A/N: I don't know why I'm doing this now, but I want to, God help me I'm addicted to this. Anyway, this is my idea for the seventh book, I warn you from now, you may not like some things in it but this is what I might think may happen… and with considerable H/Hr shipping bias… can't be helped.
You may have questions after this chapter, leave them in a review, I'll answer in story later. It's just the way I work.
By the way, Harry doesn't appear in perspective till chapter three, bear with me, the stuff before is mucho importante… such as what's below now.
Disclaimer: Due to the fact that there is currently a forty-something year old British lady-definitely not my mother, or me-writing this somewhere in Scotland, you can see how this is not mine.
Take your time Ms Rowling, I will read a thousand pages if you write it.
*****
1981
As always whenever he was summoned, Peter Pettigrew presented himself before Lord Voldemort cowering, bowed and full of flattery. He was no fool, the tall, dark-haired and now faintly handsome man before him could despatch him at a moment's notice without a second thought. The Dark Lord had done so too many times before to too many others and Peter had no intention of being one of them.
So bowed, he went before him and said, "M-my-my Lord… you sent for me?"
Lord Voldemort merely glanced his way in acknowledgement, and asked, "You said you had news… what is it?"
The short, prostrated figure with the pointed nose, watery eyes and straw hair replied immediately, "My Dark Lord… what I have I assure you will please you greatly. I have for you what none of your followers so far can find or hope to. I have, my Lord, a gift, a Hallowe'en treat you will most enjoy, I-"
"What is it, I have no time for your nonsense tonight Peter!" demanded Voldemort, cutting him off impatiently.
"Ah… ah, indeed," said Peter, bowing, if possible, lower. "My gift, my Lord, is the Potters…. I can tell you where they can be found, and not only that, the assurance that they are there right now."
A hooded figure in the shadows laughed, along with a few others. Peter tried to ignore them, Voldemort's Inner Circle, they always laughed at him, always underestimated him.
A beautiful, dark-haired woman, Bellatrix Lestrange, appeared beside Voldemort's chair and said, "You… you can deliver the Potters? All you've given us for the past couple of months have only led to empty spaces, and now you finally have-"
"I am their Secret Keeper!" said Peter, cutting her off and daring to glare up at her.
She laughed.
"You? They have made you their Secret Keeper, even now when they are convinced that there's a spy in their midst? I don't believe it!" she said.
Peter ignored her, appealing to Voldemort, "Sirius Black convinced them to do it, my Lord. He suspects the werewolf, Lupin, as the spy, he believes that he has been corrupted by his friends… no one suspects me."
Voldemort appeared completely indifferent, but asked, "And where are the Potters, Peter?"
Peter smiled, and smugly at Bellatrix, before replying, "In Godric's Hollow, I can give you the house number now… they should be at home tonight."
Though there wasn't much noise present before, the room seemed to fall into a deafening silence. It was almost as if they had all stopped breathing. Bellatrix was silent too, and the picture of composure, though her eyes betrayed an internal confusion and astonishment. Peter dared to turn to smile at them all, but stopped quickly when one of them revealed a sharpened dagger beneath his robes. He immediately returned his attention to the now pensive Dark Lord.
"With their child?" asked Voldemort, his interest suspicious but of no concern to any present. Severus Snape was out tonight.
Peter nodded vigorously, "Yes, yes, they never let him out of their sight… he's only a year old, my Lord."
Voldemort rose at once, "Give me the exact location, I'm going out."
"Should we come with you, my Lord?" asked Bellatrix, quickly, and eagerly moving away from the chair to stand with him.
Her husband in the shadows pointedly looked away.
"No, I am going alone, the last time I sent you they escaped… but Peter comes with me… just to make sure. Remember what happened to Regulus Black…" he replied, narrowing his gaze at the cowering figure.
Peter squeaked and protested, "M-my Lord… if I am seen…"
"What are you afraid of Peter; you have been betraying them for over a year now! What does it matter if they see your face before they die?" demanded Voldemort, an unearthly red gleam filling his eyes.
Peter shook his head vigorously again, "N-no matter, m-my Lord… as you wish, my Lord…"
"Fine, I shall be back shortly… in the mean time I expect the rest of you to do something! Finding the
Longbottoms should be a good place to start. Here is Peter, smaller, weaker and apparently undeniably more dedicated
than you could ever dream to be, delivering my enemies as he swore he would. Fate brought him to me, Fate is on my
side, determined that none should thwart me. Find the Longbottoms, and make sure of it!" he commanded to his
gathered followers.
They all nodded quickly, and he made to leave, but not before pausing to say, "Oh, and remember, I want the entire family, alive."
They nodded again, Bellatrix gave a little bow, and finally, with a sweep of his billowing robes, Voldemort turned from them and left, Peter Pettigrew hurriedly scurrying after.
None would know then that when they left, they would not return. For Fate, no matter how much he wished to believe it was not with the Dark Lord Voldemort tonight.
*****
Sirius Black may have been a perpetual troublemaker in his youth but he was no fool. Being an expert on the matter of trouble himself, he was rather good at spotting it. It was how he had managed to stay alive this long in the war. So when he arrived at the old Muggle house Peter Pettigrew was using as his hiding place and found it empty, and after a full half-hour saw no sign of him, he knew something was up.
Peter was not always the sharpest tool in the shed but even he knew it would be very stupid to be out and about on a night like this.
No one save Lily, James and himself, knew that he was Secret Keeper, but the danger of being caught in a random Death Eater attack, and especially as it was Hallowe'en, was too great to be ignored. They already had to deal with the trouble of a spy in their midst, they didn't have the time to find another friend to keep their secret.
In his Animagus form, he lay half-concealed in the bushes at the back of the house, waiting. With no signs of struggle, disturbance to the Muggle home or distress in the Muggles within, the only thing really keeping him there was the thought that Peter must have foolishly stepped out for a bit. To anyone within, the large, shaggy black dog in the backyard was nothing more than a stray, hoping for the scraps of dinner and a place to spend the night. They would probably never believe him a tall, handsome, dark-haired, grey-eyed man of twenty-one.
Of course, it helped that not many wizards knew that either.
Something stirred just beyond the fence; he stood immediately and growled, low. If it was Peter he would know he wasn't pleased, if it was anything else… he hoped it would heed his warning.
It stirred again, a sudden night wind cutting across then distorting the movement… and then it was still. Sirius waited a moment, and then resettled into his former position.
What the bloody hell was keeping Peter?
This wasn't entirely a surprise visit. Peter knew that at any given moment he would come by to check on him just in case. It was a safety measure so that James and Lily had adequate warning to pack up and leave before Voldemort or his Death Eaters stormed in. Tonight was one those moments, the first, in fact, since Peter had become Secret Keeper, and Sirius had to tell him, he wasn't doing too well. And especially, since Sirius was having second thoughts about Lupin being their traitor.
It was hard enough having to suspect him in the first place. They had all been at Hogwarts together-James Potter, Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew and Remus Lupin-all Gryffindors, trouble-makers and friends. They were almost like brothers.
Right out of school they had joined the war effort to end the reign of terror of the Dark Lord Voldemort, joining Professor Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix. It was a secret, well-connected and carefully maintained network of spies, Aurors, semi-legal citizens, and-for lack of a better term-vigilantes working to put an end to what was becoming a very nasty Wizard war under the banner of pureblood rule. Pureblood rule fuelled by ancient prejudices like those that claimed only wizards of purely magical bloodlines fit to exist, above those of purely Muggle or mixed bloodlines. That also meant that the war had plenty of support and some of it outright.
So the four who usually made light of everything quickly found that there was no joke to be had this time. It was too dangerous; they had way too many close calls with them once almost coming face-to-face with the grandmaster himself.
Then James married Lily Evans.
For a time it wasn't so bad, and then it was, one more person to protect, though she was not at all useless. (And she better not ever hear that he had thought that.) Good at Potions, good in battles, quick on her feet and cheeky to boot, she never was the damsel in distress. She and James managed to escape Voldemort three times in fact, and on one occasion in an ambush. It actually brought them level with a pair of Aurors, Frank and Alice Longbottom who had done the same thing.
And then Lily and Alice got pregnant, and then it did get worse.
And for just over a year now, both families were in hiding. And in the case of James and Lily, unfortunately they had a traitor in their midst. One of the brothers was supplying information to the enemy, and in this war that could get them all killed.
This brought him back to Lupin being the traitor.
For as long as they knew him they had kept a secret that could have ruined his life, Remus Lupin was a werewolf.
If anyone ever found out, he could end up being hunted by the Ministry at worst or a penniless, wandering outcast at best. They had found this out at school and with Professor Dumbledore had kept his secret, though they failed to mention the part about them becoming unregistered Animagi as part of their assistance. For him to betray them now… it bordered on the impossible, he would probably sooner hang himself.
But he could have been… changed, persuaded somehow at his weakest times around the full moon. Or they could be blackmailing him, or… well, the point was it simply couldn't be Lupin.
And no matter what Severus Snape believed and tried to convince James of, Sirius wasn't the traitor either. He wasn't the fool his brother was, and had Snape ever seen him at any of the Death Eater get-togethers or how ever Voldemort got his information in the first place?
"How nice is this for Hallowe'en? It's a full moon out, you know what that means don't you?" a voice asked suddenly from within the house.
The night sky above was a dark navy blue, studded by twinkling blue diamond stars, traversed by clouds only a shade lighter than the sky. The newly risen full moon bathed all in its soft, silvery-blue light, making it as bright as day.
He could imagine Lupin out there now; running about in some forest trying to hold on to what little remained of his sanity. In the morning he would be properly bruised and probably sleep all day. He had some of the best scars and he rarely got into fights.
Sirius perked up his large ears.
"Ahrooooooo!" was the reply, a child's voice. "I'm a werewolf, Ahrooooooo! Watch out for my bite, I'll make you just like me!"
There was a moment of silence, some scuffling, and then… "Oh no, I've been bitten! I'm cursed! You have made me like you! Now, every month at the rise of the full moon I'll turn into a mindless beast, seeking blood and a neck to bite!"
There was a sigh, and in an authoritative manner the child told him, "That's a vampire, Daddy, werewolves can bite you anywhere."
Sirius smirked… as best he could as a dog, which meant letting his tongue hang out and panting while flopping his tail.
These Muggles, the things they come up with.
Remus wasn't always a mindless beast. As a matter of fact he was rather intelligent, a swot if you will, always reading and researching. It was a wonder he had time to do anything else. And then, with Lily helping him sometimes, hoping for a cure to that furry condition with a tendency to bite he had every month.
Peter Pettigrew, on the other hand, now that was a mindless beast if he ever saw one, and he was speaking as a friend.
Small, squeaky little lump, no wonder he had become a rat as an Animagus. It actually suited him perfectly; he was small, amazingly agile despite his size and the perfect spy when they wanted to come up with something. Their vict… um, participants… never suspected him.
Who would believe that little fur-ball was going to get them in trouble?
Sirius stood up so fast he almost fell over.
Oh no.
Oh gods, no.
*****
"Peek-a-boo!"
Harry laughed.
"Peek-a-boo!"
He laughed again then became curious as his mother seemingly vanished behind her hands. He leaned over in his seat and tried to peer around them.
Where did she go?
"Peek-a-boo!"
He squealed, clapped and reached for her hands. Holding them he let her drag him unto his feet, took two wobbly steps unto her thighs and then dropped headfirst into her chest.
"Hey! As of the past six months, no longer your territory." admonished James, coming over to lift the baby from her arms.
Harry immediately screamed.
Lily laughed, "Ah, as of the day he was born, no longer your territory."
"Whatever," grumbled James, as he returned his son to his mother and plopped down on the couch with them. "But sooner or later he's going to have to share. I don't think his three younger brothers are going to appreciate his selfishness."
"Three younger brothers…? I only have one son," Lily replied, turning Harry round in her lap and presenting him.
The baby smiled, revealing two rows of tiny, white teeth and said, "Ahh ba!"
"Put him to bed, and we'll get started on that," James told her with a mischievous smirk, and ruffled his jet-black hair.
"Oh gods…" she groaned.
Her sentiment though, found an echo in the street just outside. Repeated, by a tall, cloaked figure with an unnatural reddish gleam in his eyes and a barely visible approving smile on his lips as he stood looking in on them.
"You've done well, Peter. You were telling the truth," he said to no one in particular.
Well, there was someone, or rather, something. Trying his very best to conceal himself in the overgrowth of a vine-covered wall, Peter Pettigrew had transformed into his Animagus form. He squeaked at Lord Voldemort's address, and tried to burrow further into the vines.
"Why don't you stay here, Peter? I know you wouldn't like to come with me…. I'll be right back," said Voldemort.
Peter squeaked again and peered out of the vines just in time to see Voldemort's shoes disappearing down the pavement as he headed down to the house.
If he could speak he would say two words, "Sorry, James."
Bored, now that his mother had stopped playing the disappearing game, Harry squirmed and wriggled in her arms until she let him slip off her lap and the couch. He dropped unto his bum at their feet, comfortably cushioned by his pampers, stood up and toddled over to the coffee table. Almost before his father had time to think, he had snatched the bottle of butterbeer and put it to his mouth.
James snatched it back, "No, Harry, no butterbeer for you!"
The baby looked thoroughly affronted, and James whispered, "At least wait until Mummy's in the next room."
"James…" began Lily, warningly.
A low creak, a groaning and they both looked to the front door.
Harry made to snatch the bottle of butterbeer again while they were distracted. James took it with him as he rose and went to the window, leaving Harry to stare wistfully after his almost treasure.
Lily stood behind him, and asked, "Is it Sirius? He said he was going to check on Peter tonight…"
James did not reply, but pushed the curtain back ever so slightly and peeked.
Within seconds he had drawn his wand.
"Lily, take Harry and go!" he yelled.
"What?" she asked, though she picked him up immediately.
The look on James' face as he turned to her was all the answer she needed. He almost didn't have to command, "Go! Run! I'll hold him off-"
Stumbling backwards, nearly falling over the chair, she scurried from the living room with Harry in her arms and headed for the stairs. Almost at the top of them she heard the door burst open, followed by a high-pitched cackling and stifled a scream as she realised what that meant.
Voldemort was here.
He had finally found them; he must have gotten to Peter… Peter who was probably dead….
Oh gods….
Running into the baby's room, she shut and locked the door and hoped James could hold him off. If Voldemort came up here….
Downstairs at the moment, Voldemort was having a bit of a problem trying to do just that.
The moment he had come through the door, James had sent a non-verbal Stunner after him.
It bounced away harmlessly, but before he was entirely able to send back one of his own, he was being rammed into a wall by a pair of antlers.
James had transformed himself, just in time to hit him, before diving back over the chair and standing once more as a man to send another Stunner, "STUPEFY!"
Again, Voldemort deflected the curse, and Disapparated just before another could hit him. He Apparated behind the same sofa James was using for cover and bellowed, "Incarcerous!"
James rolled out of the way and shot off, "Bombarda!" towards him.
He Disapparated, the curse obliterated a vase, and James sprang to his feet, wildly looking about for him. And then suddenly, Voldemort Apparated back into the same spot and immediately shot off the Killing Curse, "AVADA KEDAVRA!"
James didn't have the time to register surprise before the jet of brilliant green light hit him full in the chest. He slammed against the wall behind him, breaking a mirror, and fell forward, dead.
His wand rolled out his hand into the corner.
Out in the vines, Peter squeaked. Upstairs in the bedroom, where Lily was anxiously looking for an escape, Harry started screaming. She halted at once.
No… no, no… oh gods no….
Voldemort walked over to where James laid fallen, eyes open, glasses broken and exhaled.
"What a waste…" he said softly, nudging his head with the tip of his shoe.
And then he heard the baby's wail, and turned to look up at the ceiling.
Baby bag on her shoulder, Lily abandoned her quest to open the window and went to the crib trying her best to silence Harry.
"Come on, shh! Harry, look at Mummy! Shh Harry! Come on, you have to be quiet for Mummy! Please Harry, please be quiet for Mummy…" she coaxed, leaning over the crib and gently patting him on his back.
Harry wouldn't stop though. Lips trembling, mouth open wide and tears streaming from the corners of his bright green eyes he screamed for the world to hear. His father was dead; he wanted them to know it.
Lily was crying too, which wasn't helping matters any, but couldn't stop unless he did. He had to be quiet; if Voldemort heard him… he had to be quiet.
"Come on, Harry, shh! Please Harry, shh!" she pleaded.
"REDUCTO!"
She screamed as the door exploded behind her and Voldemort stepped into the bedroom.
Harry abruptly fell silent.
Oh no… too late… oh no….
She turned slowly, not daring to take her son from the crib, not wanting to see the face of her killer.
Voldemort, in comparison, stood calmly in the doorway waiting for her. She gasped, straightened her posture immediately, and asked, somewhat lamely, "Is he dead?"
"Yes," he replied.
She gasped again, stifled a sob and looked away. After a moment, she turned back to him, and stammered, "A-and-and you've come for Harry now…?"
He nodded, coldly.
Lily looked back into the crib where Harry had risen to his feet and was peering through the bars, and said weakly, "No… please… no…"
Voldemort didn't move from where he stood, but raised his wand and said, "Stand aside, I don't have to kill you now, I only want the boy. You know why…"
"NO! Not Harry! Please… please, not my… not Harry!" she began to plead, her mind racing as to the location of her wand.
It was with horror that she realised that she had left it downstairs in the living room.
"Three times have you and your late husband stood in my way, I will not stand for it another! Stand aside and watch him die, that is all I will give you!" he told her, his voice becoming icy.
"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!" she screamed, stepping to her left so that she completely blocked the baby from view.
Her mind was racing again. She had to find a way out, stop him, but how? How could she without her wand?
"Stand aside, you silly girl… stand aside, now…" commanded Voldemort, and this time he did step closer.
"Not Harry, please, no, take me, kill me instead-" she begged, and gripped the bars of the crib.
Harry reached up and took hold of her wrist.
"I want the child, I will not say it again, stand aside!" Voldemort commanded, coldly, and took another step towards her.
"Not Harry! Please… have mercy… have mercy…." she begged again.
Tears spilled down her cheeks and splashed unto her jumper. She was squeezing the handlebars so tight her knuckles were white. And yet Harry held onto her wrist and bobbed about in the crib, unaware of the danger and curious as to what was going on.
She couldn't let Voldemort kill him. She and James, they were the ones who had defied him. They were the ones fighting him, they were the ones trying to stop him, not Harry… he was just a baby, just an innocent baby.
She didn't care about prophecies, they could be wrong and given the source, this one could be a fake. Who's to say that this Sybil Trelawney hadn't thought up this fantastical "prophecy" before she even met Professor Dumbledore? Who's to say that she, desperate for a job and realising that she was losing him hadn't put on an act? And with the unexpected witness in Severus Snape struck some twisted form of gold?
But if that was the case it didn't matter anymore did it? Voldemort had heard it, and was hell-bent on making sure that it never came true.
Oh gods, the Longbottoms… Frank… Alice… their son….
Not Harry, she couldn't let that happen to Harry…. She would do anything, give anything…. If she couldn't save herself then she had to find some way, somehow, to save him.
And then suddenly in her distress, it came to her.
But Voldemort, already tired of her pleas was now halfway across the room and still advancing.
She screamed again, "Not Harry! Not Harry! Please-I'll do anything-"
She wasn't lying either.
It was old magic, very old magic, and as far as she knew it had never been used for something like this. No one had ever survived the Killing Curse, no one, ever… but she would have to do it anyway.
It would be a kind of trade, a sacrifice-and in this case, in blood-effectively cancelling his attempts to kill Harry. If he agreed to it-if he killed her-he could not take Harry's life, because she was offering him, hers instead. And for as long as her blood ran through Harry's veins-basically, forever-Voldemort would never be able to harm him. But again, this trade… it had never been used for something like this.
"Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!" he bellowed, stopping just some distance away, his wand trained on her but directed at the infant behind.
"Please, take me instead! Not Harry! Kill me!" she screamed, and in one movement, turned her back to him, reached into the crib and snatched the baby up into her arms.
Voldemort sighed, "Fine. AVADA KEDAVRA!"
The jet of light hit her square in the back, she screamed, crashed into the crib, dropping the baby and tumbled lifeless back over the edge and to the floor.
Voldemort never noticed the faint, grey-white luminescence that flowed from her body in the moment of her death to spread like a blanket over her son before dissipating. And even if he had, he would have probably considered it an after effect of the curse, nothing at all that could facilitate his downfall.
Peter squeaked even louder this time, and tumbled from his hiding place… once more a man.
Harry did not scream this time though. Water was filling his eyes but he didn't want to, Mummy was still there. As a matter of fact, he was feeling as warm as he usually did when she was holding him.
He sat up, crawled to the edge and looked through the bars to his mother on the floor.
She had fallen unto her back, arms outstretched reaching up to the bars, eyes-the same he had-open and staring blankly at him. He touched her fist, and then fell back unto his bum when the strange man who had been yelling at her came over and said, "Tragic, a brilliant mind that could have been of such great use… ah, hello little one."
Harry looked up at him, and though his eyes were teary again, he did not cry. His mother's eyes, how much they lit up like hers had just moments before. Indeed, there seemed to be the barest traces of the faint, grey-white luminescence in them….
Voldemort continued, "You know, I've heard it on good authority that you're destined to kill me…. We can't have that now, can we? Of course, looking at you now I wonder wherever they got such a silly idea. Did they honestly think that I would let you grow up after I found out?"
He drew his wand and pointed it at the baby's head.
"Goodbye Harry Potter, don't cry now, you'll be with Mummy and Daddy soon enough…. AVADA KEDAVRA!"
A jet of green shot from the tip, at such close range there was no way that he would miss.
But then, it was as if he did.
Instead of the baby keeling over as his parents, and so many others, had as the light touched him, a lightening bolt-shaped cut appeared on his forehead and there was a loud, ear-piercing scream. It was almost the echo of his mother's just seconds before… and then the light turned into a flash and blasted back at Voldemort.
He barely had time to yell out in shock, it hit him full on and he was flung against the bedroom door. But he was alive; he was still alive, and gripping with all that he had left at the wall.
And then he realised that he was being drained.
He was alive then, but not for long.
"No… no… no! NO!" he screamed.
That didn't help. It almost seemed to make it worse. It was a terrible feeling already, as if he were standing before a giant vacuum, or the wrong way in a wind tunnel, and some invisible force were pulling at every inch of him.
It ripped the hairs from his scalp, pulled at the skin on his face, tore the gloves from his hand and the clothes from his body…. And then, when he was almost completely naked, it began to dig past the skin, plucking hairs from his chest and legs with leaving a sensation worst than a thousand bee stings. He opened his mouth and yelled and nearly choked as his tongue nearly left his throat.
Lights were flickering, bolts of electricity buzzed and sparked from the wall sockets, things not nailed down were torn from their places and set into an unnatural orbit, bursting through walls and crashing into pieces when they could no further.
Downstairs in the living room James' body was lifted, thrown against the wall again and dumped over the couch which tumbled over atop him. Lily's barely stirred from her place by the crib, but her red hair was whipped about in a gust before falling over her face like the veil.
Outside, Peter covered his ears with his hands and shut his eyes tight, hearing the sounds, seeing the flashing lights and not wanting to know.
He dared then, to look down at the crib and the cause of it and was startled to find the baby still alive and bawling while the cut on his forehead glowed a dazzling emerald green. In fact, if he was not mistaken, it looked as if there was a connection between them, forged by the light… and nothing was happening to the baby.
"NO!" he yelled again, and tried to fight it though he knew it a futile battle. He could feel his strength, his life… leaving him and all he could do was let it.
And then suddenly it was over. His body dropped and scattered as dust over the floor, his wand clattering aside just before it and the house suddenly collapsed upon itself as a terrible, high-pitched shrieking-a mixture of victory and horror-sounded through the ruin.
And then it was still.
For a time there wasn't a sound. Not the rustle of the wind through the trees, the hoot of an owl on the hunt or even Peter's muted terrified squeals. An unnatural silence, the sound of death, had fallen over Godric's Hollow.
And then a baby wailed.
It was a soft, short burst of sound that lasted no more than a few seconds so that at first Peter thought he had heard a cat. When it sounded again, he knew exactly what it was and he couldn't believe it.
It was Harry; it could be no one else.
Stumbling to his feet, Peter scurried down the street to the house and gasped at the sight of destruction. The house had imploded, there was no other way to put it, and the second floor seemed to have completely crushed the first.
The baby cried again, he transformed into a rat and bolted down the path, clambered through the front door and ground floor and found his way to the stairs. They were useless though; he hopped atop some fallen furniture and ran down a corridor to the bedroom from where the persistent cries were sounding. Skidding slightly on some dust in the doorway he came to a halt at the sight of Harry climbing out of his wrecked crib to his mother.
He could barely believe it, he had survived….
Unaware of the new arrival, Harry went down to his mother's shoulder and gently patted her arm like his father did when he was waking her. But she didn't respond, she just kept staring blankly up at his now vacant crib and clutching at bars with her hair in her face.
He patted her arm again, and this time he spoke, "Mama… Mumma… Ma… Ma…"
He was too young to understand that she would not respond… that she would never respond….
Peter had to get out of here. He couldn't stay here and look at this. He would not stand here and look at this, not feel guilty for this….
And then he spotted Voldemort's wand in the corner.
In, hopefully, the permanent absence of the owner, that would fetch a pretty price at a pawn shop.
With one last look at the baby and his mother, he dove into the corner, snatched up the wand, reverted to a man, and Disapparated.
*****
Bounding down the dark, vacant streets, ears alert, tongue hanging out, Sirius raced through Godric's Hollow desperately hoping that when he got there, there would be nothing to find.
He couldn't, didn't want to believe that Peter… that he would… that he would ever do what he thought he did. It wasn't Peter, it couldn't be Peter. They all knew him; he was a good man, a good friend, always was and always would be. He was not a traitor, he wouldn't sell his friends to the enemy for all the money in the world, he would rather die, they all would….
He came to an abrupt halt just before the gate.
The house… it was… it was destroyed….
In the dim moonlight he could clearly see that. It had fallen in on itself, the ground floor crushed under the weight of the upper and all the lights had gone out. All the upper rooms looked intact, and if he climbed atop the hedges he might even be able to jump in through a window. But the silence, like that of a mortuary, kept him frozen in the road. And then there was the scent of burning in the air, not of fire, but something worse, much worse… the scent of magic.
Rearing up and bearing his teeth, he growled and then barked at the ruin. If there was still something in there, he was ready for it, he would let it pay… and if it was someone who belonged there, they would know that he had come.
But there was still nothing but silence.
He dropped his head, and whined. He knew what that meant.
Curious though, that there was no Dark Mark in the sky, Voldemort had killed the Potters, surely someone would celebrate?
Walking to the gate, not at all willing to transform back to his human form in case of trouble, Sirius nudged it open and cautiously stalked up the path to the house. It yawned loudly, and his fur bristled, but there was no danger and he continued on his way.
As the upper floor had fallen forward atop the lower, there was no front entry to the house. Even if there was, he was too large even in his Animagus form to get through it. The back door though, had been blasted out as the house fell, and he climbed in sniffing and listening for life.
The interior looked very much as if a hurricane had run through it. Things were ripped out of their places and smashed on the floor; all glass in sight was broken and spread out across the tiles glittering like precious jewels. Dry foods, baby cereal, butterbeer, all the cupboards had been emptied, and the chemicals cupboard was smoking slightly. The broken pipe in the kitchen sink was spouting water like a fountain; he hoped the gas line wasn't doing the same. But if this was how the kitchen looked, did he really want to imagine the rest?
He carefully picked his way through the mess to the hall and then into the living room. This looked only slightly less damaged than kitchen, but probably because everything within had been crushed when the ceiling had caved.
And then he saw James' wand at the door.
Immediately he perked his nose for the scent, found it and crawled round to the tumbled couch under which his friend lay.
No….
Creeping as close as he could, he barked at him, loudly.
Nothing.
He nipped at his ear, nudged his head, and barked again.
Still nothing.
Whimpering, he bit the neck of his jumper and shirt and tugged until he dragged him free of the chair. Then he tugged and pulled and dragged him through the kitchen, out the backdoor and round to the front lawn under the moonlight. It was not an easy task, his dead-weight slowing the progress, but eventually he got him out, and James' now useless hazel eyes stared up at the moon.
Sirius transformed back into his human form, sat down on the grass, and began to cry.
He couldn't remember when last he had cried like this, tears running free, wretched sobs wracking his body, groans freely escaping his mouth, but he did it now. Lifting James' upper body as best he could into his arms, he cried over him, rocking him back and forth.
He was too late. He'd taken too long, waited too long…. If only he had been a little sooner, if only he had come as soon as he found Peter gone, if only he had realised before that Lupin could not have been the guilty one, if only, if only….
He looked to the moon and begged that Lupin forgive him, that Lily had somehow escaped, and for the strength to find Peter and make him pay.
Looking down again, he gently replaced James on the ground, kissed his rather cool forehead, and reluctantly pulled himself away. He had to find Lily and Harry; he couldn't leave them in there like that.
Going back the way he had the first time around, he carefully searched around the lower floor, tracking the faint scent of mother and child throughout. Failing to find them then, he went up to the second floor, scrambling up the broken staircase and sniffing the air to the room where the scent was heaviest.
He paused in the doorway.
Lily and Harry lay side by side on the floor near the crib. Lily reaching up to the broken crib, staring into it, Harry lying on his back beside his mother, his head resting on her chest, and all through the air was the scent of magic.
These two could not be dragged outside. Well, at least not Lily, he would have to carry her out. He didn't want to think of them like that, and especially not his godson, but it was not safe to break down in here. The house was not exactly stable.
Walking over to the pair, he whined and nudged at Lily's head. She was as cool as James, but had probably died after him. Voldemort had spared no one; he could only hope she hadn't watched Harry die.
Where was he anyway?
Reluctantly then, he turned to his godson. He would have preferred not to touch him, not to feel the hold of death on his tiny body, know that so little a life had been snuffed as well… but he had to.
He nudged his nose to Harry and then reared back in shock. He was as cold as ice, colder than Lily and James combined even, and that seemed impossible.
Even more so, he thought he had felt a breath.
Immediately, he reverted to his human form and knelt on the floor before the pair. Putting a trembling hand to the little chest he froze when he felt the unmistakeable "thump-thump-thump" of a tiny heart. And there was warmth there. And then Harry took a breath. And then he opened his eyes and looked up at Sirius, and Sirius nearly fell over.
Harry was alive.
Somehow, some way, by some form of higher power, and save for that odd cut on his forehead, Harry was alive.
Sirius immediately snatched the infant up into his arms-still strangely icy to the touch, but alive-and began to cry again, but this time for joy.
Harry was alive, he had survived….
All fingers, toes, feet, hands, head, torso, same black messy hair-he would never thank James for that-same bright green eyes-Lily's-same bright smile, a cry that echoed through the eerie silence… he had survived.
But when Sirius Black found Peter Pettigrew, he would make sure that he wouldn't.
For James, Lily and the little boy now crying and squirming in his dirty arms-more famous than he knew at the moment-he would make absolute sure of it.
Pity though, he would never have the pleasure.
As a matter of fact, by the end of November 1st, 1981-the next day-he would become the traitor, hauled off kicking and screaming to Azkaban, and Peter, the innocent victim of a man he thought his friend. And this would be the 'truth' of that Hallowe'en for the next twelve years, along with the belief that Voldemort himself had finally gone.
Tragic, that neither was true.
But of course, by the time the real story, the entire story was known, Harry Potter himself would.
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