of relaxing, Lily only grew tenser.

“You killed my husband,” she hissed.

“Which puts you in the market for a new one,” Riddle countered, smiling at her eyes blazed with fury. She was like one of the beloved thoroughbred’s his Muggle father would ride through the countryside, just begging to be broken. “I could provide for you, keep you safe, give you everything you desired.”

She swallowed thickly and shook her head, her fingers tightening around the wand while the other hand clutched at her son’s crib. “I could never love a murderer.”

“Who said anything about love?” Riddle asked, smirking delicately. “The alternative of course is death, for both you and your son,” he added, his voice betraying every ounce of malice in the words. “Think hard, Lily. Don’t you want to watch your son grow up, get married and have children of his own? Wouldn’t you like to be a grandmother someday?”

Lily’s heart raced in her chest as she looked from her son’s cooing face to the doorway, where she knew James was dead and unable to help her or love her ever again. She nodded once, and curtly, and drew her baby into her arms, pressing a kiss to his forehead. She loved her son more than life itself. She could live as this wizard’s prisoner if she got to keep Harry at her side.

“Clever, girl,” Tom praised and Apparated his new bride back to Riddle Manor. He didn’t think that killing the boy would be necessary any longer. Voldemort could groom him to be his servant, to be completely loyal to him. He would deny the boy magic, and make certain that he never drew upon the power that the mirror predicted would one day belong to him. He would make Harry a Death Eater and make him serve the higher cause that Voldemort pledged his own life to.

And he would enjoy the look on Severus’ face when he introduced the man to Lily, his new wife.

“You are never to do this where Lord Riddle can see you, do I make myself clear?” Lily warned, her eyes narrowed.

Harry nodded solemnly, knowing his mother would not tease him with such things. He could tell that Riddle was a bad man; he just felt it. It didn’t matter that his stepfather was always civil, and rarely laid a hand on him, something evil just seemed to emanate from his very pores. His mother had long ago forbid him from asking what happened to his real father, fearing that the question would anger Harry’s new father, but Tom Riddle was the only father Harry knew, even if he was a scary man.

“I understand, Mum,” Harry replied dutifully as he gripped the wand his mother had given him. They had been practicing in her private quarters ever since Harry had turned eleven. Now, at thirteen, Harry was easily performing spells that his mother had told him were sixth year material. They trained for an hour, Lily showing Harry a spell or technique and Harry imitating it, until Lily grew quiet and still.

“Did you hear that?” she whispered, pulling the wand from Harry’s hand and shoving him into a chair by her fireplace. Harry hadn’t heard anything, but he knew better than to question his mother. Her green eyes glowed with fear as she put a needle and thread into Harry’s hands along with a piece of fabric he’d seen her working with. Harry knew what she meant, and he began working the needle in and out of the cloth. Sure enough, moments later the door opened and Riddle came in, glancing around the room with paranoid eyes. “What’s the matter, Tom?” Lily asked and the man simply blew air through his nostrils in response.

He paced the room, holding out his fingers as if he could manipulate the air, and then he muttered something about a mirror and ‘still no change’ before turning to face Harry directly. “What are you knitting, boy?” he asked.

“It’s embroidery,” Harry corrected shyly and held out the dark green cloth with lighter green leaves worked into its surface.

“How very, girlishly Slytherin of you,” he mocked at last, his tone scathing and harsh. “You’ll make a proper wife one day.”

“Slytherin?” Harry asked curiously, because he knew he should not recognize the name. His mother often told him about her school days at Hogwarts instead of telling him bedtime stories, but his stepfather was not allowed to know. If permitted to wear color in his robes, it was only green and silver, which his mother had told him were the House’s signature colors. He’s been severely punished the only time he’d asked to wear red robes to one of the many galas his stepfather threw.

“It doesn’t matter,” he huffed at Harry and then turned to his wife. “This isn’t suitable training for a boy his age, Lily.”

“Would you have him practicing fencing, Tom?” she asked, and to anyone else she would seem pleasant, but Harry noticed the creases at the corners of her eyes that indicated bitterness.

Riddle narrowed his eyes and Harry saw his hand twitch. He knew then that when his mother showed up to breakfast with the faint outlines of bruises on her face, that it was his stepfather who had put them there. Rage boiled through him at that knowledge, hate and fury, and only his mother’s stern glance kept Harry in his chair.

“I’ll discuss this with you later,” he promised, in that way that sounded more like a threat. To her credit, Lily didn’t flinch until Riddle turned to leave the room. As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, she sagged in her chair and a silent sob wracked through her body.

“Mum?” Harry asked quietly, and it seemed she’d only just remembered Harry was there. She straightened and put on a brave face, full of false smiling and courage and looked her son sharply in the eye and pulled him close.

“There will come a day when you have the skill and opportunity to kill that man, Harry,” she whispered quietly, yet firmly. “When that time comes, I want you to defeat him. Do you hear me?”

Harry’s eyes widened as he took in his mother’s words. “You want me to…murder…my stepfather?” he asked, unsure how she could request such a thing, even though he’d been eager to hurt the man just a moment before when he’d learned of the abuse forced upon her.

“Just as he murdered your real father,” she breathed, as if she was afraid to utter the words aloud.

“My father,” Harry repeated, not a question, because he knew, just as certainly as he knew his name, that she was telling him the truth. The man the house-elves called Lord Voldemort had killed his father, stolen him away from Harry, and one day he would probably try the same with Harry’s mother. But Harry wouldn’t let him. He would train and he would learn and he would become powerful enough to kill this man who had broken his family.

That night, when Harry wrote in his journal, the words ‘I will kill Tom Riddle,’ poured from the tip of the quill as if it had always been made to write that very sentence. And his hand didn’t shake at all.

Voldemort was nervous.

Today was the day his stepson turned seventeen, the day he came of age, and the day his entire life would change if he didn’t do something swift and thorough. The mirror had been predicting Potter’s seventeenth year as the one in which he defeated Tom Riddle for good, but Riddle still didn’t understand how it could be possible. He’d forbidden use of magic around the boy, even the house-elves had to do everything the Muggle way when in Harry’s presence. He didn’t even think the boy knew what magic was.

Potter was a quiet boy, seemingly meek and shy. He was always knitting with his mother or picking flowers in the garden or writing in that silly diary of his – trite poems about girlish things no doubt. He didn’t know where he’d gone wrong, but he decided to check with the mirror one final time before he put anything into action.

“Mirror, Mirror on the wall. Who is the most powerful wizard of all?”

“Potter might not have what you do in credentials, but what he lacks there he makes up with potential,” the mirror answered in its silky voice.

Voldemort scowled at the glass, as if that would change its answer, but it didn’t matter. This would end once and for all today. He snapped his fingers and a house-elf appeared, prostrating deeply.

“Fetch me my wife,” he ordered and the house-elf was gone with a pop.

Lily came in a few moments later, joy written over her face. “I was hoping to speak to you this morning, Tom,” she began. “I wondered what we might do for Harry’s birthday today.”

She waited to hear what he would allow, but Riddle merely sneered. “I want you to take him out into the woods and cut out his heart.”

Lily blinked, her eyelids fluttering in confusion at his words. “You…what?” she gasped, faltering a step backwards.

“He’s to die today, and you’ll bring his heart back to me,” he repeated. “If you fail in this, I will have you strung up and tortured in the dungeons.”

“Do with me what you will, but I cannot kill my own son!” she shouted, backing up toward the door. Her escape was thwarted, however, when she faltered on a loose stone and nearly lost her balance. In that moment, Voldemort slipped around intercepted her, grabbing her wrist and twisted her around to face him once more.

“You will do this, because then you can control how he dies. Do it sweetly, with poison or swiftly with a curse,” he suggested. “If you leave it to me, the boy will suffer and beg for death before I give it to him.”

Lily balked and bile rose in her throat until she thought she might choke on it. “I understand,” she said at last, and he let her go. She knew Riddle meant what he said; she knew that his bloodlust wouldn’t be sated until Harry’s screams reverberated through his ears.

“Consider this mercy my final birthday present to him,” Voldemort added, as if he were giving a tender endearment.

“Mercy?” Lily asked, shifting into the stoic mask she usually used with her husband.

“Don’t you consider it merciful that I allow him to die by your hand and not mine?” he asked and she nodded and bowed, knowing better than to argue. “Do it now,” he ordered and she left without another word.

Harry could tell that something was bothering his mother. She’d been practically shaking the entire way through the woods while they searched for the best place for Harry’s birthday picnic. Whenever he pointed out a particularly sunny glade, she would shake her head and continue to trudge through the underbrush as if she was trying to keep off of the trails.

“Mother,” Harry demanded at last. “You’ve found fault with the last dozen picnic areas. Tell me what drives us so deep into the forest. Is it him?”

Harry knew his mother would know to whom he was referring, and it was clear that she did when a sigh escaped her lips. They stopped, on a little ridge overlooking a stream and Harry finally saw that she was crying.

“I’m so sorry, mum!” he cried, pulling her into his arms. “I didn’t mean to shout at you.”

Her sobs turned into soft, sad chuckles and she pulled back to look over her son thoroughly. Harry was taller than she was now, and he reminded her so much of James. “You have such a kind soul, Harry, despite everything he’s done to change that. Promise me that you won’t ever let go of it, Harry. Promise me,” she whispered and a pit of dread settled into Harry’s stomach.

“Mother, this sounds an awful lot like goodbye,” he observed.

“That’s because it is,” she confirmed. “He’s sent me out to kill you, Harry. Merlin knows I could never harm a hair on your precious head, but he’ll kill you himself if I come back with you. I need you to stay away from Riddle Manor, Harry. Follow this stream east until it empties into a sparkling pool. There you will see a cottage called the Burrow. There is a kind family who lives there who will take you in until you can make your own way.”

“Mother,” Harry replied, slightly panicked. He couldn’t imagine not being able to see her every day, much less, never again. “Come with me.”

“I can’t, sweetheart. If I don’t go back, he’ll know I didn’t do it and he’ll come after you. I can’t let him hurt you, Harry,” she replied, steeling herself against his protests. “Follow the stream,” she repeated. “The Weasleys will be happy to see you. I made the arrangements years ago and they’ll know you on sight. I’ll come for you as soon as I can,” she promised and then leaned up to press a loving kiss to Harry’s forehead. “Now go,” she ordered.

No amount of arguing would sway his mother’s mind, so eventually Harry was forced to obey, even though he was terrified that Lily had to go back to the Manor alone. He wanted to be there to protect her, to keep her company, but he could understand her logic and he followed the stream as she’d insisted, turning back to wave at her until he could no longer see where his mother stood.

Lily took a deep breath and quelled her rising sobs. She knew this was the only way to protect her precious son, the only answer to how he could go on growing and living his life. Her entire life had belonged to Harry, and she was happy to go on sacrificing if it made his life better.

Tom paced the floor in the foyer, waiting for his wife to return, wringing his hands in eagerness at what token she’d brought him of her sacrifice to her Lord and husband. When the door opened and he saw Lily’s hands empty, he knew right away that she’d betrayed him. It made no difference how confident her face was set, or how purposeful her stride. It was clear to Voldemort that she hadn’t completed the deed he had set upon her head.

“It is done,” she whispered calmly and made to move past him. With swift and precise movements, Riddle cut her off, twining his long fingers into his wife’s hair. It didn’t hurt, not at first, but as he stared down at her, his eyes practically glowing with mistrust, the grip grew increasingly painful until Lily dropped to her knees and whimpered in anguish.

“Where is my token, Lily? Where is the proof that you remain loyal to me?” he hissed.

“I couldn’t cut into him, my Lord,” she sobbed. “When the light flew out of his eyes I couldn’t bear to look upon him, let alone slice his flesh with cool steel. He was my son!”

Voldemort straightened, pulling Lily to her feet by her long, red mane and began to drag her down the corridor toward his private chambers. He tossed her to the floor in front of the mirror, making her face it as he spoke the words that would reveal her as traitorous or true. “Mirror, Mirror on the wall,” he spoke, the familiar words flowing like silk from his throat. “Show me Harry Potter’s fall?”

The mirror didn’t reply in its usual rhyming tone, but instead shimmered to reveal the boy in the woods picking flowers. Voldemort seethed as he watched Harry bring them into a small cottage and place them in a crooked ceramic vase in the center of a long table with eight wooden chairs. “Where did you take him?” Tom asked after the image began to fade and reflect back the terrified face of his bride.

Those frightened emerald eyes looked defiant in the next moment and she pressed her lips into a thin line before shaking her head roughly. “I’ll never tell you,” she snarled as she rose and went for her wand. “I won’t let you murder my boy!”

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed and the back of his hand crashed into Lily’s jaw, sending her and her wand clattering to the cold, stone floor. She gasped and clutched her face where he’d hit her, but she had no time to process the offence before she looked up to see blinding green light careening toward her chest.

The last word on her lips was ‘Harry’, before her breath was spent and the life had drained from her body.

“Such a pity,” Voldemort murmured before he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, demanding the house-elves dispose of Lily’s body in the woods. He had a lot of work to do and very little time to accomplish it. Harry Potter was now of age and no longer under Riddle’s control. He was out there somewhere, and Voldemort had to find out where his disloyal wife had hidden him away. The mirror still predicted Potter would be the cause of his death and Riddle couldn’t allow that to happen.

Harry Potter had to die.

The cottage his mother had mentioned turned out to be a tall, crooked house in the middle of a small glade filled with high grass and wildflowers. The mother, Molly Weasley, had pulled Harry into a bone-shattering hug the moment he showed up on their doorstep. As his mother had told him, they had been expecting him to simply materialize in their glade one day and had been warned of the evil wizard who might try to pursue him. Harry didn’t know why he warranted so much attention from his stepfather, but he remained constantly vigilant all the same.

There were seven Weasleys living in the Burrow, Molly and Arthur, their twin son’s, Fred and George, an older boy named Percy, a boy Harry’s age named Ron and one young girl named Ginny. Harry had taken to them at once, and felt thoroughly welcomed in their home. He studied them, not ever having witnessed the way a magical household worked, and found that they each had odd little quirks that endeared them to Harry.

The father for instance, was always puttering around the house, doctoring magical items to mix them with mundane Muggle toys or fixtures he’d come across. Fred and George were mischief-makers, constantly getting into trouble with the sweets and pranks they invented. In fact, the entire first week Harry was there, Fred wasn’t able to speak a word because he was too busy sneezing his head off after testing out a new Fluberry candy they’d been working on secretly in their room and George had switched his sleep schedule so that he could work on some of the more dangerous inventions while Molly was asleep and couldn’t lecture him. Harry only saw him as he went up to Ron’s room for bed, because the boy slept most of the day so he could be up all night.

The only person who clearly didn’t like Harry being there was Percy, who often grumbled under his breath about the safety hazards of having someone beneath their roof that Lord Voldemort wanted dead . Harry tried to ignore him, but he often had nightmares about his stepfather coming to the Burrow and slaughtering his new family because he’d been seeking refuge there. He vowed to find work and move on as soon as he could so as not to endanger the kind family any more than he must.

For a while, he thought that Ginny disliked him as well. She was always hiding her face when he walked into the room, or finding a reason to excuse herself. But it was Ron who explained that she acted that way because she did like him, which still baffled Harry completely. He didn’t think he’d ever understand girls and he didn’t know what he could do to get her to relax, so he simply left her alone.

“I think we should take a trip to Diagon Alley today to pick up some supplies,” Molly mentioned one morning at breakfast as she levitated crispy bacon to each of their plates. She smiled brightly down at Harry and ruffled his hair. “And you need to pick out a wand of your own, Harry.”

He’d been using his Mother’s wand at Riddle Manor because she was afraid her husband would find out if Harry had a wand of his own. He grinned back at her, excited to think of being able to choose a wand that suited him and nodded eagerly. “I’d love to come along.”

They set out after breakfast, and Ron showed him all that there was to see of Diagon Alley while the rest split up to fetch the things they were after. They picked out Harry’s wand, though Ron had tried a few also that had backfired on him, earning a laugh from his new friend, and then they went down to the robe shop. Harry had never had a set of real wizard’s robes before, and wondered if he had enough Galleons left over to purchase a set.

“If you want to try something on, I can meet you over by the sweet shop when you’re done,” Ron offered. “Madam Malkin’s isn’t too expensive, so you’ll probably find something you can afford,” he added, trying to assuage Harry’s fears. Lily had given him a pouch of coins when she sent him off, but Harry didn’t know how long he would need to make it last, so he didn’t want to squander it frivolously.

Eventually he agreed, and waved Ron off as he went into the dim robe shop. There was a little old woman at the counter, and her eyes lit up when she spied Harry come through the door. “What can I do for you, lad?” she asked, bustling over to Harry’s side with a glistening tape measure. It started working, unraveling and hovering to capture his size, as she guided him through the shop, pointing out fabric colors and trim options. “I think for you, something like this would be perfect.”

Harry gawked at the deep burgundy robes the woman held in her hand. They looked to be made of the finest silk Harry had ever seen, and on the breast was a roaring, golden lion. There were laces in the front, back and on each side that would make the top of the garment more fitted while the bottom would billow and flow. They were beautiful, but they looked far too costly for Harry’s meager budget.

“They are stunning, Madam, but I’m afraid there is no way I could afford those,” he whispered, his tone reverent as he gazed at the fine robes.

“Perhaps you could just try them on, and I can get Madam Malkin to work out a special price for you,” the witch replied with a toothsome grin.

“Oh!” Harry exclaimed with a slight flush. “I’d assumed that you were Madam Malkin,” he admitted.

The woman kept grinning, as if it were impossible to stop and shook her head. “I’m new here, actually. Why not let me get some practice with by fitting you in this robe,” she coaxed.

“Well,” Harry mused, “I suppose I could try them on if it would give you practice. I’m just not sure I’ll be able to afford them and I don’t want to waste your time.”

“Aren’t you a kind boy,” the clerk replied. “You must be well-loved by many.”

Harry pursed his lips and shook his head. “I don’t know many people actually.”

“Pity,” the woman replied as she slipped the rich fabric over Harry’s shoulders and began to lace up the front, pulling it tightly. When she’d finished with the sides, the garment felt snug, but he’d never worn robes like these before, so he didn’t know if that was normal or not. It wasn’t until the woman moved to the back and began pulling the lacing tighter and tighter that Harry began to suspect something was wrong.

“Miss,” he gasped out, finding it increasingly hard to breathe. “I think that might be too tight.”

“Pardon?” she asked. “Speak up, boy, I can’t hear you.”

Harry tried to repeat himself, but he didn’t have air enough to do so. He clutched at his chest, trying to rip at the bindings in the front, but he found himself quite immobile and staring into the angry eyes of his stepfather. “Now, now, Harry,” he quipped, using the same voice he’d been using for the little old woman. “You mustn’t squirm in robes as fine as these. You might break the lacing.”

Harry fell to his knees, unable to shout or scream or even move. His world was growing black and fuzzy at the edges until all he could see was Voldemort’s face looking down at him with a victorious smile. His cackling laughter filled his subconscious, but then soon – nothing.

Author’s Note: As with most of the faerie tales, it was important to me to keep elements of the original, as well as intermingle some of the key elements you all know from the Disney classic. I know I said I wasn’t going to do another Disney tale so soon, but I can’t help what the muse chooses to throw at me. On the bright side, I have Rapunzel, Princess and the Pea and Goldilocks up next.